Tough Guy

...“Sonofabitch.”

I felt him digging around in the pants pooled at my boots.

“What in all hell?” I tried stepping away.

“Don’t panic.” He grabbed one of my thighs, held me in place. “I…” He must’ve been trying every one of my pockets.

Damn, he’s got big hands. “You what?”

He paused in his search, and it felt like he rested his head on the hand at the top of my thigh.

“What?” I repeated the question.

“I forgot a goddamned rubber, okay!” He shoved off me in a hurry.

“In my wallet,” I told him, but apparently, he’d located it already. He quieted down, quit stomping around, and I could hear him breathing.

“Yeah. Figured as much,” he said.

By now he’d found a condom, but I couldn’t tell if he was still behind me. I heard nothing except a lone cricket somewhere to my left. “Yo. Cowboy,” I whispered and heard a faint click and the thunk of my wallet as it landed between my boots atop my scrunched-down jeans. Finally, the rip—the sound I’d anticipated for a while now—the stretch, the snap. He rolled on the condom.

“Twenty-five, huh?”

He’d checked out my driver’s license? Is nothing sacred anymore? “You got a damned flashlight back there, or what?”

“What’s it to you if I do?” he asked, then took hold of my ass in both hands and spread my cheeks. “A man likes to know what he’s getting into.”

“How old—holy shit—” I shored up my hold on the wall. He hesitated his fingers’ pursuit long enough for me to finish my question. “—are you?”

“Old enough to know better,” he said, pressing two fingers inside me.

“That’s…hardly fair…you think?”

“Life ain’t fair. Deal, kid.”

I was dealing all right. He had replaced his fingers with his dick. That good seven inches I felt earlier turned out to be thicker than I’d imagined.

“Goddamn. You’re tight.” He spat. Literally, I felt his spit dribble along the crack of my ass. He spit again and pulled out only to push back inside, faster and deeper.

“That’s it.”

Fuck yeah, that was it. I shoved toward him, as again, he pushed inside—backed out. More spit, another push. His fingers dug into the flesh at my hips. He stilled.

“What’s the matter?”

Without a reply, he reached around, grabbed a hold of me. I bent over farther, lowered my hands on the wall, pressed back until I felt my ass flush against him. I bucked; he stroked. The more I moved, the faster he pounded until— “Oh, fuck.”

He let go of my dick, gripped my hips, and rammed into me in a series of furious thrusts, letting out a throaty groan on an exhale as he let himself go. He rocked to a stop, leaned over me for a long minute. Against my back, his chest heaved, and in a rush of air, he said, “God-I-wanted-to-do-that-for-so-long.”

Come again? Had I heard him right? Had this man’s stare been the one I felt following my every move lately? Before I could dwell, he pulled out of me, spun me in his arms, and pressed me back to the wall with a fiery kiss. I reached down to pinch off his spent rubber.

He gasped, and I chuckled, flipping his heavy load into the dark oblivion. “All better now?” I asked.

He grabbed my dick, pulled quickly to the head, slower and tighter as he slid to the base. “You ain’t.”

No. No, I wasn’t, but I held out hope. He kissed me again, pulled away, his hand never slowing as he worked up a decent pace. I took a chance and brought my hands to his shoulders. All movement ceased. From the feel of things, I think he even held his breath.

“For fuck’s sake, let me touch you,” I begged, and he let me wrap my arms around him and pull him closer. He kissed me good and hard as I fucked his hand. “Jesus. I need more.”

Less than two seconds later, he dropped to his knees, and I thanked all that was holy as I gripped those rock-hard shoulders and let him take me over the edge...