Wesley Gibson was an impatient man. He could have worked himself over longer than he had but his eyes were bigger than his stomach, so to speak. As nice as his fingers had felt, he needed more. He'd regret not taking more time tomorrow. Right now, all he cared about was getting Conrad inside him. And once he was, god-fuckin-damn-!
He'd fallen forward again, panting into Conrad's chest. Hands were twisted into the sheets, the only thing that was keeping him semi upright. His eyes screwed shut, all air briefly leaving him, as he felt himself widen and stretch around the hard heat that had entered him. That one thrust was a fast one and he could almost see stars from how quick and forceful it was. His muscles clenched on instinct, but as his walls enveloped the other man, he was only more aware of how much of him there was. Did he tell Conrad it was too much? To go slower?
Fuck no. Conrad had struck him deep but he could feel that there was more. By the end of this, he was going to have every inch inside of him. He started to rock back and set a not-so-gentle rhythm between them. When he did open his eyes again, it was to the sound of Conrad pleading.
He didn't have the patience to tease the other man more than he already had. His face was flushed enough. Wes was also sure if he rode him any harder, Conrad was going to break the bed. Smiling through the thrusts, he lifted a hand to the belt-cuffs and with one flick of his finger, it fell apart over the bed. "So -ah- touch me then."