One of his legs slipped, held in mid-air. “Oops,” John said, amusement threaded like flute-sparkles into his tone. “Lost some focus, there. You’re a bit distracting. Here, I’ve got you…” And the secret silk bonds gathered Sam up again and kept him in place, carrying him deeper into the rich flowing orchestra of sounds and touches and nearness.
John slid the fingers out, and moved—all at once, fluid, swift. His c**k, large and blunt, pushed against Sam’s body. “Feel that? Me. About to f**k you.”
Sam moaned dazedly. He might’ve made words; they might’ve been yes, and want, and John’s name. He was made of want, liquid with it.
John pushed into him. And it was so much, so hard, so hot. John’s c**k was the largest Sam had ever felt, or perhaps it only felt so because this was the most he had
