The Quarterback's Roommate
He worked me open — slow, deliberate, adding a third when I started pushing back greedily, edging me mercilessly until I was trembling, babbling broken pleas, tears of frustration pricking.
Only then did he withdraw.
Unzipped with a slow rasp.
Lined up.
Pushed in — slow, deep, filling me inch by thick inch.
I moaned — low, broken.
He stilled — letting me feel every inch, the stretch, the heat.
Then he moved — long, slow rolls.
Deep.
Deliberate.
Every thrust dragging against that spot.
Hand wrapped around my cock — stroking in perfect time.
But every time I tensed, breath hitching — he slowed.