[Had this been exactly what Koby had hoped would happen? Yes, of course -- that's the ultimate goal of such text conversations, as he sees it. But between the teasing words and the photos, he's not about to wait any longer, not when his cunt is throbbing and insistent and unbearable, and he's so wet it's puddling in his palm and streaking down his wrist as he works two, three fingers inside himself and damn it, it's not enough, not anymore, not when he's gotten used to the blunt, thick fullness of actually taking a cock inside him, not when he has the photo of Quentin’s still pulled up, on the phone beside his panting mouth, even as he whines and ruts against the pillow, his hand, and chokes out obscenities against the sheets when it isn't enough, when he still needs--]
God, Quentin, I-- [The ragged words break off in an open-mouthed, needy whine at the slip of Quentin’s dick through the mess of his cunt, pulling his slick fingers free to fumble at the thick, hot length, guide it to grind up against his clit, because the rules just said Koby couldn't touch himself there, not that Quentin couldn't. And it's good, it's so damn good, and Koby doesn't think about the door being open, doesn't think about anyone hearing the way he moans into his pillow or seeing how he arches his back and ruts the weep of his cunt along Quentin’s dick snug between his shivery thighs, but it's still not fucking enough. Maybe with another few minutes of movement, of the rasp of teeth and tongue against his back, of Quentin's voice in his ear, but Koby needs it now.
So he does as he's told, he grinds his ass back against Quentin and clutches at the sheets and twists to look teary-eyed and desperate over one shoulder and he begs:] In -- inside me, please, please Quentin, I ne--fuck, I need your cock inside me, please.
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God, Quentin, I-- [The ragged words break off in an open-mouthed, needy whine at the slip of Quentin’s dick through the mess of his cunt, pulling his slick fingers free to fumble at the thick, hot length, guide it to grind up against his clit, because the rules just said Koby couldn't touch himself there, not that Quentin couldn't. And it's good, it's so damn good, and Koby doesn't think about the door being open, doesn't think about anyone hearing the way he moans into his pillow or seeing how he arches his back and ruts the weep of his cunt along Quentin’s dick snug between his shivery thighs, but it's still not fucking enough. Maybe with another few minutes of movement, of the rasp of teeth and tongue against his back, of Quentin's voice in his ear, but Koby needs it now.
So he does as he's told, he grinds his ass back against Quentin and clutches at the sheets and twists to look teary-eyed and desperate over one shoulder and he begs:] In -- inside me, please, please Quentin, I ne--fuck, I need your cock inside me, please.