Free From Morocco to Paris by Lydia Nyx Page B

kept one anxious eye on the road.
    “We’ll make do,” Davey answered. He paused, gathered saliva in his mouth, and spit into his palm. He slicked the spit along the length of Zane’s cock and Zane moaned, thighs tensing.
    “I told you, I don’t have a -- “
    “It’s all right,” Davey murmured. “I’m completely clean. And ready.” He braced his hands on Zane’s shoulders. “Been ready.”
    Zane thought he would come as soon as Davey started easing down on him. Zane felt some resistance at first, but with a bit of rocking and shifting on Davey’s part, Zane’s cock was soon buried deep inside. For the first time, no thin layer of rubber separated him from Davey’s slick inner heat. Davey moaned, a sound of relief, and slipped a hand down to stroke himself between them.
    “How’s that feel?” Davey whispered, their foreheads close together.
    Zane gripped his hips as Davey lifted, then pushed back down.
    “Fucking incredible,” Zane answered, mind and vision blurring with pleasure. “Oh God. Not gonna last long.”
    Davey started working his hips, slowly, in long, drawn-out movements, sending waves of heat and pleasure straight into Zane’s stomach and down his thighs.
    “You like fucking me?” Davey murmured, the tip of his nose brushing Zane’s cheek. “Tell me how much you like fucking me.”
    Zane wasn’t sure he could speak. Somewhere he found the words, though brief and nondescript. “I do.”
    Davey started moving a bit faster, bouncing, their sweaty skin making slapping sounds.
    “Do I have a nice tight ass?” Davey asked. “Tell me how tight my ass is. Tell me how good it feels.”
    Zane didn’t have the presence of mind to voice yes, he found his ass exquisite. Instead he moaned and jerked his hips up, frantic for more sensation. Davey sat back, gazing down at him, still stroking himself. His hair stuck to his cheeks and forehead, almost completely out of the ponytail now and tumbled on his shoulders. Sweat glistened on his flushed neck and in the hollow of his throat. His nipples poked darkly against his tank top. Zane leaned forward, and latched onto one with his mouth, and sucked the hard little bud, Davey’s shirt wet with sweat and gritty from the dust. Davey moaned. Zane licked the fabric over the stiff peak.
    From somewhere deep inside, Zane’s voice rushed out. “Fuck, I love how fucking sexual you are.” Indeed, Davey rose above him like a god, a beautiful deity of the desert, potent and powerful, made of dry, heated winds of desire and sparkling dust. Zane slid his hands around and gripped the firm swell of his ass. “I love fucking your tight ass.”
    “Oh fuck, Zane.” Davey shuddered.
    Davey rode him hard. The Jeep rocked with their movements, the objects in the back thudding and clattering. The wind roared in Zane’s ears.
    Zane screamed when he came, arching beneath Davey’s body, emptying into him so hard his vision went gray at the edges. Davey cried out, or maybe Zane only heard the wailing of the wind around the Jeep as both seemed one in the same. When Zane came to his senses, Davey was slumped over him panting, the evidence of his orgasm sticky on Zane’s stomach. They drifted in a sea of sweat, and heat, and post-coital bliss. Zane wondered how Davey felt, having Zane come, unprotected inside him for the first time. He almost wanted to ask.
    They only sat for a few minutes before the heat became too much, sweat pooling thickly in Zane’s groin and on the seat beneath him. Davey climbed off and got back in the front seat. He located Zane’s canteen beneath the driver seat, took off the cap, and dumped the water over his head, down his front, across his stomach, even over his cock. The tank top clung to him, transparent over his nipples. Water droplets glistened in his pubic hair.
    “Good idea,” Zane said. “Give me the rest.”
    Davey handed the canteen over and Zane did the same with the remaining water.
    Davey drove back to the road, tank top