Chapter 317: Chapter 317: The fallout

[Warning – Spice ahead]

One hand splayed across Chris’s stomach, holding him close, while the other trailed down, through the cleft of his ass.

Chris gasped, arching back. He was so slick, the sweet scent of him mixing with the steam. Dax’s fingers found his hole easily, circling the fluttering, desperate rim.

“So wet for me,” Dax said, his breath hot on Chris’s neck. “So ready. You want me to fuck you here? Against the wall?”

“Yes,” Chris begged, the word a broken sigh. “Dax, please.”

A low, approving growl was his only answer. Dax’s finger pressed inside him in one slow, relentless push. Chris cried out, his head falling back against Dax’s shoulder.

“More,” Chris whimpered, pushing back against the intrusion. “I need more.”

“Greedy,” Dax murmured into the damp skin of his neck, but there was only dark approval in his tone. He withdrew the finger, almost completely, making Chris gasp at the sudden emptiness, then pushed back in with two.

’Oh, fuck.’

Chris’s breath hitched, his fingers scrambling against the slick tile as Dax’s long fingers sank into him. They scissored gently, opening him up, and Chris could feel every ridge, every knuckle. The slide was effortless, aided by his own slick, the sweet scent of it now thick and heady in the steam.

Dax’s other hand splayed wider on Chris’s stomach, holding him firmly in place, a possessive grip. “Look at you,” he breathed, his lips brushing Chris’s ear. “Taking my fingers so easily. You’re dripping for it.”

He crooked his fingers, and a jolt of pure pleasure shot up Chris’s spine. He shouted, his body convulsing. Dax had found that spot, that perfect place inside him that made his vision blur and his legs shake. He did it again, a deliberate, rubbing pressure, and Chris sobbed, his cock jerking against his belly, leaking a stream of precum that was washed away by the spray.

“Please,” Chris begged, the word meaning everything and nothing. “My love, please, I can’t… I need you.”

Dax’s answering growl was pure hunger. He withdrew his fingers, and the empty, clenching ache was almost painful. Chris whined, pushing back against the solid wall of Dax’s body, seeking any friction.

He felt the blunt, massive head of Dax’s cock pressing against his slicked, fluttering entrance. Dax’s hand left his stomach, moving to his hip, gripping the bone hard enough to bruise. His other hand guided himself, the tip nudging, spreading Chris wider.

“Breathe,” Dax commanded, his voice a rough scrape.

Chris dragged in a shuddering, steam-filled breath. He braced his hands flat against the wall, his knuckles white. The first push was slow, relentless, and an inexorable invasion.

Chris cried out, a raw, torn sound, as the broadhead popped past his tight rim. The burn was intense, a sharp, stretching fullness that stole the air from his lungs. He was stretched so wide, so perfectly full, that thoughts stopped. He trembled violently, held up only by Dax’s iron grip and the wall.

“Shhh,” Dax soothed, but he didn’t stop. He pushed forward another inch, then another, a slow, devastating slide that filled Chris to the core. “That’s it. Take it. Take all of me.”

Chris could only gasp, his body adjusting, the initial burn melting into a deep, overwhelming pressure that bordered on pain but was utterly intoxicating. He could feel every inch, every vein, and the heat of Dax buried inside him. Dax was still, letting him feel it, letting the reality of their joining sear itself into Chris’s nerves.

Then, Dax began to move.

He withdrew, almost all the way, until just the head remained caught inside, then slammed back in with a force that drove Chris forward into the wall.

Chris screamed.

It wasn’t pain but pure sensation. The thick, hard length of him dragged against that perfect spot with every thrust, setting his entire body alight. Dax set a brutal, pounding rhythm from the start taking what was his. The slap of wet skin, the choked, desperate sounds Chris made and the guttural groans from Dax were a symphony of raw need.

Dax’s grip on his hip was a brand. His other hand came up, fisting in Chris’s hair, pulling his head back to expose his throat. Dax’s teeth grazed the scent gland, and Chris shuddered, a fresh flood of slick easing Dax’s relentless thrusts.

“You feel… incredible,” Dax grunted, his rhythm faltering for a second with the intensity of his own pleasure. “So tight. So wet. Made for this. Made for me.”

Chris couldn’t form words. He was a being of pure sensation. The hard tile against his chest and cheek. The unyielding body behind him. The thick cock that filled him touched him everywhere, dragging fire through his veins with every stroke. His own cock was trapped between his belly and the wall, leaking and untouched, the pressure building to a maddening peak with every deep, driving thrust.

Dax’s pace grew frantic, ragged. His breath was hot and fast on Chris’s neck. Chris could feel the base of his cock beginning to swell, the knot starting to form.

“I want to knot you,” Dax snarled, the words torn from him. “I want to lock you on my cock and fill you up util you forget how to walk.”

The filthy, possessive promise pushed Chris over the edge.

His climax crashed into him without warning, a convulsive, blinding wave that tore a scream from his throat. His body clenched violently around the massive intrusion, milking Dax’s cock as white-hot pleasure detonated through his core. He spilled against the wall, his release pulsing out in hot stripes, his vision whiting out as he shuddered and shook through the endless waves.

Dax growled above him, his thrusts turning into short, brutal slams as the swelling knot pushed against Chris’s stretched rim.

The knot popped inside, a final, shocking stretch that seated Dax to the hilt, locking them together. Dax’s hips jerked, buried to the root, and Chris felt the first hot, pulsing jet of his release deep inside. Dax’s whole body shuddered against his back, his teeth sinking into the meat of Chris’s shoulder.

They stayed like that, locked together, panting in the steam. The water beat down on them, washing the sweat from their skin, mixing with the evidence of Chris’s release on the tiles. Dax’s weight was heavy and comforting.

Dax’s hand gentled in his hair, stroking it back from his damp forehead. His lips brushed the bite mark on Chris’s nape. “Mine,” he breathed, the word barely audible over the stream of water.

Chris, boneless and utterly wrecked, could only manage a weak, shivering sigh of agreement. His body was a map of sensation, every nerve alight, the profound fullness a constant, heavy pleasure. He was caught, claimed, and completely, utterly sated.

The water began to run cool. Dax shifted, his softening cock still locked inside by the knot, and turned them carefully, his back now to the spray, cradling Chris against his chest. Chris went willingly, his limbs liquid, his head resting on Dax’s shoulder. He could feel the steady, strong heartbeat against his ear and the slow, deep breaths that moved the chest he was pressed against.

Dax’s hand swept down his spine, a slow, possessive caress. “Are you alright?” he rumbled, the words vibrating through Chris.

Chris nodded, nuzzling into his chest, inhaling the musky, satisfied scent of him. “More than alright.” His voice was a hoarse whisper.

Dax’s lips found his temple. “Good,” he murmured. Then, after a long moment of quiet, his voice dropped to a low, suggestive rumble. “When this goes down… I’m not done with you.”

“Of course not.”

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