All Chapters of Rough Hands(20 gay steamy Encounters): Chapter 101 - Chapter 110

He climbed up my body slowly, the oil on both of us making every slide of skin against skin slick and deliberate. His chest brushed mine as he settled his weight, the dark hair there dragging across my nipples until they tightened further. He kissed me again—deeper this time, almost claiming. His tongue pushed into my mouth and I opened for him immediately, sucking on it, tasting mint and the faint salt of my own arousal still on his lips from earlier. The kiss turned hungrier. He bit my lower lip hard enough to sting, then soothed it with the flat of his tongue while one of his knees forced my thighs wider apart on the table.I could feel the heavy heat of his cock against my stomach, thick and hard, already leaking again. A thin string of precome stretched and broke against my skin when he shifted.“I’m going to sit on your face,” he said against my mouth, voice low and rough. “And you’re going to eat my cock and my balls until I decide you’ve earned my fingers again. You’re going t

He gave me only a short moment to catch my breath before his hands were on me again. Strong fingers closed around my hips and rolled me onto my back. The ruined sheet stuck to my skin in places; he peeled it away without ceremony and tossed it aside. Cool air touched every wet, oversensitive inch of me. My legs felt heavy and loose. He pushed them apart and settled between them on his knees, looking down at the mess he had already made of my hole—swollen, shiny, still twitching faintly.“On your back,” he said, voice still rough from earlier. “Legs open. Wide. I want to see everything while I decide how to use you next.”I obeyed, spreading myself for him. He poured more oil into his palms, warmed it, and ran both hands up the insides of my thighs, spreading the warmth, thumbs brushing my outer rim without entering. The light contact made me hitch and try to lift my hips. He pressed them back down firmly.“Stay still. You’ve already come twice. You’re going to take whatever I give you

I never heard the door open.I was still buried inside her—some woman whose name I barely remembered from the bar two nights ago—when the bedroom door swung wider. The mattress dipped under my knees. Her legs were locked around my waist. I had one hand braced beside her head and the other gripping her hip hard enough to leave marks. The sheets smelled like my wife’s laundry detergent. That detail hit me a second too late.Marcus stood in the doorway.My wife’s father. Tall, still in his work shirt and dark trousers, jacket folded over one arm like he had just come from the office. His face was unreadable. No shock. No raised voice. Just a long, flat stare that moved from my bare back to the woman under me and back again.She froze first. Her nails dug into my shoulders. I pulled out too fast, scrambling sideways, grabbing for the sheet that had somehow ended up on the floor. My heart was slamming so hard I could hear it in my ears. The woman sat up, clutching the duvet to her chest, e

The first night passed in near-total silence.I sat on the couch for a long time after Marcus locked the spare-room door, listening to the wind move through the trees outside and the occasional creak of the cabin settling. My body still felt wrong—wired and hollow at the same time. The smell of the other woman clung to my skin no matter how many times I scrubbed my hands over my face. Every time I closed my eyes I saw the look on Marcus’s face when he opened that bedroom door: not rage, not even disgust. Just a flat, final assessment, like he had already decided exactly what I was worth.Eventually I stood and walked the short hallway. The spare-room door was locked from the outside, just as he had said. I tried the handle once, quietly. It didn’t move. I didn’t try again.There was a narrow bed, a single lamp, a small window that looked out into black trees. No curtains. I sat on the edge of the mattress and stared at the wall until the adrenaline finally burned itself out. Sleep, wh

He left me on my knees longer than I expected.The wood bit into my skin. My thighs burned. My cock stayed hard the entire time, flushed and leaking in slow, sticky drops onto the floor between my knees. Marcus finished his second cup of coffee in silence, watching me over the rim like I was a problem he had already solved. When he finally set the mug down, the soft sound felt like a signal.He stood and walked over. One hand settled on the top of my head again, heavy and certain.“Open your mouth.”I did. He unzipped slowly, the sound loud in the quiet cabin. He was already hard—thick, heavy, the head shiny. He didn’t ask. He simply guided himself between my lips and pushed in.The weight of him on my tongue was immediate. I tasted clean skin and salt. Marcus kept one hand in my hair and the other under my jaw, holding me exactly where he wanted. He pushed deeper in a slow, steady stroke until the head pressed the back of my throat. I gagged. He held me there for a second longer, the