Frog by Mary Calmes (read along books TXT) 📗

a drugging effect on Cyrus Benning. I melted him, and he did the same to me.

“You could undo your belt and them jeans, slip down your underwear, and bury your dick in my throat. Whaddya say?”

“I… you… I’m going with you when you leave, Web, make no mistake. I don’t want to live like I have. I’m miserable without you, and I won’t go back. I won’t.”

Why would I argue… why? Well, I would, but later… much later. Not now, not when he had lifted to his knees, releasing my arms from being pinned, and was unbuckling his belt and shucking out of his jeans like his life depended on it.

I pushed him off me and came down on top of him, feeling his hard cock pressed between us, hearing his loud, hoarse moan, and loving the scramble of his hands over my chest as he reached for me. The man was frantic to get a hold of me.

“Now it’s my turn to fill you up, Dr. Benning,” I told him, pulling off his other shoe and yanking his jeans over the long, sculpted legs. “And I ain’t using no rubber.”

He bowed up off the bed and ordered me to hurry in a voice that I had never heard before.

“Cy?” I smiled at him.

“Oh God, Weber, move! Get the fucking lube!”

No one ever wanted me the way he did, and for a second, before he screamed my name, I wondered if planning on leaving made me the stupidest man on the planet. But when I leaned back to him, lube in hand, he walked his sock covered feet up my chest, levering up off the bed, flipped back like he was doing one of those bicycle kicks in soccer, and held the pose. The only part of him touching the mattress were his shoulders, his pink puckered hole right there for me. All I had to do was bend forward and taste it. I put a hand behind his thigh to help with his balance before I ran my tongue over his crease.

“Weber!”

“Love how you yell my name, Cy, fuckin’ love it.”

“Please, Web,” his voice cracked with the strain.

Normally, I stretched him, licked him, prepared him, and made sure he was ready for my dick.

“Just fuck me!”

Tonight it wasn’t what he wanted. Sometimes he liked it rough. He liked me to use him and pound him and make him scream. He had missed me badly.

I shoved my jeans and briefs down together, slicked my hard, leaking cock with lube, smeared some between his cheeks, spread them, and shoved my way inside his quivering hole. His body arched against mine as I drove in to the hilt.

“Fuck!”

His thighs were shaking as I folded him in half, bent over him so his legs slid over my shoulders, and thrust hard and deep.

“Jesus, Cy, you’re so fuckin’ tight.”

“Web… Weber,” he rasped, eyes locked on mine.

I had never been inside of him without a condom. “You feel so good. God, so good.”

His harsh whimper tore through me, his arms flung out at his sides trying to hold on, fisted in the comforter, and all the time begging for me to fill him up. The chanting was an endless litany of pleading.

“Grab your cock,” I growled at him.

“Don’t have to…. Going to come with you just being inside…. All I need.”

True to his word, as I plunged into him, hammering, pegging his gland, making him cry out with every stroke, he came over my abdomen, his muscles clenching on my shaft like a vise, fisting so tight I roared his name. We were loud, and it was a gift that we could be, that we were safe in his house and could be however we wanted.

I emptied inside of him, flooding his spasming tunnel, knowing it was coating him inside, spreading everywhere.

“Only you, Web,” he whispered. “You’re the only one who gets this. Ever.”

Ever.

The man was mine.

Heart, body, soul. All mine.

I was such an idiot.

“Stop thinking,” he yelled at me, holding up his arms. “Kiss me. I wanna feel your heart beating.”

I eased his legs down gently and started to lean back, to slide free.

“Don’t. I need… closer.”

And I knew what he wanted, to be inside my skin, but I didn’t say anything, just rolled forward and wrapped him in my arms, skin to skin, lips locked together as I kissed him, taking his breath, his moan, everything.

I had never been held so tight.

Chapter Five

ITWASreally very simple. If I stayed and got a job working as a manual laborer or cashiering at Home Depot or learned a skill like being a barista, I would no longer be the man that Dr. Cyrus Benning found so alluring. I was a bull rider and, barring that, a cowboy. It was not romantic in real life, but to some people it was. Cy fell into that category. If I stuck around, I would lose my luster, and he would tire of me.

If he left his life to follow me, he would hate me for what I let him give up. His reputation, his network of colleagues and friends, the amenities his life afforded him, and most of all, his family. It was not a choice he could make.

As I drove toward the hospital the following Monday morning, I told myself for the millionth time that I would leave when it was time, and hopefully, once I was settled, Cyrus Benning would come and see me if he had not, in the meantime, replaced me. The thing was though, a man like that—the pick of the litter—expecting him to remain unclaimed was just plain stupid.

After we parked in the garage, I led the three little boys to the information desk and asked where surgery was. We rode the elevator up five floors, found the nurses’ station, and I asked one of the women there to page Dr. Benning.

“Do you have a family member that’s a patient here?”

“No, ma’am.”

“Are you being admitted?”

“Oh no.” I smiled at her.