Free Long Time Gone (Hell or High Water ) by SE Jakes

as Prophet added another finger and twisted them before hitting his gland several times without giving Tom a chance to recover. His mouth fell open as the sensation of needing to come that fucking instant rushed through him.
    “Not yet, Tommy,” Prophet warned, wrapped his free hand around Tom’s cock and squeezed the base to quell any hope of an impending orgasm. “You’re going to have to find some patience.”
    “Maybe . . . you can let me . . . borrow . . . some of yours,” Tom managed, and for that, Prophet added a third finger and simultaneously bit his nipple, and then tugged at the nipple rod with his teeth. Tom lifted his hips to fuck Prophet’s fingers and within seconds, he’d almost lost control again.
    Their first time tonight had been about release and relief, almost an out-of-body experience, but this time, Tom had to say that—for once—the reality was just as good as the fantasy. Maybe even better, because there was no arm’s length between them. Tom had finally gotten through. Prophet was present and accounted for, staring right at Tom, daring him to notice.
    And Tom had fucking noticed everything. Because Prophet was all his. Tom would set about proving that he’d never thought any differently, despite his choices.
    Prophet stilled his fingers, then said, “I’m not, Tommy.”
    “Not . . . what?”
    “Pulling away. Just . . . not ready to go there.” He glanced over at the scar on his shoulder, then back at Tom. “But I’m here.”
    He was, gloriously here.
    It got wet and messy and urgent. Again. Tom was panting as Prophet replaced his fingers with his cock. When he was halfway in, Tom hooked his legs around the backs of Prophet’s thighs and pulled. Then groaned as his body fought to adjust.
    It didn’t take long before they were incoherent again. Everything vibrated around them as the storm picked up, and then the washing machine went into spin cycle and . . .
    “Holy fuck, Proph.” Tom was thankful the wind hid his near yell as Prophet laughed and continued thrusting inside of him, filling him as they both shook from the machine.
    But more than anything, Tom loved watching Prophet during sex. It was like the man was surrendering to the act, forcing Tommy to do so as well. There was no choice, and the slow buildup of the climax curled his belly, tightened his balls until he shot between them like the orgasm had been yanked from him.
    Prophet came several moments later, just as Tom was recovering, pulling him into a dry climax, because the man’s orgasms were a whirlwind that caught him up, slammed through him like a fucking tornado, and left him weak, out of breath, and not sure where the fuck he was.
    It was awesome.
    “Holy fuck,” he muttered when he had the power of speech again. “Never doing laundry without this again.”
    Prophet laughed weakly against his ear.
    Tom shuddered. “Are we just going to keep having sex so we can avoid talking about what we need to talk about?” Prophet pulled back and looked between Tom’s legs. “What?”
    “Just checking to make sure you still have a dick.”
    “Same one that fucked you through the wall while you begged for it,” Tom pointed out, and Prophet’s eyes grew heavy lidded with lust again. “You’re so easy, Proph.”
    “For you.”
    There was so much goddamned meaning behind those two little words, and the way Prophet said them, with a slight catch in his voice . . . those two words said everything else he couldn’t.
    Tom swallowed hard and tried to convey the same sentiment when he simply told Prophet, “Me too.”
    And then Prophet smiled mischievously. “Can we fuck again so we don’t have to talk? Because technically, what we just did counts.”
    Tom laughed. “No, it doesn’t. But we can fuck anyway.”

It was more of a mutual handjob, with Tom on top of the dryer this time, still wrapped around Prophet, and it seemed to wring everything out of them. After a while, though, their skin began sticking