"You should hear yourself," Ray says against my ear, his breath hot. "God, Miles. The sounds you make."
He pulls almost all the way out and then drives back in, deep, hitting that spot, and I grab the headboard because I need an anchor that isn't him. If I grab him I'm going to pull him so close we fuse together and we'll never be separate people again and part of me wants that and part of me is terrified of it.
"Jesus, Miles." He says it like he can't believe this is happening. "Do you have any idea — you — fuck, I can't even think."
I clench around him. Involuntary, immediate, responding to the rawness in his voice more than any specific words. He notices — I know he notices because his rhythm falters and he groans and then he says it again, "fuck, you feel good," and I do it again, and he figures it out fast.
"Oh." He lets out a breathless laugh against my shoulder. "You like that, huh? You like hearing what you do to me?" He thrusts deep and holds there. "Miles Covington likes being told he's good. How did I not know this."
I am not going to cry because someone said that while fucking me. I'm not. Except my eyes are wet and I won't stop clenchingevery time he says how good I am and he keeps saying them, a steady stream of honest, wrecked reactions that are rewiring my brain in real time. Every one is a button I didn't know I had. Every time he tells me what I'm doing to him I get tighter around him and every time I get tighter he groans and gives me more and it's a feedback loop that's going to kill us both.
He wraps an arm around my chest and pulls me upright so my back is against his chest, and the angle change makes me see stars. He's deeper like this, or it registers deeper, and every inch of him is unmistakable — his mouth on my neck, his palm flat against my stomach, fucking up into me — and I'm helpless, just held against him and taken.
"I've thought about this every day since you told me to stop talking in your office," he says against my throat. "Every single day. What you'd look like. What you'd sound like. And it's better. It's so much better than I thought."
I reach back and grab the back of his neck and hold on because I'm close, I'm so close, the pressure is building fast and my cock is aching and he hasn't touched it once and I might come just from this, just from him seated in me and his voice in my ear.
"Not yet," he says, like he can sense it, and he slows down. I make a sound of frustration that borders on a snarl and he laughs, actually laughs, breathless and low, against my shoulder. "I'm not done with you yet."
He eases me back down onto my hands and knees and the pace slows to something maddening — long, slow thrusts that I register everywhere. He's taking his time again and I want to kill him and I want him to never stop.
Then — a difference. At the base of his cock, a thicker swell. It catches against my rim on the next thrust — a stretch that's bigger than before, different, and I react before my brain catches up. I clench around it, hard, involuntary, and I hear Ray groan.
His knot. I'm taking his knot.
He pulls back and it drags against my rim and the stretch is — fuck. It's a lot. And then he pushes deep again and it catches again and this time it's bigger, swelling, and the pressure is intense, right at the edge of too much, and I'm doing something I'm not telling myself to do. I'm clenching around it. I'm trying to pull it in.
"Feel that?" Ray's voice is wrecked but there's a grin in it. I can hear the grin even though I can't see his face. "That's getting bigger, boss."
"Don't call me—" He thrusts deep and the knot catches and I lose the rest of the sentence.
"I can't," I gasp, because it IS too big, the stretch each time it catches is more than the last, and my brain is doing the math and the math says this isn't going to fit. "I can't, it's too—"
He thrusts deep and the knot presses against me and I clamp down on it and try to drag it inside and I moan so loud I'd be embarrassed if I had any capacity for embarrassment left.
"Yeah, you can't take it," Ray says, and the teasing in his voice makes me want to murder him. "That's why you're squeezing me like you're trying to pull it inside you." He pulls back and pushes again, the knot dragging against my rim. "Your mouth says no but your ass says yes, Miles. Your ass is very convincing."
He's right. I hate him. My brain is saying no and every nerve below my waist is screaming yes and every time the knot catches and pulls back I want to sob from the frustration of not having it lodged in me, and he KNOWS, the bastard, he can tell exactly what I'm doing and he's enjoying this.
"You want it so bad," he says, low and wondering, like he can't believe it. "You're quaking for it. Tell me. Say it."
"I want it." I don't even hesitate. "I want it, please, give it to me, I need—"
He pushes in. All the way. And the knot slides past my rim and locks inside me.
The stretch is enormous. I go rigid and I can't breathe and I can't see and for one white-hot second it's too much, it's the most overwhelming sensation I've ever known, stretched around him with nowhere to go. Then the knot settles and swells to its full size and it presses against a spot deep in me and I clench around it, involuntary, and I come.
I come without anyone touching my cock. I come from the knot and the fullness and the pressure and Ray's chest against my back and his arms around me and the completeness of being held. The orgasm rips through me, seizing, and I hear myself make a sound that's close to a scream and I bury it in the pillow and my cock pulses against the sheets beneath me and I can't stop.
Ray comes inside me. The knot pulses, warmth flooding me, filling me — and his arms tighten around my chest and his teeth sink into my shoulder, not hard enough to break skin but hard enough that I register it through the orgasm, and the combination of being knotted, filled, bitten sends another wave through me that makes my vision go dark around the edges.
We collapse. He's heavy against my back and I don't care. I can't move. The knot holds us locked together and I'm unsteady and he's trembling and neither of us is speaking because there's nothing to say after that. He shifts us onto our sides, still locked, his chest against my back, his arm around my waist, and I let him arrange me because I have no bones left.
His breathing slows against the back of my neck. His fingers find mine, lace together. He presses his lips to my shoulder where he bit down and whispers something I don't catch.
"What?" My voice is destroyed.
"I said you're amazing." He pulls me closer. "You're so fucking amazing, Miles."