The Best Man: Part Three (FINAL) Read Online Free PDF Page B

Patrick wants.
    His hands clench around the wallet as Patrick adds a second finger, works them both in and out without pause, a punishing rhythm that has Noah panting and almost sobbing with the pleasure of it; his other hand is on the small of Noah’s back, holding him in place, because Noah keeps trying to fuck back onto those fingers but Patrick’s not letting him. He’s setting his own pace, and he’s adding a third finger, and Noah’s going to come right now if this doesn’t stop, can feel it building in his gut, his toes curling, his vision darkening at the edges.
    “C’mon,” Patrick says, and his hand leaves the small of Noah’s back to reach over his shoulder, trying to get the condom.
    Noah gives it to him blindly, can’t pay attention to anything other than those fingers pushing in and out of his body; they’re not going near his prostate and he knows it’s deliberate, Patrick not wanting him to come yet, but he’s desperate for it, and he tries to angle his hips so Patrick’s fingers will come down on it. Only Patrick’s wise to his game and he removes his fingers, and Noah sobs a moan into the tile under his face.
    There’s a moment of stillness and silence, the only sounds Noah’s own breath thundering in his ears and the rustle of the condom wrapper, and then he closes his eyes at the feel of Patrick’s cock pressing against his hole, breathes out a long, easing breath as Patrick settles his hands on his hips, and then luxuriates in the sound of Patrick’s uncontained groan as he pushes home.
    There’s no going back now, not with Patrick inside him, the two of them connected in the purest, most carnal way.
    He chokes out a sob at the emotion that swells within his chest so suddenly, and then Patrick comes down over his back, wraps his arms around Noah’s chest and hooks his hands up over the front of Noah’s shoulders for leverage, or for closeness, and then pulls his hips back before sliding back in, long and slow and deep.
    He’s big, and he’s so hard, and Noah can’t ever remember feeling like this. He can’t help the, “God,” that comes out on a breath and Patrick tightens his hands on his shoulders in response, presses his mouth against the back of his neck, then lifts up and away so he can get his hands on Noah’s hips and start fucking him.
    It doesn’t last long. They’re both too wrung out and worked up for stamina, and Noah can’t believe he’s here in this moment, draped over the breakfast bar in the kitchen he shares with his fiancé, being fucked so fiercely and thoroughly by Patrick Walsh. He expects any moment for the horror to crash in but it doesn’t; all he feels is the electric heat of pleasure in his veins, the bruising rhythm of Patrick fucking into his hole, and the hot swell of emotion in his chest that tells him this isn’t a mistake, this can’t be wrong.
    He reaches behind him desperately for a part of Patrick to hold on to, meets his thigh and grips it, pulls him in deeper, the sobs punching out of him sounding almost like begging. It feels unbelievably good, his entire body awash with sensation, and when Patrick reaches around to start stroking his dick in a matching rhythm, he arches his body and keens, and digs his nails into Patrick’s thigh, and holds on for dear life as Patrick hammers into him so viciously he feels almost bruised on the inside, and milks pleasure from his dick so skilfully it’s an exquisite ache. And suddenly it all pulls together in his gut and his body locks up, muscles and bones seizing, suspended in that moment of pure, white-hot ecstasy, before he chokes out a cry, release thundering through his veins, making him shudder violently around Patrick’s dick, the sound of Patrick groaning out his own orgasm chasing him into oblivion.
    He doesn’t know how long he stays there, draped across the breakfast bar, Patrick slumped over his back now, still buried inside him. They’re breathing together, coming down from the