What I Needed
Zack’s POV
By Tuesday, I was done wondering. I wanted to know.
I’d pushed Simon pretty hard the last time we were together. Harder than I usually would with someone I care about, and someone still figuring himself out. He had let me fuck him, let me take his virginity in the same moment. It was a lot.
I imagined him replaying it. Questioning it. Questioning himself. Trying to fit it into the version of his life he thought he had. I could see him turning it over in his head a hundred times, feeling that mix of want and resistance I’d seen in him since the start.
I had told myself to give him space. To let him settle. To see if he reached out on his own. But, three days was enough. I wanted to know where his head was. How he was doing.
I picked up my phone to shoot him a text.
Zack: Hey… how’s your week going?
No pressure. Just an opening.
I didn’t hang around staring at the screen. I grabbed my bag and hit the gym instead.
Heavy chest and arms — slow, controlled reps. I wanted to feel the pump in every breath. By the last set, my pecs were tight, my triceps aching, veins running high along my arms and across my chest. Sweat rolled down my back. I racked the weight and sat there for a second, catching my breath, picturing him seeing me like this.
When I left the weight floor, my phone was still quiet — but I could see he’d read my message.
I could imagine him at home — staring at my name, fingers hovering. Typing something, deleting it. Running through the questions he’d never send: When am I seeing you again? Was that a one-time thing? Did it mean anything to you?
I showered, letting the heat work into my shoulders, rinsing away the salt from the workout. Still nothing when I checked my phone in the locker room. I got dressed, headed home.
As I opened the door to my apartment, I heard the chime.
There it was.
Simon: Busy. You?
Short and guarded. But still engaged. Encouraging.
Zack: I’m free tonight. You want to get dinner and hang?
A pause.
Simon: Yeah, that works.
Zack: I’ll bring food to yours. See you around seven.
I set the phone down, a slow smile pulling at my mouth. This was the right play. I’d given him space, now I’d given him a nudge. He’d let me back in, and I wasn’t about to waste it.
I could picture him now—restless, overthinking, trying to decide what this meant. That’s okay. Let him. I’d take care of the rest.
I went to the closet, already knowing what I’d wear. What he’d see first when he opened the door in a few hours. An outfit that would take his breath and grab him by the balls.
~~~~~~
Simon’s PoV
And just like that, Zack was coming to my place. For dinner.
I exhaled. Tried not to read too much into it. But the knot in my chest loosened just enough. He was still in this. Now I had to be sure what that meant for me.
I wasn’t pining, but I wasn’t myself either. Being with Zack had scrambled something in me. It hadn’t just felt good—though that would’ve been enough—it had felt inevitable. Like he’d seen exactly what I needed and delivered it sure of himself, effortlessly. And that was the hardest part to stop feeling.
I told my boss I had to leave early — personal emergency.
I went straight home. Picked up the living room. Tidied the kitchen. Wiped down the counters twice. Opened the fridge even though I knew he was bringing food. Went to my room and changed the sheets. Back in the living, I turned on the TV for background noise but didn’t watch.
By 6:45, I’d showered, shaved, and I was pacing.
At 6:58, I sat down. Tried to act normal. Like this wasn’t a big deal. Like I wasn’t counting down the minutes.
By 7:03, I was watching the clock.
At 7:05, two sharp raps. Firm. Certain.
My chest tightened. I headed for the door.
Zack stood there, casual as ever, with a six-pack tucked under one arm and a bag of takeout in the other. He didn’t say anything at first.
He looked like he’d stepped out of a magazine spread. The short-sleeved floral shirt clung across his chest and shoulders. The first three buttons were undone, enough to show the deep cut between his pecs and the heavy silver chain resting there, bright against his tan. The fabric stretched when he moved, tracing the shape of his arms, the round curve of his delts. He was pumped, veins standing out.
Below, the light-colored stretch shorts gripped his thighs, the cuff stopping just high enough to show the full sweep of muscle. They molded to him without apology, the material pulling slightly over the shape of his quads and the curve of his glutes.
The outfit hadn’t just been chosen, but deployed—every line, every pull of fabric intended to make me stare. And yet, it didn’t feel like he was performing. This was just how Zack filled a doorway. And with him standing there, something eased in me. A shift. Like the last few days had been off balance, and now things were quietly setting back in place. Like some part of me had been waiting without knowing it.
Just him. His presence. That unbearable calm.
“Hey,” he said finally. His tone was light and friendly. “Hope you’re hungry.”
He brushed past me as he stepped inside, his arm grazing my shoulder, the faint scent of him trailing behind. I shut the door behind him, slower than I meant to, still catching up.
He didn’t wait to proceed straight into the kitchen like he owned the place. He remembered the way. I arrived behind him as the food landed on the counter. The beer followed with a thud. Then he turned to face me.
I hadn’t realized I was still staring.
His smirk gave me away, subtle yet deliberate. He hooked a thumb under the collar of his shirt, tugging it just enough to make his chest flex beneath the fabric. “I can practically feel you undressing me with your eyes,” he said. “You know the shirt’s coming off eventually… unless you’d rather it happen now?”
Heat surged in my face. Not embarrassment, more the shock of how badly I wanted it. How it was becoming easier to admit that now.
He let the moment stretch, then added, “Too much?” His tone was teasing, but the question wasn’t a joke.
He knew exactly what he was doing. The way the shirt clung to his chest. The heat rising off his skin. The way his arms looked braced, like he wasn’t going anywhere.
I laughed, too quickly. “You always walk in like this?”
His smirk deepened. “Only when I know it will get results.”
Then he took a step closer.“You gonna make it through the meal,” he said, voice quieter now, “or is this one of those ‘skip to dessert’ situations?”
My throat tightened. I didn’t trust my voice, so I didn’t answer. And he didn’t push. He just stayed there, close enough to be felt. Just radiating heat and confidence.
And in that moment, I understood. It wasn’t just the sex I’d been thinking about all week. It was the way I felt around him. Frazzled… but seen. Like something in me unraveled the second he looked at me like I was already coming apart and he was just watching it happen..
He turned away, sauntering toward the fridge like this was his kitchen. His shirt clung when he moved—across his back, over his shoulders, tight enough that I could see the shape of every muscle shifting underneath.
I was already responding to Zack. The flush in my chest, the ache low in my stomach, the hard edge pressing already against the inside of my jeans. All from him walking 15 feet from the front door. All from being here.
It was embarrassing. How fast it hit. How hard my body responded to him without thought.
I wasn’t thinking about dinner. Or answers. I was thinking about how he looked, how smelled. How he moved. And how much I wanted him to pin me somewhere and remind me how it felt to be under him.
~~~~~~
We sat across from each other at my table, the takeout containers open between us. He’d brought Thai, and now the whole room smelled like comfort. Zack cracked open a beer, handed me one, and asked how my week was going.
I gave him an easy answer. A story from work that made him smirk. One of those harmless nothings you say to fill time. He nodded, said something about classes and finishing early at the gym. Nothing special. Just two guys sharing a meal on a Tuesday night.
It should’ve felt easier. More normal. But all I could think about was the last time we were alone. The way he had touched me. The way I let him, the way I’d wanted him to. My body still remembered it in ways I didn’t know how to articulate.
A pause followed—not awkward, not really. Just… thinner than it should’ve been. Zack sipped his beer, relaxed, completely at home in the silence. I envied that. The way he could sit still without needing to fill the air. I, on the other hand, couldn’t stop my fingers from curling under the edge of the table. Couldn’t stop my pulse from ticking upward for no good reason.
He looked over at me. Calm. Watchful. Not expecting anything, not offering anything. Just... there. It occurred to me how different we were in that moment. How easily he wore quiet. How loud it felt inside my head by contrast.
~~~~~~
Dinner was almost gone. Zack sat across from me at the table, leaning back in his chair, one hand wrapped around his beer. He wasn’t talking much, just letting the conversation coast, but his eyes stayed on me whenever I looked up. I held the look for a beat, felt the pull, then broke it before it got harder to.
It still felt strange, sitting here with him after all these years. Back then, he’d been a lean, restless kid with too much energy and a half-cocked grin. Now he filled the space without even trying—bigger, steadier, more deliberate in everything he did. Even the way he moved felt intentional. And me? I’d traded easy confidence for something tighter, more cautious. I didn’t know if he noticed that change in me the same way I noticed it in him, but it was there between us, shaping every glance, every pause.
I needed to say something—anything—to break the stillness before it swallowed me. But not just filler. I wanted him to give me something real, the way he had last time, without words. Something that wasn’t about the food in front of us or the clock on the wall.
“So tell me… when people look at you, do you think they actually see you? Or just the surface?”
He didn’t need to think about that one, he answered immediately.
“Sometimes,” he said, voice low. “Depends who’s looking.”
It wasn’t a dodge. Neither was it revealing. It was just enough of an answer without giving anything away. And maybe that was the part I hadn’t expected. He wasn’t going to lead me there. If I wanted something deeper, I would have to take the first step.
And now, he was watching, waiting to see if I’d take the chance.
I sat in it for a beat, glanced away. Let the pause hang there, my pulse in my throat. Then, almost against my better judgment, I looked back at him—slowly. “Can I ask you something kind of personal?”
He didn’t answer right away. Just started to grin, slow and easy, like he liked where this was going.
“You can ask me anything,” he said.
And just like that, a quiet tilt. Like something between us had clicked into place, drawing me closer. I felt it in my chest, a quick jolt, like I’d done something right. Like I’d stepped into something bigger than I’d meant to… and he was meeting me there.
I wondered if I was crazy for wanting more.
“What’s it like,” I said before I could overthink it, “knowing people notice you the second you walk in? The size, the way you fill out a shirt…” My eyes flicked to his arm before I could stop them. “Do you think about it?”
He looked down at his arm like he was checking it over, then flexed it just enough for the sleeve to strain. “Do you think about it?” he asked, running his hand back through his hair.
My gaze followed before I could stop it, and that slow grin told me he knew exactly what he was doing. The arm, the movement, I was falling for it. He was making me aware of just how distracting he could be.
“Is that why you said yes tonight?” he asked, voice low. “Because you were missing the guns?”
Heat crawled up my neck. “That’s not it.”
“Oh no?” His grin deepened.
I couldn’t answer. Not while he ran his hand through his hair again, daring me to say he was wrong. I looked down, grinned sheepishly, and muttered, “Whatever.”
He let it go with a shrug, took another sip of his beer, then pushed his chair back. “Let’s get comfortable.”
He didn’t wait for me to agree, just moved toward the sofa, beer in hand. I hesitated, then followed. Close enough to feel the heat coming off him before I even sat.
Zack glanced at the gap I’d left, then closed it, hooking an arm around my shoulders and pulling me in. His hand landed heavy and warm on my far shoulder, holding me there. My hip brushed his thigh, the breadth of his lat pressing into my side, the curve of his bicep firm behind my neck.
Heat rolled off him, the weight of his arm settling me in place. My chest lifted against him, my focus narrowing to the steady rhythm of his breathing and the sharper awareness of how much I liked being there.
“So, do you think you can be serious for a minute… and not flex anything?” I asked.
I felt him look down at me. “You like when I flex.” He tensed his arm around me.
I playfully slapped his massive bare quad. “I’m serious, Zack. I’ve got questions for you.”
That slow grin spread across his face. “Ask away.”
I hesitated, pulse kicking from the way he’d worked me over without even trying. “Alright… what’s it like, being into guys and girls?”
He leaned back slightly, eyes still on me. “Depends on the guy. Depends on the girl.”His arm drew me in another fraction. “So… why do you want to know?”
I looked away for a second, then back at him. “Curious, I guess.”
The smirk deepened, like that was all the explanation he needed. “Curious about me, or about the idea?”
The question landed in my chest. “Both?”
He smirked faintly, like that was the answer he’d been expecting. “So what is it you’re curious about, exactly? My type? About my past? Or just whether it would feel the same if I kept showing up?”
My mouth went dry. The way he’d said it — like showing up was already a given — landed harder than anything else. Was that what he was getting at? That this wasn’t just tonight? That the weight of his arm around me might not go away?
“Maybe all of it,” I said softly.
“Maybe?” His tone made it clear he didn’t buy the dodge. “Tell me what’s really going on in there.”
I hesitated. “I don’t know anyone like you. You… get in people’s heads.”
One eyebrow lifted. “People?”
I gave a weak smile. “Mine, anyway.”
He looked at me carefully, like this was getting interesting to him. “So that’s it? I get in your head?”
“So… I was trying to get at this earlier… do people always react to you differently?”
“Differently?”
He tilted his head, eyes narrowing with amusement. “Careful,” he said. “All this curiosity might get you in trouble.”
I swallowed. “I think I’m already there.”
That made him smile.
“I’m just—” I cut myself off, then gave a soft, self-conscious laugh. “Never mind… don’t deflect. Just answer.”
His smile deepened.
“Do people always react to you?” I asked again.
He leaned back slightly, arm still heavy across my shoulders. “Like what?”
“Like you shift the gravity in the room.”
Zack tilted his head, as if he hadn’t expected that. Then smirked. “You think I walk in and bend the laws of physics?”
“Don’t play dumb,” I said, trying to ignore how fast my heart was racing. “You know exactly what I mean.”
“You know people get nervous around you, right?” I asked, trying to sound casual.
Zack tilted his head, that smirk still there. “People, huh? Or are we talking about one person in particular?”
I rolled my eyes and swatted his chest, more of a push than a slap, but firm enough that my fingers lingered on the stretch of his pec. “Answer the question.”
He didn’t flinch. Just looked at me with that quiet calm, the one that always made me feel like I was already behind. “Yeah,” he said eventually. “I know how people react. Some people. Doesn’t take much to read it.”
I nodded slowly. “Do you do it on purpose?”
There was a pause. The air thickened. His fingers moved—slow and deliberate—stroking the inside of my thigh, just once, like a reminder. “Not always,” he said. “But sometimes… yeah. I lean into it. I did with you.”
I swallowed and tried to hold his gaze.
“Do you think that’s fair?” I asked.
He smirked. “You think it’s fair that taking my shirt off scrambles your brain?”
I scoffed, but it came out softer than I meant. “That’s different.”
“Is it?” he asked, giving my thigh a little squeeze. “Feels like the same thing to me.”
I didn’t answer right away. He waited—still, grounded, patient. Then his arm curled tighter around my shoulders, drawing me closer against the solid warmth of his chest.
“I think I get it,” I murmured.
“That’s not what I asked.”
I hesitated. Then nodded. “Okay. Yeah. It’s the same.”
His grin deepened.
A few seconds passed. His hand stayed at my thigh, warm and steady. My chest felt tight, not in a bad way—more like something had cracked open.
He looked down at me, not teasing now. “Tell me something.”
My chest tightened. “What?”
His voice stayed low. “How do I make you feel?”
The question landed deep. Not playful. Just sincere, and too direct to dodge.
My mouth opened, then closed again. I looked away, focused on the stretch of the shirt over his chest. The way it clung to the line between pec and delt. Like watching it might help me speak.
“I don’t…” I exhaled. “I don’t know how to answer that.”
“Try,” he said, softer now.
My fingers had drifted across his stomach without meaning to, pressing lightly into the soft cotton stretched over him. I felt the heat beneath, the slow rise and fall of his breath.
“You throw me off. Not just tonight. It’s been since the beginning. Like all my usual thoughts just… scatter when you’re around.”
He didn’t speak, but his arm shifted behind me, wrapping more fully, pulling me tight to him.
I kept going, quieter now. “I’m still me. I know who I am. But around you, it’s like… You don’t even need to try… like my thoughts just…fall apart when you’re around.”
I felt his eyes on me—quiet, steady.
“You…” I started, then paused, heat prickling at my collarbone. “You mess with my head. Uh… I mean, not in a bad way. But I mean, I’m 28 years old. And yet, when you’re around, I forget who I’m supposed to be…”
That last part stuck in my throat. I didn’t mean to say it. But it came out anyway.
“It’s like I’ve got this whole version of myself I’ve learned how to be. Cautious, careful. In control.” I gave a short breath of a laugh. “And then you show up, and it’s like none of that fits anymore.”
The words stuck for a beat.
“I second-guess everything. What I say. My sexuality. Whether I should even be sitting this close. But I don’t want to pull away.”
My chest tightened. “That’s the part I don’t get. I should want to bolt. But I don’t.”
Then I felt it, the brush of his cheek against mine, the soft graze of his stubble as he nuzzled gently beside my ear.
“Thanks for saying that,” he murmured, voice low. “You’re better than you give yourself credit for, Simon. Way better.”
My eyes burned. I nodded, not trusting myself to speak.
And then I felt it again—that thing he did without effort. The way he soothed my angst. Not by fixing it. Not with words. Just by being there.
And for once, I let myself lean in.
~~~~~~
We’d been sitting in silence for a few minutes, the air between us steady and warm. Zack’s arm was still around me, his breathing slow against my side. Then he reached down, took my hand, and set it on his chest. The heat of him seeped into my palm.
“Go ahead,” he murmured.
I hesitated, then slipped the first button of his shirt free. Then another. And another. My fingertips grazed the thick curve of his pec as the fabric fell open, tracing down the ridges of his abs, the skin hot and smooth under my touch. He didn’t move, just watched me work, eyes half-lidded.
When I reached his waistband, my hand stilled. That slow grin of his appeared.
“Your turn,” he said quietly. “Stand up.”
My heart kicked. I rose, my legs unsure under me, and reached for the hem of my shirt. My fingers fumbled the first second. I pulled it up over my head, trying to stay composed, but the fabric caught at my shoulders before falling free. I dropped it by my feet and looked down at him, wondering what came next.
Zack’s eyes swept over me, slow and deliberate. His stare pinned me. He paused at my chest, then my stomach, then gave the faintest nod toward my waistband.
“Keep going… all the way.”
A beat passed as he pulled off his shirt.
I popped the button, slid the zipper down, and hooked my thumbs under the waistband. I pushed my shorts down over my hips. My cock sprang free, flushed and hard, already leaking. I stepped out of them, naked now, fully exposed. And for a moment, I didn’t know what to do with my hands.
Then I looked up.
It wasn’t the first time he’d seen me like this. But it felt different now. More intimate than last time.
I might have felt small standing there, undersized next to the carved statue in front of me, but his eyes never left mine. What I saw in them made everything else fade — heat, hunger, like I was exactly what he wanted.
And that made me feel so awesome.
Zack’s hand lifted, and then he patted his thighs. “Come here.”
I moved forward and climbed onto his lap, straddling him with care. My knees settled against the couch, thighs parted, my cock settling against the hard plane of his abs. Just that touch had me pulsing.
I gasped. His abs were right there, solid and unyielding against my hardon. Every ridge flexed as I adjusted my weight, and my cock throbbed on contact, leaving a glistening trail across the tight grooves of his core.
Zack smirked. Like he’d pictured this moment and was savoring how perfectly it was playing out. Then he shifted slightly, tightened his core, and flexed again, slow and exact.
I moaned. My hips bucked forward without meaning to.
Then he rolled them. A slow wave. Controlled. Intimate.
“Zack—” I gasped, voice cracking.
He did it again, and my entire body answered. My thighs clenched. My chest shook. I buried my face in the crook of his neck and whispered, “You’re gonna make me—”
His hand came up, grazing my side. I flinched from the heat of it, but he moved with purpose—traced the faint outline of my pec, palm wide and warm, until his thumb brushed lazily over my nipple.
Then lower. His hand glided over my ribs and across my defined arm, pausing where the muscle tensed as I gripped his shoulder. His fingers pressed in, not hard, just enough to make me feel it.
I looked down, breath catching. His other hand—broad, rough-skinned—stayed mapped across my chest, grounding me. Reverent.
Then he looked up, locked eyes with me, and pulled me in.
The kiss landed hard.
His mouth pressed to mine, claiming—tongue teasing at the edge of my lip before diving deeper. I kissed back with everything I had, grinding down against him, trembling, gasping through my nose.
My cock slid between the ridges of his abs, slick with precum, riding the tight valley of his core. Every shift of his body made me cry out against his mouth. I was barely hanging on.
Then he broke the kiss just enough to murmur, “You’re right there, huh?”
I nodded, desperate. “I can’t—I—”
Zack’s hand tightened on my waist. He looked up, locked eyes with me.
“That ache in your balls? That’s all me.”
To make his point, Zack rolled his abs again—slow and strong, perfectly timed.
And I came. Hard.
My whole body locked, grinding against him, cock throbbing as I spilled across his abs. I couldn’t breathe. I couldn’t think. I just clenched and jerked through it, gasping against his neck, thighs shaking around his hips. He didn’t move—just held me, solid and warm, letting it all happen. I was unravelling on him, my hands fisted in his shoulders. I heard myself whimper , and felt his grip tighten like he was holding me together.
I stayed there, slumped in his lap, panting hard. My forehead pressed to his shoulder, chest heaving against his. My cock still twitched where it rested against his abs, a sticky mess between us. I couldn’t believe how fast it had happened—how intense. Like he’d lit a fuse and I couldn’t stop it burning. A look, a grind, a few words. And I’d come apart in his hands.
His chest rose and fell beneath me, calm and steady.
His hand moved again, slowly up my spine and back down, smoothing the sweat there. Then he bent his head and brushed his lips to my temple.
Zack leaned in, mouth close to my ear. Calm. With a wicked grin.
“You’re welcome.”
I let out something between a laugh and a groan. I wasn’t sure if I wanted to shove him or kiss him again.
Maybe both.
A few minutes later, I was still sitting on him, everything felt so perfect. Zack exhaled, slow and steady. The kind of breath you don’t realize you’re holding until it’s gone.
“You, know…I’ve never dated a guy,” he said, voice low. “Never thought I would.”
My heart skipped. But his tone wasn’t defensive. Just honest. Unfiltered.
“I’ve hooked up with guys, yeah. But that was always about the moment. Getting off. This...”
He paused. His gaze didn’t waver. “This feels different.”
I couldn’t say anything. My throat had gone tight.
Zack leaned back slightly, arms relaxed behind me. His eyes were still on mine, calm but direct.
“You get me, Simon. And you’re okay with who I am. Maybe that’s what I’ve been looking for.”
My chest tightened again. A swell that rose behind my ribs and didn’t go away.
“I’m here, Simon. I want this.” he added.
I sat there, and I knew he was what I needed. Everything I’d been circling since that first night in the pub was right here, waiting for me. Arms I’d traced. A body I’d memorized. Eyes locked on mine, steady and unblinking, like he already knew exactly what I was thinking.
My heart was pounding.
“Do you think you could handle that?” he asked. “Me. Around some more.”
My mind was racing. It was so much more than just one question. What was he really asking of me? To be his boyfriend? What about the women? The other guys? What about me? I wasn’t out to anyone. I was barely out to myself.
My heart was pounding
Me and Zack Maddox.
This was happening. I sat there on him, my slick cock resting on his abs, already starting to stir again. We’d make this work.
Finally, I nodded. Swallowed. “Yeah. I’d like that.”
I looked at him, and it hit me all at once. I was smiling like a fool.
He grinned back. I don’t think he was surprised by my response—but he was clearly pleased. Then he shifted beneath me, glanced toward the hallway.
“Gonna shower,” he said, running a hand down his abs, still sticky with me. “You made kind of a mess.”
I giggled and then stood, slowly, feeling shaky, like my body hadn’t caught up to everything that just happened. Zack didn’t move right away. He just watched me get to my feet, eyes tracking every shift, every breath.
Then he stood too, quietly sure of himself, and pushed his shorts and briefs down in one smooth motion. My eyes tracked the way his muscles shifted as he moved. He didn’t say a word. Just looked at me like he knew I’d be watching.
He stepped out of them like it was nothing. I stood there, fully transfixed, staring at the full length of him.
He turned and started walking toward the hallway, broad back leading the way, glutes flexing with every step. That same body I’d just come all over, now in motion, like it was made to be followed.
Halfway down the hall, he looked back at me over his shoulder, eyes gleaming. A slow, wicked grin pulled at the corner of his mouth.
“Aren’t you coming?”
I didn’t move. I just stood there, breath caught, staring after him until he was gone, still trying to figure out what I’d done to deserve this.
To deserve him.
~~~~~~
By the time I joined him, the bathroom was already warm, the mirror already fogging. The water was running, loud against tile.
Zack stood under the spray, back to me. Shadows moved across the curve of his traps, the thick swell of his lats, the long line of his spine. Steam rolled over him. Everything glistened. Everything moved with that quiet kind of presence that drew you in. His body looked massive. Sculpted. Untouchable. Mine.
I couldn’t wait to join him.
He turned when he heard the door slide. Met my eyes, water streaming down his face, over his chest. Lips parted slightly, like a held breath.
He smiled but didn’t speak. He just reached out and pulled me to him.
His skin was hotter than the water, dense with heat and muscle, the kind of mass that still left me reeling. My hands moved before I could think. I pressed into his chest—thick, sculpted pecs that barely gave under my fingers—then traced down the ridge between them, across his abs, which flexed the moment I made contact. I slid my palms up his arms, over his shoulders. He responded to every touch, like he already knew what I needed. Like he’d been waiting for it.
He kissed me like he had all night. Slow. Wet. A little rough when I kissed him back. He bit my lip, then licked the sting. His hands roamed low, gripping my ass, pulling me tighter against him.
I could feel him—thick and hard, trapped between us. His cock slid against my stomach, slick already, heavy. My body tensed.
He leaned into my ear.
“I’m not stopping,” he whispered, “until I’ve emptied everything you’ve got.”
Then he rolled his hips, slow and deliberate.
I moaned before I could help it. My body arched. My hands grasped at his delts, his triceps, whatever I could reach.
Zack pressed in again. One hand slipped between my legs, coaxing me open. His fingers teased—circling, dipping, slick and confident. My thighs trembled. I gasped, forehead pressed to his shoulder, barely able to breathe. Every touch lit me up. Every stroke pulled me closer to the edge of something I wasn’t ready for but already wanted.
Then came the nudge—hot, deliberate—the head of his cock tapping between my cheeks, slow and certain.
His voice dropped lower, thick with heat. “That’s the start of everything I’ve been holding back.”
I moaned softly, barely able to form words. I nodded. I could feel it in my chest.
Then, just like that, he lifted me off my feet. His Hands under my thighs, pinning me to the wall, like I weighed nothing. His grip was solid. His strength—unreal. He held me there, effortlessly, lined us up, and then pushed in. Slowly. Steadily.
The stretch made my eyes close. My hands clutched at his shoulders, then wrapped around his neck. My thighs trembled against his ribs.
He moved with patience at first. Just enough to let me feel it all. The heat. The fullness. The way every thrust came from his glutes, hips, chest, even the shift in his arms as they kept me in place.
My head fell forward. I clung tighter.
His mouth found my neck again—kissing, nuzzling, tasting.
And then he spoke again. Rougher this time. Breathless.
Then his voice found my ear, low and rough. “You didn’t know what you needed. But I felt it every second you were near me.”
His thrusts turned overwhelming. No more restraint. Just raw force, driving into me, relentless.
My back arched hard against the tile. The breath punched from my lungs.
I couldn’t even moan properly. It came out fractured. Helpless.
Then I felt his breath shift. Hot and shallow against my neck. He growled low—half groan, half warning—and I felt his jaw press in. His teeth grazed the skin just above my collarbone, slow and deliberate. Just enough pressure to send a jolt straight through me. He lingered there. Mouthing. Breathing. Letting me feel the promise in it.
And then he did it. A sharp nip—deep enough to leave a mark. His moan vibrated against my skin as his hips drove harder.
That was it.
My whole body locked. The orgasm hit fast and hard. I came between us, cock spasming where it was trapped in the slick heat of our bodies, and the sound that tore from me didn’t even feel human. Everything clenched—arms, legs, lungs, everything. My hands clawed at his back, raking down thick shoulders and tensed lats, just trying to hold onto something solid while my body gave out around him.
Zack growled—low and guttural, like the sound had been dragged from his chest by the way I came undone beneath him. His muscles coiled tight. He slammed into me one last time, deep and intense, then held there..
And that’s when it hit. His body seized. But his eyes found mine.
He lifted his head, just enough to look down at me, to make sure I felt it. He locked in, gaze burning, and that was when I really lost my breath. From the weight of being seen. Of knowing I was the one who pushed him there.
He pulsed inside me, thick and buried. His release tore through him—abs clenched, chest heaving against mine, arms flexing hard to keep me pinned.
But even in the wave of it, he didn’t falter.
He just held me there, his cock still inside, every inch of him alive and locked around me.
His head dipped to my shoulder again. Breath hot against my skin. One hand shifted at my hip, anchoring me in place. Sure. Firm. Like he needed to feel every point of contact.
Neither of us moved.
My heart pounded against his chest.
His cock twitched once more, deep inside me. Still thick. Still hard. Still there.
We stayed like that, his body still wrapped around mine, water slipping through the places he’d claimed. I barely noticed. Not with how full I felt. He’d stretched me wide. Taken me fully. And I could still feel all of him.
Eventually, he let me slide down his chest, back to the floor. My legs didn’t hold. I folded into him, forehead pressed to his collarbone, still catching breath in shaky pulls.
That’s when I felt it. The slick warmth trailing down my thigh. Evidence of everything he’d left inside me.
He reached up and touched the bite on my neck. Gently.
“You’ll still have me with you in the morning,” he murmured.
A breath escaped me — half laugh, half release — and I nodded.
~~~~~
We stepped out of the shower slowly. The light felt dimmer out here. Softer. Or maybe that was just me—unsteady on my feet, too full of everything to speak.
Zack reached for towels and tossed one in my direction. I caught it clumsily. He started drying off like it was just another night. But it wasn’t.
His body moved with the kind of ease that made it impossible not to look. His broad chest rising and falling. Shoulders flexing as the towel dragged across his skin. Water slicked down thick arms. He didn’t even glance my way. He just kept drying himself like it was all routine, like I hadn’t just come undone with him inside me.
I stood there longer than necessary, still catching my breath. Still blinking through the fog in my head. He didn’t say anything.
We dried off side by side, the silence comfortable. I caught myself watching him again as he ran the towel down his torso. His arms bunched with the motion, abs still taut beneath the water’s sheen.
The bite mark on my neck stung now that the water was gone. And every time it did, I remembered the moment. His breath. His voice.
You didn’t know what you needed. But I felt it every second you were near me.
I hadn’t argued then. I didn’t now.
Zack pulled on a pair of briefs without ceremony, damp skin stretching the fabric tight across his hips. He didn’t bother with pants. Just picked them up from the floor and slung them over one arm. Then he glanced back at me.
“You wanna watch a movie?”
His voice was casual. Light. Like we hadn’t just slammed into each other so hard I’d gasped his name. Like he hadn’t filled me so deep I was still leaking. Like he hadn’t locked eyes with me as he came.
Then, after a beat, “Then I could stay.”
A slow grin spread across my face, and I nodded once.
He turned toward the living room, bare-chested and barefoot, still drying his hair with one hand. As if it was obvious. As if my silence had always meant yes.
And I stood there, towel clutched in one hand, feeling something shift in my chest.
A landing.
~~~~~
Author's note: Thank you for reading. This marks the end of Zack and Simon’s story—I hope you’ve enjoyed the ride as much as I’ve enjoyed sharing it with you.
A special thanks to everyone who voted and left comments. Your feedback makes this all worthwhile.
Stay tuned… there will be more stories to come.
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