Reaching over, I grab the tube from the drawer, sitting between his legs. Taking his cock in my hand, I bring it back to full hardness, as our conversation and my reaction had made it deflate some.
Ignacio watches me with burning dark brown eyes, lust and love clear in his gaze. I blush harder, even as I open the lube and spread some on his cock. The look he gives me says he doesn’t think it’s enough, but he doesn’t protest, at least not until I straddle him.
“Roman,” he says in a choked voice when I grip his cock and position it against my hole.
“Shhh,” I soothe him, staring into his eyes as I bear down and bring the tip to my entrance. “Trust me.”
Ignacio grips my hips bruisingly tight. “I do… If you’re sure.”
I don’t respond with words, just with action, sliding down onto his cock. Throwing my head back, I cry out at the painful stretch, but let the burn invigorate me rather than scare me away.
Bile works its way up my throat as I remember the pain of the gun…but I shove it away. Sitting all the way down on Ignacio’s dick, I feel the stretch and burn of his cock spreading me open, and my healed ass aches from the phantom pain of being ripped open…
This is what I need. Not the gentle, loving prep, but the force of being able to replace the bad memories with good.
Maybe it’s fucked up, but as the pain fades, and I lean forward, placing both hands on Ignacio’s chest to hold myself up, pleasure bursts through me. His cock is warm and inviting, healing me from the inside out, rather than the cold, unforgiving metal that once tried to shame me for being who I am.
“Fuck me,” I plead. “Please…I need you to fuck me.”
Ignacio squeezes my hips before lifting me and then dropping me back down, forcing a cry from my throat.
Over and over, he lifts me up and down, somehow working his cock deeper into me each time, as he thrusts his hips up with every downward tug of my body.
I am nothing but a livewire of need, a vessel for his pleasure, and that thought feeds my own desire.
Raking my hands down his chest, I leave visible marks on his skin, loving the way they stand out against his already marked up flesh.
Ignacio surges up, capturing my mouth with his, forcing me to sit deeper on his cock. My legs wrap around his waist as he thrusts up into me. Our kiss can barely be called that, as he moves me so hard and fast over him that our mouths can barely keep up the pace.
His lips get caught between my teeth, and when I taste blood, my cock pulses. The taste of him is so sweet, so claiming, and I finally understand why Tennant is so fucking obsessed with biting everyone.
Breaking the kiss, I fist my hand in Ignacio’s hair, pulling his head back so I can lean down and bite his throat until I break the skin.
The wind gets knocked out of me as my back hits the bed. I almost fucking come with the way Ignacio manhandles me, tossing my legs over his shoulders as he fucks me in deep, long strokes that hit my prostate exactly right.
“Can you come on my cock, Little One?” he asks breathlessly.
“Fuck, yes, just keep fucking me like that!”
Gripping his arms, I dig my nails in until he roars. The blood sliding down my fingers only encourages me to drag my nails down his arms until vivid streaks of red flesh and blood can’t be hidden beneath his tattoos.
He fucks me hard enough to steal my breath, and one particularly hard thrust has me seeing stars. My throat aches as I cry out, my cock erupting between us. Ignacio reaches up to grip my throat. The pressure he puts there isn’t enough to steal my breath, but with my head already spinning from my orgasm, it’s enough to excite me all over again, and I come once more as he paints my insides with his own cum.
We stay suspended like that for a long moment, until he stops shaking with the force of his orgasm and lets go of my throat, making me whine in disappointment.
Ignacio grins at me, even as he slides my legs back onto the bed, and carefully pulls out of me. I wince a little, as my hole is sore from the rough treatment, but it’s exactly what I wanted—what I needed, reclaiming a part of me that was stolen so cruelly.
Ignacio leans down and kisses me, huffing against my mouth. “I can taste my blood on your lips,” he mutters.
I hum. “You taste good, Amore.”
He shakes his head, but kisses me again, deeper this time, licking up every last trace of himself.
As the blood and cum cool on our bodies, we stay pressed together. Ignacio holds himself up, so he’s not squishing me—not that I would mind.
“Are you okay? Your wound?”
“I’ll probably be sore in the morning, as that was…a lot of exercise.” He smirks and I laugh. “But I’m okay. Don’t worry about me.”