Hitting The Spot

Liam

“Don’t tell me you’re going in there without any lube?” I blurted out before he could even try to push in.

Ronan arched a brow. “Do you have lube, then?”

“No,” I said, exasperated. “You don’t expect me to carry lube everywhere I go now, do you? Do you think I probably ask men around to fuck me or something?”

Ronan clenched his jaw, clearly irritated, and stood up without another word. He disappeared into the next room. A moment later, he returned with something in his hand.

Ronan clenched his jaw, clearly annoyed, and stood up. He walked off into the bathroom. A moment later, he returned holding a small bottle. My eyes widened.

“Is that… a lotion?” I asked.

“It’s going to work,” he muttered, striding back toward me, his cock still hanging hard between his thighs.

My breath caught as he got closer. I spread my legs wider, raising my hips slightly while he popped the cap and poured some of the lotion down the crack of my ass.

He still didn’t want to touch me much so I reached down myself, guiding it in, rubbing the slickness with a couple of fingers where it needed to be. I winced a little, but got myself ready.

“There. All set for you,” I whispered, looking up at him through my lashes.

He shot me a glare, but his eyes dropped, fixating on what I’d just done. He swallowed hard. Then, without a word, he grabbed my waist and held me firmly in place.

Fuck. His cock was right there, thick and close, and then—he started pushing in.

I gasped. I was tight. Too tight. It burned, it ached—but it didn’t stop him. He wasn’t going slow. And he definitely didn’t care that it hurt.

I clenched the sheets as he pushed in deeper, inch by slow inch, stretching me open. My breath hitched with every movement, the sting sharp but dulled by the heat flooding through me.

“Shit,” he muttered under his breath, his voice rough. “You’re… tight.”

“No kidding,” I bit out, trying to breathe through it. “Just… go slow.”

He didn’t answer. But his grip softened—just a little. His hips rolled forward, and I felt every deliberate motion. It was maddening—pain edged with pressure, with heat, with the sheer weight of him on top of me.

Ronan was trying not to look at me, trying to pretend this meant nothing. Just getting it done. Just getting off.

But I saw the way his jaw twitched when I moaned. The way his hands pressed harder into my thighs as he picked up his pace. Controlled. Commanding. Desperate not to lose himself.

My nails dug into the pillow, my body adjusting, finally meeting him thrust for thrust. The room was thick with sweat, tension, and the sound of skin meeting skin.

“Good, huh?” I managed to gasp, smirking through the sting.

He didn’t answer. Just leaned down, pressed a hand flat beside my head.

Then he muttered, “Shut up, Liam,” and drove in harder.

I felt everything—the heat, the pressure, every thick vein and ridge of him as he pushed deeper. Ronan was relentless, carving his way in like he owned my body. When he slammed into that one spot deep inside, my eyes rolled. Fuck— my vision even blurred, and my spine arched.

"Ronan..." I gasped, nails tearing into the couch. "Fuck—right there—"

"Shut the hell up," he growled, seizing my jaw tight, his fingers biting into my skin. "Don’t moan my fucking name."

My lips parted, breath ragged. "What—afraid you’ll come too fast?"

His eyes darkened. "Don’t piss me off, Liam," he warned, brows furrowed, jaw clenched. "Just keep quiet so we can end this already."

Then he drove forward again—harder, deeper. The thick head of his cock slammed against my prostate and I couldn’t stop the moan that tore out of me. I bit my lip to muffle the next one, but it was useless. The pleasure had its grip on me.

“Damn,” Ronan muttered, voice thick with disbelief as he shifted his angle and hit that spot again, watching me fall apart under him.

He smirked like he’d just figured something out and then asked, “Is this it?” He pulled back and slammed into that same spot again. “That’s the prostate?”

I cried out, arching beneath him.

I was drowning in the sensation—every brutal, deliberate thrust shaking through me like aftershocks. My legs trembled, breath catching with each push deeper.

Ronan’s face twisted with a mix of disbelief and raw pleasure, like he couldn’t quite process how good it felt to bottom out inside someone like me.

“Fuck… no wonder you bottoms are so damn loud,” he muttered, almost like it was a complaint—but the smirk that followed gave him away. He slammed in harder, watching my reaction with wicked amusement. “I thought that shit was exaggerated.”

Wet, obscene sounds echoed in the room as his hips drove forward again and again, burying every inch inside me. Then he hooked my legs over his shoulders, angling deeper—balls deep—and my back arched helplessly.

He shifted his angle again and—fuck—found my prostate. Again.

Why the hell was he so obsessed with hitting that spot like he was trying to ruin me?

His pace quickened, rougher now, each thrust punching a broken sound from my throat. At this point, I think I lost a quarter of my voice. Don’t ask me how that affected my voice—hell, I’m still trying to figure out how I didn’t scream the entire room down.