Only the Beginning

He was still worshiping me.

Light strokes at first, fingertips dragging across my pecs, drifting down the lines of my waist. He wasn’t testing the waters. Andy was giving in to the hunger he usually kept tucked behind posture and restraint. All the little things that gave him the illusion he was still in control. Even when he wasn’t. His breathing was shallow. Unsteady. And I could feel it now, how close he was to letting go.

That shift, the way his hands forgot to hold back, that did something to me.

I tightened my abs just slightly under his hand, then rolled my shoulders forward, making my chest shift under his fingers. I wasn’t just showing off, I wanted to see what he’d do. His palm flattened like he needed to feel the movement. His fingers twitched. Flexed. He was starting to explore without thinking.

That was what I was waiting for. Not the touch. The slip. The way his restraint kept giving way, piece by piece.

His cheeks were flushed. His chest lifted and dropped like he’d just finished a sprint, and I watched his gaze track the movement of my body. Andy couldn’t help himself. He was still holding himself back, but only just. I could feel it tipping.

Then he slid his hand up again, slower this time. Like maybe he didn’t want to stop.

I caught his wrist. Just enough to remind him he didn’t have to chase. I was already right there. His eyes jumped to mine, wide and searching.

“You ready for what comes next?” I asked, low and steady.

He didn’t speak. Just nodded once, sharp and breathless.

I held his gaze as I let go of his wrist, then reached down to the waistband of his briefs. In a slow, careful, motion, I started to ease them down his hips.

He lifted for me, like it was the most natural movement in the world.

That did something to me. Because it looked easy. Natural. He didn’t ask what I was doing. Didn’t question whether he should stop. He just let it happen.

His cock was already hard, flushed at the tip, curving up along his stomach. Beautiful. And the tension in his body, barely restrained, made me want to give him exactly what he didn’t know how to ask for.

I let the fabric slide off him and sat back just a little. I just wanted to see. All of him. The way his chest heaved. The way his thighs flexed. The way his whole body seemed wired tight with something that had nothing to do with nerves anymore.

It was hunger, slow and quiet, building like a storm under his skin.

I leaned in and pressed a kiss to the sharp line of his hip, my lips dragging slightly across his skin before I pulled back.

There was a charge between us now that hadn’t been there before. The air felt thick. Heavy. Like the longer I held back, the more it might break him open. I liked watching him need it.

It didn’t just turn me on. It fed something. Watching him start to unravel because of me.

I rose to my knees and hooked my thumbs under the waistband of my own briefs.

“Look what you do to me,” I murmured.

His eyes followed every inch as I peeled the fabric down, slow as gravity. My cock sprang free, thick and full, the air hitting it like a challenge. He didn’t blink. Didn’t look away.

Andy shifted. Slow at first, then with quiet purpose, he sat up. His legs slid over the edge of the bed, feet settling quietly on the floor. His posture was still tense—shoulders held tight, eyes low—but instead of pulling back, he turned toward me. Moved closer.

Something about the way he did it hit me. Not bold. Not timid. Just raw. Like the pull between us was finally stronger than his fear.

I didn’t move. My cock was still hard, hanging thick between us, but I didn’t adjust or step back. I let him look. Let him process. Let him choose.

His eyes moved up, then down again. I felt his gaze track the shape of my torso, the swell of my chest, the curve of my quads. Then lower. His stare caught on me—bare, heavy, flushed with blood and heat. He didn’t flinch. But I saw the pause in his breath. The hesitation in his hands.

And then he leaned in.

It wasn’t rushed. It wasn’t nervous. It was deliberate.

He rested the side of his face just above my navel, cheek brushing against my skin. His breath came warm against me, shallow and steady. His posture softened, just slightly, like this contact grounded him somehow.

He kept his hands in his lap, but his head shifted—angled unconsciously lower. And that’s when it happened.

His cheek brushed the base of my cock.

Not fully, not intentionally, but enough. Enough for both of us to feel it.

His whole body went still. Like he’d been struck by the realization of just how close he was. His breath hitched, throat tightening. Shoulders drew in. His hands curled tighter into themselves. It wasn’t panic. More like a jolt of understanding. The physical proximity had stopped being abstract.

I didn’t move. I didn’t want to snap the moment. I just rested my hand on the back of his neck, grounding him in return. My fingers slid into his hair. Gentle. Steady.

He didn’t pull away.

He just let his head stay there, skin against skin, cheek pressed to my abs like he needed the contact to stay upright.

When he finally pulled back, it was slow. Careful. He looked up at me, expression open, like something in him had finally given way.

“I didn’t think it would feel like this,” he said quietly, voice thick.

“Like what?” I asked.

He took a breath. “Safe. Right. Like it’s not even scary anymore.”

He looked a little embarrassed. But he didn’t backpedal.

I nodded. “Good.”

His lips parted like he was about to say more. But instead, he just let the quiet settle.

“Okay?” I asked.

He nodded. Small. Real. “Yeah.”

And that’s when I knew, he wasn’t just letting me in.

He was asking me to rock his world.

I eased closer. My cock brushed against his cheek, deliberate this time. I wanted him to feel it and know that I meant it.

Andy stilled. His head turned slightly toward the contact, breath catching. Just a beat to take it in.

And once he had, his lips parted. The first touch of his tongue was confident, steady. A slow drag along the underside, then another, tracing the shape he already knew by heart. His motion was smooth and natural. He wasn’t trying to prove anything. He was just letting himself feel it.

I stayed still, hand resting lightly on the back of his neck. Not to push, just to anchor. His mouth found the head, tongue swirling once before pulling back. He took his time. Each pass deliberate, like he was syncing up with the rhythm of whatever had pulled us here.

His breath warmed the shaft as he licked again, slower this time, letting it rest against his lips, the weight familiar now but still loaded with meaning. I could feel it in his body. He was anticipating what was coming, and he wanted it.

“You good?” I asked, voice quiet.

His only answer was another lick, firmer, more sure. A soft sound escaped him—not quite a moan, not quite a sigh.

Whatever it was landed low in my gut. Tightened everything.

I felt his hands hover, then settle lightly on my thighs. No fumbling. Just grounding. He was here. Fully. And so was I.

He reached for me. His fingers wrapped around the base of my cock, tentative at first, like he wanted to understand it before giving in. The weight. The heat. The way it pulsed against his palm. His thumb slid along the thick vein that curved up the shaft, tracing it slow, like he was still coming to terms with what he was holding.

He glanced up at me. Just for a second, but it hit me right in the chest. His eyes were wide, pupils dilated, lips slightly parted, and that same quiet wonder that made him look like he was standing on the edge of something that could change him.

And then his mouth opened.

He started slow. Lips stretching around the head, tongue flicking instinctively. I felt him breathe through his nose as he took me deeper by inches, his jaw working, adjusting, until he found a rhythm he could hold.

And fuck, there was something reverent in the way he moved. His left hand gripped the base, but his right drifted instead to my thigh, steadying there, then grazing my hip like he needed to anchor himself. His shoulders rolled slightly as he found his rhythm, mouth sliding down, pulling back, pausing to suck the head with just enough pressure to make my knees twitch.

I let out a sound, quiet and low, not quite a moan. More like the kind of breath that tells you something’s shifting. A rush of heat uncoiled down my spine. My hand drifted to the back of his head, fingers settling into his hair. I didn’t guide him. Didn’t need to. I just kept him close, wanting to feel the moment from somewhere other than inside myself.

His lips were slick, cheeks hollowing slightly on the pullback, and I watched his eyebrows twitch when I groaned again. It lit something in him. Like he’d started a fire and couldn’t help feeding it. He moaned too, around me, the sound sending vibrations straight through my cock and deep into my gut.

It was too much.

Almost.

Just before the edge crested, I stepped back, pulling myself free with a wet pop that made his shoulders jolt. He blinked, mouth still open, chest heaving. Confused. Hungry.

I reached down, curled my fingers gently beneath his chin, and lifted his face to mine.

“Not yet,” I whispered.

His lips were flushed, slightly parted, his breath catching as he looked up at me. His expression was soft, like he was trying to keep himself composed, but couldn’t quite pull it off. There was a flicker in his eyes, something unguarded, something he hadn’t meant to show.

And still, he nodded.

Because he needed this, more than he wanted to admit.

He was still sitting on the edge of the bed, his chest rising and falling in shallow bursts. I gave him a moment. Let him breathe. Let him feel what was coming next.

Then I nodded toward the pillows. “Up top. Let me see you.”

His eyes didn’t waver. He shifted forward, climbing onto the mattress without a word. One movement at a time, he repositioned—palms flat, knees planted, arms stretching out as his chest dipped low. His back arched, hips lifting, ass high and open. The curve of him on full display.

I moved in behind him, climbing up onto my knees, settling close. One hand on his hip, the other guiding myself between the firm round of his cheeks, letting the weight of my cock rest there. 

He flinched like it burned.

I dragged myself along him, slow and slick, and his hands fisted into the bedding. A low sound escaped him, something close to a whimper, but sharper, like frustration. Like hunger he was trying to suppress.

He was quiet now. Still. His body coiled with tension, but he wasn’t pulling away.

I leaned in, chest brushing his back, my mouth close to his ear. “You’ve been thinking about this, haven’t you? Wondering how it would feel.”

His breath hitched.

My hand slid down the center of his back, slow, steady, while the other guided me into place. The head of my cock pressed right up against him. Not pushing. Just there. Waiting.

“You pictured it,” I murmured. “Me behind you. Hands on you. How deep I’d go. What it’d feel like to give in.”

That landed. I felt it in the way he trembled. Heard it in the way he tried to breathe through it. His forehead dropped to the mattress. His fingers curled tighter in the sheets.

I stayed still. Let the silence stretch. Let the need build until it filled the space between us.

Then, barely more than a breath: “Please… I need this. Jackson. Please.”

Something cracked wide open in me.

I bent and kissed the slope of his shoulder, then again, lower, at the dip of his spine.

“You’ve got me,” I whispered.

My hands closed around his hips.

And I started to push in, slow. Controlled. Letting him feel every inch.

Because I wanted to. Because every inch felt earned. Every twitch of his body beneath me, every sharp breath he took as I stretched him open. It all told me exactly how far to go, how much he could take, how badly he needed this.

He was tight. So tight I had to pause, just to breathe. Just to hold on. I’d never had to work this hard not to lose it. But it wasn’t just the sensation. It was him. The way his whole body trembled. The way he held the moment, feeling it fully. Letting me in.

I leaned in, letting my chest press against his back. My breath found his ear.

"You feel so fucking good wrapped around me."

He made a sound then. Half a groan, half a sob. His hips pushed back slightly, like his body was meeting mine on instinct.

I exhaled hard. Let my hand slide along his waist, then back up his spine.

Then I pushed the rest of the way in.

All of me.

Buried in heat, in pressure, in the surrender of someone who finally let himself enjoy it.

I held still, letting him adjust. My hands roamed over his back, his ribs, the dip of his waist. I could feel everything, his pulse, his breath, the lingering tremble of wanting more. I rested my forehead between his shoulder blades. Just breathing with him.

Then I pulled out halfway. Eased back in.

Slow.

Deliberate.

He moaned. A low, broken sound that came from somewhere deep.

Again, I drew back. Thrust in. He gasped, louder this time. His body rocked against me.

We found rhythm. Unspoken. Intense. Deep.

Intentional.

His breathing went ragged. His head turned to the side, cheek pressed to the mattress. I watched the furrow in his brow, the way his mouth kept falling open like he was trying to speak but couldn’t. I was inside him, and he wasn’t holding back.

I ran my fingers down his spine. "You feel incredible," I murmured.

He didn’t answer. Just let out another sound, louder now. Raw. Honest.

I picked up the pace. Each thrust pulled a new shiver from him. A new noise. He wasn’t fighting anything anymore. He was giving it space, letting himself feel all of it, and letting me have all of him.

"You take me so well," I said, voice thick.

I kept going until his breath hitched, until the tension inside him felt close to breaking. Then I pulled out.

He gasped, the absence of me like a slap. His head turned. Eyes wide.

Before he could speak, I grabbed him and flipped him over. He landed with a thud, blinking up at me. Flushed. Hair a mess. Lips parted. And fuck, he looked wrecked already. Open. Raw. Like he’d stopped pretending this was just about heat.

I didn’t say anything. Just let myself look at him. Take him in. Because this wasn’t just about heat for me either, not anymore. And maybe he saw that. Maybe that’s why he didn’t look away.

I lifted his legs and rested them over my shoulders. Lined myself up.

But I didn’t move. Not yet.

I leaned forward, bracing one hand beside his head. My other hand cupped his jaw.

His eyes met mine. Barely. But they met. Full of something raw and pleading and impossibly open.

"Let me see your eyes," I said.

He blinked once.  Then he did.

Our eyes locked as I tightened my core, rolling my hips forward, pushing back inside him. Slow. Deep. Full.

And fuck, it was different like this. Not just the angle or the view. It was the connection. The clarity. He could see everything I felt. The way my body moved into his. The intensity. The ache. The depth of it. And I could see exactly what I was doing to him.

His eyes fluttered, like he might break contact, but he didn’t. He held it. Out of want. Out of need.

Andy hadn’t asked for this. But now that we were here, he wasn’t pretending anymore. He let me in. Let his feelings show. And I saw it, all of it. In the way his chest rose sharply, then fell with a staggered exhale. In the way his thighs trembled but didn’t pull away. In the way his lips parted, the moment had opened something he hadn’t expected.

I pushed in deeper, hips rolling slow, then harder, each movement deliberate. His eyes stayed locked to mine, wide and searching, like he needed to feel every part of this. Every part of me.

My hand slid down his chest. Paused in the center. Pressed flat. His heart was racing—like mine. Not just from lust, but from something deeper. His skin burned under my palm, slick with sweat, warmth pouring off him like heat from a live wire. I could feel his whole body responding, not just to the friction or the fullness, but to being seen. Being wanted like this.

His lips moved. No sound came. Just the shape of something unspoken, trembling on the edge of becoming real.

But he didn’t need to say it.

This wasn’t about words anymore.

His chest lifted beneath me, body trembling, but his eyes never left mine. This was the moment he let me all the way in and didn’t look away.

He held my gaze for as long as he could.

But when I started to move—really move—his head tipped back and a low, guttural sound clawed its way out of him. His hands scrambled for the sheets, grabbing for something to hold onto that wasn’t me.

His thighs shook where they rested on my shoulders.

I didn’t let up.

Each thrust rocked him deeper into the bed, his body seizing with every push. The rhythm was relentless, controlled and deliberate. I knew exactly where I wanted to take him, and how far.

His eyes rolled back.

“Breathe,” I murmured, my voice tight with restraint. “Just stay with me.”

But he was barely hanging on.

His whole body was trembling now. Chest flushed, jaw slack, lips moving in broken syllables that never formed full words. I could see it building, could feel it in the way he clenched around me, the way his cock twitched untouched against his stomach.

Then it hit.

His body arched up off the bed like he’d been shocked, mouth falling open in a silent cry before a sharp gasp tore through him.

He came hard, ropes across his stomach, his chest, even his throat. Shaking, panting, completely wrecked.

I didn’t stop. I watched his face as I fucked him through his orgasm. Every flicker of sensation. Every broken breath. I slowed, just slightly. Let the drag of my cock become something heavier, more intimate. His breath caught on every stroke, his body still so sensitive he twitched when I shifted my angle. .

“You’re still hard,” I whispered, smiling down at him as I pushed deeper again. “Even now.”

He nodded, a jerky motion that barely registered. His eyes fluttered open, glazed and unfocused. I reached down and stroked his thigh, gentle now, soothing.

He reached for me. Found my arms. Held on.

 And his eyes met mine again.

That was it. I locked in on Andy.

And I came.

It hit hard. Full-body. A surge of heat and tension and release so sharp I groaned as I emptied inside him, hips jerking once, then again, until I was spent and shaking too.

We collapsed together, still tangled. Still sweating. Still gasping.

I stayed inside him, not moving.  I just let myself fall forward until our foreheads touched, his legs sliding down around my waist, his breath hot against my jaw.

No one spoke.

The room was thick with heat. Not just from what we’d done, but from the stillness after. That silence where everything felt heavier, our breath, our sweat, the weight of skin on skin.

I was still inside him. Still sporting a semi. 

Andy’s eyes were closed now, his face turned slightly to the side, like even blinking would take too much effort. His chest rose in shallow pulls, muscles twitching beneath skin that was flushed and damp. 

I stayed inside him for a beat longer, feeling the last soft pulses around me, then eased out slowly. 

He let out a quiet breath, almost like a sigh, his body sinking deeper into the bed. 

I shifted my weight, easing down until I was resting beside him, one arm tucked under his neck, the other drawing slow, absent-minded shapes across his chest.

He didn’t move.

I could feel him relaxing by degrees, his heartbeat finally slowing, his breath syncing with mine. His leg slid over mine, anchoring us even closer. 

“I’ve never been fucked like that,” he whispered, eyes still closed.

I smiled, more from the sound of his voice than the words. It was cracked at the edges. Barely audible.

I leaned in, giving him a friendly nudge. ““I had a feeling,” I whispered. Not bragging. Just honest.

He didn’t open his eyes. Just murmured, “Shut up.”

I brushed a knuckle along his jaw. “Well, I wasn’t trying to be forgettable.”

That got a weak laugh out of him. A real one. 

We lay there for another stretch of silence, bodies tangled, breath even. His hand slid across my chest, fingertips resting just over my heart. He didn’t say anything. 

I stayed quiet too, but I could feel something shifting. Not between us exactly. In me. Andy wasn’t like anyone else. Not like Jimmy. Not like Connor. Andy had taken time and effort to win over. I respected that about him. At this point in a hookup, I was usually already moving on in my mind. But with Andy, it felt different. Like something I hadn’t figured out how to carry yet, but wanted to.

He hadn’t fully let me in. I knew that. Some part of him was still holding back. But he’d given me this evening.  His body, his trust, even if just for tonight, and that was something.

And maybe it should have been enough.

But it wasn’t.

I wanted more time with him. More chances to see what happened when he stopped bracing for impact and just let himself feel it. He made me curious. Not in the usual way. Not just in bed. I wanted to know what came next. With him.

That was the part I hadn’t seen coming.

So I lay there, one arm across his back, listening to the rhythm of his breathing.