CATALYST

DAVID

        This was it. No turning back.

      Not that I wanted to. All my inhibitions were gone, annihilated by my physical need to have this man. To take him. To know, once and for all.

      I could barely contain myself as I tore open the condom packet and eased it over my aching cock. My fingers shook. It was a different kind of excitement than I'd ever felt—a storming, swirling mass of nerves, desire, anticipation, fear, hope, dread, greed, thrill. And at the center of it all, the eye of the storm, was my awareness of him. Travis. It wasn't only that I wanted the answer to a question. I wanted him.

      After coming home from Joleen's, I'd tried to numb myself with whiskey—would I never fucking learn—and forget the feelings I'd had watching him flirt with those women. But it was no use. I knew it was no use the moment I heard his key in the lock. I knew what I was going to do the moment I saw him from where I sat in the lonely dark. I just hoped he'd have the good sense to stop me.

      But he hadn't. And the more we kissed and touched and struggled against what I finally saw as the inevitable conclusion of such passion, the more I wanted to surrender to it.

      So I had—I shed every last doubt and let my deepest instincts take over. And now I was being rewarded for it.

      His body beneath mine. His cock in my mouth. His cum down my throat. His tight, hot ass grinding against my fingers. His hand on his dick.

      Easy, easy now.

      My heart was pounding. I couldn't breathe. Travis's sweet, low voice in the dark was like a secret I wanted to keep forever.

       He closed his eyes, his expression tense and his breaths deep and measured as I gently pushed the tip of my cock inside him.

      I couldn't talk. I didn't even have sentences in my head—just words that jumbled together as my brain tried to process what I was feeling as I slid deeper, inch by inch. Fuck. Yes. Hot. Tight. This. More. Want.

      When I was buried inside him, I fell forward, bracing myself above him, my lips an inch from his. I closed my eyes. "Sweet Jesus."

      He wrapped his arms and legs around me. "Does it feel good?"

      I swallowed, afraid to move, because I knew I would come in two thrusts. "Yes."

       He kissed me, his tongue teasing between my lips. "I want this to be everything you imagined."

      But I hadn't imagined anything even close to this.

      Slowly, with control that shocked me, I began to roll my hips, easing in and out of that unbelievable heat. He moaned against my lips, and I loved the sound of it so much, I moved a little faster, a little harder, just so he'd do it again. It's so good, so fucking good. I'd never felt anything like it.

      "You're perfect," he whispered, "so fucking perfect."

      It was all perfect, every single thing—his legs around me, his hands on my back, his breath on my lips. It made me feel close to him. Like what we were doing wasn't just about sex—it was about us. I lifted my head up slightly to see his face, and our eyes locked. Fuck. Right then, I understood why he'd come so quickly in the living room when I'd looked up at him. There was something so intimate, so powerful, so blistering hot about eye contact in a moment like that. It was more than contact. It was connection, and it was intense.

        My body reacted, moving faster and harder and deeper until I was bucking wildly over him, every brutal thrust punctuated with a sound from the back of my throat and the slap of skin on skin. I grabbed the headboard, almost desperately, as if I needed to hold on. He brought a hand back to his cock and jerked himself as unrestrainedly as I was fucking him, all the muscles in his arm and abs and chest flexing, his legs tightening around me. It's everything I'd always wanted sex to be—sweaty and hard and rough and animalistic and fuck, fuck, I'm going to come and then it was the sight of him losing control beneath me that finally pushed me over.