Bansi, for once, was as good as his word. He came by my shop every day that week, and the next, smiling at me like he was a friend come by to visit, not an unwelcome distraction. He flirted with my customers and discussed merchandise with them and brought me another basket of oranges to replace the one I had thrown out. This time, his smile didn't waver at all when I took them and threw them out back with the others.
He brought me lunch, when I was busy enough to justify keeping the shop open. I stared at it, arms crossed, mouth tight, trying to ignore the rumbling of my stomach because I knew I couldn't accept his bribes. If I gave in once, he'd take it for a victory, and then I'd never be rid of him.
I threw the lunches out, too. Undeterred, he brought me pears and decadent pastries laden down with butter and sugar. And he watched me with that same damned smile as I threw every one of them out, and said, "That's all right, I'll bring more tomorrow," as though I'd spoiled them by accident.
He tried to kiss me again, just once, toward the end of a day when the shop was empty and I was readying to shoo him off so I could go home. He came around behind my work counter while I was busy counting up the day's take, so that when I looked up he was right there in front of me, close enough that it took effort not to touch him. "Renad," he murmured, his lips curving up at the corners, his gaze warm on mine, and I had a split moment to realize his intentions before he leaned in and pressed his lips to mine.
I gave him a black eye and a blistering rebuff, and I took the long way to Corine's so that I had some chance of not being an infuriated wreck when I showed up there. I hoped that this, at last, would convince him of my sincerity. But the next day he showed up all the same, the skin around his eye bruised a dark purple but his smile just as bright as ever. He wore it like a medal, something to be pleased with and proud of, and made me want to strike him all over again.
This time, he brought with him a smaller basket, filled up with dark, fragrant chocolates. In all the time we'd been together, when it had been a regular thing for him to buy me treats and indulgences, and I had been pleased by it rather than vexed, he had never brought me so much chocolate as he did now, all at once. I stared at the little basket, sick at the temptation, and the expense. I could have fed Elodie for a month on what this latest bribe must have cost him.
I took up a handful of the small candies and hurled them at Bansi. "Stop this. There's no point to it. You are not going to bribe your way back into my life!"
Most of the chocolates had bounced off of him and fallen to the floor, but one of them had caught in his collar. Bansi plucked it off and set it on the worktop. "I'm not trying to buy you, Ren."
"Aren't you? Then what's this?" I grabbed the basket and threw that at him, too. "I don't want these things! Why do you keep doing this?"
He held the basket close against his chest, though most of the contents had fallen out. He didn't move, didn't speak for a long moment, his gaze quiet and steady on mine. "You you used to enjoy it when I brought you treats."
I used to love you, too. All things change in time. I sucked air through my teeth and bit back the first words that came to me, said instead, "That was years ago, Bansi. I grew up. I changed. Haven't you?"
"Changed?" His expression furrowed with consternation. "I don't know. How should I know? Do you think I have?" He grew still, somber and thoughtful. "Is that the problem? Do you think I've changed?"
I gave a broken laugh and shook my head. The problem wasn't that Bansi had changed. The problem was that I thought he hadn't. He hadn't grown up at all. "I'm not the man I was," I said. "Your old tricks aren't going to work on me. You can't just smile at me and bat your eyes and buy me expensive things and expect me to swoon over it.
His lips curved, a slow attempt at a teasing smile, but there was an uncertainty in his eyes that made it plain he wasn't sure if the joke would go over well. "I'll have to find new tricks, then?"
"No! Damn it, you still aren't listening to me." I groaned and smacked my fist into his shoulder.
This time, he caught me, fingers wrapping about my wrist and holding me in place, where I couldn't strike him again. "Renad." His eyes were narrowed and his voice was a low, unhappy growl, and some treacherous part of me went soft at the rumble of it. "Stop abusing me."
My laughter was choked, furious. "Stop antagonizing me! Stop coming here, stop bringing me things, stop forcing your way in where I've made it plain you're not welcome, stop... Just stop."
His fingers still circled my wrist with a firm pressure, and my gaze was drawn to that point of contact despite myself. I'd had to move in to hit him, and when he'd grabbed me, it had forced me in even closer. It might have looked like a lover's embrace to someone else observing us. It felt like it was. My heart was pounding, slamming hard against my ribs, and my body too dumb to realize it was anger that caused it, not passion.
The only contact between us was my fist upon his shoulder and his hand upon my wrist, but I was suddenly, keenly aware that the last man to touch me like this had been Bansi himself. There hadn't been time for trysts, when all my days were devoted to work or to Elodie. I hadn't mourned the lack, not with Elodie's smiles to welcome me home. But now, standing here with Bansi like this, desire rose up in me so sharp it felt like a knife's blade between my ribs. I wanted him, and I hated him for making me feel this way.
I shoved at Bansi, forced him back two steps. But his grip stayed firm around my wrist, and it pulled me after him. "You want me?" I demanded, eyes narrowed, and let myself be pulled. "Is that what this is about?"
"Renad, are you mad?" Bansi gave a broken laugh and reached one hand for my face. "Of course I want you."
I jerked away from his touch, turning my face aside. That wasn't what I wanted. I didn't want tenderness or affection. I wanted heat and hunger. And Bansi... He was just a means by which to accomplish it. If he was going to insist on being here, then he might at least make himself useful. At least I knew he was a good lay, that he knew how to get me off.
Bansi hesitated when I pulled away from his touch. He started to draw back, uncertain. Gods, I could see it on his face. He was going to start asking questions, what I wanted, what I intended of any of this. I was so tired of talking. He never listened to me, anyway.
I shook off his grip and spread my hand wide in the center of his chest. When I bore him back, his hands went automatically to my hips. His fingers pressed in tight, and I shivered. That was what I wanted. This was.
He came to an abrupt stop when he ran into my work counter, but I didn't. I let momentum carry me forward until I had to widen my stance, my feet spread to either side of his so that I could bring our hips together.
I pressed mine into his and thrilled at the heat that shot through me, at Bansi's ragged groan, an octave lower than his usual pitch.
He sought my mouth with his again, one hand sliding up my spine to try to pull me in. I jerked away again, and he froze, then groaned. This time, it was all frustration. "Renad. Why won't you let me kiss you?"
God, I was sick of his voice. His demands. This was just another one. "If you don't want this, then go." I twisted fingers through his hair and pulled his mouth to my collar. "If you do, then shut up."
He made a low sound that might have been happiness, or might have been protest. I didn't care.
I grabbed the hem of his shirt and yanked it up over his head. He had to part his mouth from my skin in order to get it off. He tore at it, fighting against the sleeves when they tried to tangle in his arms. When it was off, he reached for me again, pulling me right back in.
I ducked my head and laved my tongue over his nipple. He shuddered beneath my lips, and his pulse sped. When I closed my teeth over it with the barest pressure, he gave a thready cry and pushed his hips in against mine.
"Renad... Gods. What devil has gotten in to you?"
I tightened the pressure. He hissed air through his teeth and finally, blessedly, stopped talking. His hands raced down my back, clawed and pulled at my shirt until it had lifted up far enough to bare my stomach. I drew back, then, and let him pull it off. As soon as my hands were free, I moved in again, left a trail of little bites along his shoulder. When I pressed one palm flat against his cock, already growing hard and straining the front of his trousers, he shuddered against me and tipped his head back on a moan.
Once, I'd have eagerly dropped to my knees for him, swallowed him down and sucked at him until he spilled down my throat. But I wasn't feeling generous today, and I wasn't doing this for his pleasure. And I'd sooner walk out of here rock hard and unfulfilled than I'd stoop to kneeling before Bansi.
I grabbed him by the waist of his trousers while he was still pushing his hips up into my palm, jerked him away from the counter and spun both of us around. When he bore me back into his place, I braced my hands behind me and hitched myself up onto the worktop. When I made room for him between my knees, he moved in automatically, eagerly, his hands on my hips pulling me forward until I was on the very edge, and the only thing keeping me in place were my hands behind me and the pressure of his body against mine, holding me up.
I shivered and rocked my hips against him, thrusting against the flat panes of his stomach. Gods, I wanted him in me, or around me. I craved it like breath. When Bansi ran his thumb from the base of my cock up to the tip, pressing against me through my trousers, I lifted my head and blinked my eyes open, staring at him in a daze.
"Ren," he whispered. He ran his tongue over the corner of his mouth and looked at me with shameless hope. "May I?"
"Yes." I closed my hand in his hair and tugged him down. "Gods."
I wouldn't kneel, not to the likes of him. But I'd be damned if I was going to turn down the opportunity to have Bansi on his knees at my feet.
He resisted when I tried to tug him straight down. One hand went to the back of his head and loosened my grip on his hair until the strands slipped like silk between my fingers. He kissed my throat and the slope of my shoulder, trailed his open-mouthed kisses down my chest until his tongue found the hard flesh of my nipple. He lingered there, teasing me, tormenting me with it until I had to wonder if it was retribution for earlier.
I didn't care. It was glorious. I arched against his mouth and slid my fingers over the back of his neck, down his back, across his arm, relentlessly drawing him in and urging him on. I wanted more. I felt insatiable. For four long years I'd starved, and now I wanted to glut myself on this pleasure until I couldn't bear a drop more.
Eventually, when I was twisting against him with every touch, he moved on, trailing his kisses down my chest, across my stomach. The muscles of my abdomen tightened beneath his mouth.
He sank down to one knee, then both, as he lowered himself before me. I had to lean back, arms locked straight behind me, one leg hooked over his shoulder to keep from sliding off, down to the floor with him.
He mouthed me through my trousers, his tongue eager, lips wrapping the width of my cock and sucking until the fabric was wet. The hungry noises he made, like a man enjoying a feast, were intoxicating. I wanted the true heat of his mouth, wanted more than just this ghost of a promise.
When my patience would extend no farther, I shifted all my weight to one arm and reached down with the other hand to push his head away so I could fumble with the buttons myself. He laughed up at me, bright and beaming, and for just a moment it felt like it had always been between us. Good, and easy, and right.
I squeezed my eyes shut tight against the image, but it was burned into my mind. I didn't want it. I worked the rest of my buttons open with a few deft movements, then pushed at my trousers, fighting to get them down, off my hips, to be rid of them so this could move back to the territory where I wanted it, all heat and pleasure and no room for anything more complicated than that.
He helped me lift my hips and pull the trousers down, then helped me off with them the rest of the way, removing my boots and then sliding out of the way so he could take my trousers off, until I was bare and naked before him, my cock jutting out towards him, begging for his mouth.
He stroked it first, but his hand was dry and his fingers a little cold. I hissed and writhed beneath his touch. I wanted heat and wet. I wanted his mouth, and if I didn't think it would make him retreat again, I'd have grabbed handfuls of his hair and pulled him in until he gave me exactly what I wanted.
The first touch of his tongue was electric. He lapped me slowly from root to tip, and it was maddening. I wanted to grab him and pull, to demand that he hurry up before I lost the last of my patience., but I'd lost my capacity for speech. I let my head drop back and bucked up into his mouth. The sounds that worked their way from my throat were raw and wild. When he reached the head of my cock, licked his lips and then took it between them, the jolt of sensation punched air out of my lungs so hard it sounded like a sob.
After the first long torment, he wasn't slow at all. He swallowed me down faster than I'd expected, working his throat open so he could take all of me, like he couldn't have enough either. And then, hands bracketing my hips to hold me in place, he set a frantic, frenetic pace that had me moaning and out of my mind with it in moments.
It felt almost too potent, like brandy when I'd grown used to watered-down wine. But I liked the sharpness of it, the burn and the headiness. I liked the reckless feeling of racing toward the edge, not knowing when the ground would give way beneath my feet.
He moaned endlessly, eagerly, around my cock, and every time he withdrew, he pulled back far enough to gasp, "Gods, Renad," or "Missed you," or other oaths and endearments. It sent a ribbon of cold curling through the heat, cooling it. I shivered and knocked my knee against the side of his head to try to dissuade him, but the whispers just spilled from his lips like breath, impossible to hold back.
He was going to ruin it if he couldn't keep his mouth shut. This time, when he drew back, I pushed him all the way off. He sat back on his haunches and looked up at me, uncertain, like he was trying to decide whether or not to be hurt.
I pushed him back another step, then slid off of the edge of the counter onto unsteady legs. When I turned around, looking back over my shoulder at him as I leaned forward and stretched across the counter, the uncertain hurt in his eyes died quickly beneath a wave of heat.
"Come on." I forced my voice out between gritted teeth. "Bansi, devils take you--"
I wanted him to rise, to press up behind me, flatten himself against my back and fuck me until I had no breath left in my lungs. But he seemed reluctant to stand, stayed kneeling instead but leaned forward all the same, his hands going to my hips again.
I pressed my brow to the cool surface of my countertop and let out a slow, unsteady breath at the feel of Bansi's hands gripping me, strong as a vise. His breath skated across the skin of my hip, of my ass. When he dug his thumbs into muscle and pulled my cheeks apart, I shuddered and hissed, "Yes," into my arms. "Gods, Ban, please."
He made a sound like victory, and I realized my error too late. I'd called him by his nickname, though I'd been resolved not to. I was certain he would think it meant something, some level of affection felt or forgiveness granted, but it didn't mean anything. It was just habit, that was all. I didn't forgive him. I didn't even like him, I just wanted him to fuck me.
The touch of his mouth upon my skin chased away those thoughts. He kissed between his fingers first, then the slope of the dent his thumb made against my skin. Then farther, deeper, until his lips grazed my opening and his breath was a warm caress and I shuddered beneath his kiss, undone.
The quick graze of his tongue brought me back to myself. I jolted forward instinctively, wanting something to drive against or into, wanting friction. Then, just as quickly, I pressed back onto Bansi's mouth and his eager tongue.
"Gods, you're gorgeous like this, Ren," he murmured against my skin.
"Bansi, be quiet. I swear by all that's holy, if you don't shut up and put your mouth to better use--"
He gave a low chuckle and bit my cheek, scraping the edges of his teeth over skin. "You always were eager." I could tell from his voice that he was smiling, pleased. I wanted to disabuse him of the notion that any of this meant anything beyond the fact that I had not had a man in me or around me in four years and I was nigh on desperate. But there would be time for that later, after I had had of him what I needed. I didn't want to fight now, I just wanted him to fuck me.
Bansi pressed his tongue against my entrance, a slower, firmer caress. I tried to relax for him, to ease his way, but it was nearly impossible. I wanted him ferociously, and every touch of his hands, every gust of his breath, gods just the thought of his mouth upon me, made shivers and tremors course through me. I curled my fingers, nails scraping slowly across the countertop, and pressed my forehead hard against my arms.
I wanted to urge him on faster, harder, but there was no point to it. Bansi wouldn't fuck me until I was worked open and well slicked. Whatever other changes time had wrought on him remained to be seen, but it wouldn't have changed that. He was always conscientious, always thorough. I used to like that about him, but tonight, it just drove me even farther out of my mind.
When Bansi had worked the tension from me, and I was loose and pliant and ready to beg for more, he laid his cheek against my hip and stroked my flank. "Ren." His voice was trembling, wrecked. "Tell me you have your jar."
It took me a moment to gather my wits enough to realize his meaning. The little jar of oil we used to keep by our bedside, for just these moments. "Here?" I lifted my head and stared back at him over my shoulder. "What sort of a wanton do you take me for?"
He looked chagrined. His thumb drew lazy circles around my entrance. I was spit-slick and relaxed enough to take him in up to the first knuckle when he pressed against it. I rocked my hips back onto his finger, wanting more. "It's not like you to start things you can't finish."
"Who can't finish?" I rocked back again, slamming my hips onto his hand. My breath came fast and thick through my lungs. Gods, if he stopped now, I really was going to kill him. "Bite your tongue."
"Ren." He pressed his forehead against my hip, his voice shuddering, pleading.
"You're resourceful. Figure something out," I said, and snapped my hips back.
He moaned. The sound was caught somewhere between pleasure and agony, but he didn't protest. He worked his thumb into me up to his second knuckle, bent forward and laved his tongue over the place where we were joined, easing the way.
I wanted him in me, and I wanted it now. This was a torment, worse than having nothing at all because it was a taste of what I wanted, but nowhere near enough to sate my hunger.
"Fuck me, Bansi," I said, muffled against the countertop and by the loose circle of my arms. "Gods. Fuck me."
I wouldn't beg him, not after all we'd been through. I wouldn't give him that. But I wasn't above giving orders, or making demands.
He chuckled, his breath stuttering hot against my skin, making me writhe. "Wait. Not yet."
"Now."
"Not yet." His voice broke between the words, betraying him. I pushed up onto my elbows and looked back at him. I couldn't see him well when his mouth was on me, just the riot of his hair between my thighs. But when he sat back and shook the hair from his face, I could see the wildness in his eyes, and the barely-restrained tension.
He wanted this as much as I did. There was some small gratification in that.
"The lamp," he said, his voice urgent even as his words were nonsensical. "You must keep extra oil for it. Where?"
Giddiness bubbled up within me. I shut my eyes and leaned my brow against the countertop. "Same as it's always been. The little cupboard, under the--"
"I remember." He kissed my hip and then moved away, leaving me bared and wanting. I counted his steps across the room to the cupboard with the lamp oil, counted them back to me, and sighed my relief when he spread his hands over me again, and kissed the skin between his fingertips. He kept one hand on my hip to hold me down and keep me still as he pressed two slickened fingers against me and into me. He worked them methodically, with a patience I didn't know how he possessed.
"Ban," I gasped. I bore down against his fingers to ease the way. "You've done enough. You're not that big."
He gave a short laugh and a sharp slap against my cheek, retaliation for the barb. "Flattery will buy you nothing. I'm not going to hurt you, Renad."
He started out joking, but the last words came softer, his voice rough with feeling. I shut my eyes. If I looked at him, I knew his gaze would have gone soft, too, his eyes full of the years between us.
I didn't want to look. I liked the heat burning through me, the fire that consumed all else and burned it away. I hated him for trying to force softer, complicated emotions into this, when it should have been quick and frantic and simple.
He worked three oiled fingers into me, slowly. I didn't know how he could be so patient when I was a breath away from rutting against the countertop in search of my release. Finally, he let his fingers slide out and stood up behind me, off of his knees at last.
I moaned at the anticipation that twisted through me, fingers clawing the counter, reaching for the far edge so I had something to hold on to, to keep me from coming out of my skin with need.
The sound of him behind me, opening the bottle of lamp oil, made an irrepressible shudder run through me, because I knew what came next.
He'd be stroking his cock now, slicking the oil over his skin, and I knew the expression he'd have on his face, hungry and needy, just this side of desperate. It was exactly how I wanted him, overcome by his hunger and his lust -- not affection.
I caught my breath at the wet sounds of his hand moving over himself. I could shut my eyes and imagine the sight of it, his fingers circled around his flesh, moving quickly. The way he rocked his hips forward into his grip as though he couldn't move his hand fast enough. The way his gaze roamed over me, as heavy as a touch, like he wanted to eat me up. He liked to slide the pad of his thumb over the head of his cock when he stroked himself, grazing it across the tip, flicking it over the places where he was most sensitive
That was exactly what I wanted. Heat and hunger, so overwhelming it couldn't be denied for a moment longer. I wanted him to need me, to need this.
He moved forward, his knees bumping against the back of mine. He slid a foot between mine and nudged my stance apart so he could move in closer. He gripped my hips between his hands and slid his cock along the cleft of my ass. It was a promise, wet and slick and heady.
"Now, Bansi," I growled. I pushed back hard against him, grinding our hips together.
He made a choked sound and pinned me against the counter with one hand on my hip and the other spread flat in the middle of my back. When he shifted his hips back and fit the head of his cock against my entrance, I moaned desperately.
I'd have driven myself back onto him if I could have. I wanted him in me now, wanted him to have already been in me ages earlier. But he held me down, and he was stronger than than I was. Stronger than I cared to be, at least. I could have forced him off of me if I cared enough, but I didn't want him off. I wanted him in. I wanted him over me, his weight pinning me down, his body commanding mine. I just wanted it faster.
He pressed into me slowly. I choked off a moan at the slow, exquisite stretch. I didn't know how he could be so patient. I was mad with it, and granted, it had been four year for me. I didn't suppose he'd been anywhere near as celibate as I was. But I could feel the need in him, the way his hand trembled against my back. I could hear the frantic catch of his breath every time he moved, or I did.
The whole time I'd known him, he'd been rash and impulsive. He'd never been able to hold himself off from something he wanted, not in all the years we'd been together. I'd been bemused by it, at first, by the luxury of such freedom. Then I'd been exasperated by it, as time had passed and the novelty of it had worn off. It was hard to be gracefully accepting of the ease with which someone spent a small fortune on any trinket or bauble or pastime that caught their fancy, when I scarcely ever had the coin to spare for an orange from the market or a griddle cake from the shop uptown.
Now... Now, I wished, selfishly, that he had kept some of that impulsiveness. It seemed unfair that I had had to endure the worst of it over the years, and now when I truly desired it, the best of it was denied to me.
Finally, the head of Bansi's cock slipped all the way into me and my muscle clamped down tight around it. I panted and sweated beneath him, shuddering all down the length of my spine. "Now," I muttered. "Bansi. Are you punishing me?"
"Punishing you?" He leaned forward, stretching along my back. The weight of him atop me, pressing me down, was exactly what I needed. I pressed back against him, up against him, relishing the strain of it, the burn.
Bansi stretched out, matching his body to mine, hips to hips, his knees pressing into the backs of mine, cheek to cheek as he stretched his arms out along mine and pressed his palms to the backs of my hands. He nuzzled against the nape of my neck, then curled his fingers through mine and dug his teeth into the muscle of my shoulder. "I'm fucking you, Ren. You're hell on a man's ego."
"Fuck me harder."
He muffled a laugh against my skin and flexed his hips, driving into me just a little bit deeper, just hard enough to ache. I moaned and turned my head, bit at the solid muscle of Bansi's arm and drove back against him. "More."
"Gods, you're wild." He laughed like he was delighted, like it was the best compliment he could have given me. His thumb traced gentle designs against the sides of my hands. I didn't like the tenderness of the gesture. It was something we'd have done before, something that would have made me misty-eyed with the sentiment of it. Now, it made me want to shake his hands off mine and dig sharp fingers into his arms, to drive him on hard and fast until we were both sweating and panting and sated. But more than that, I wanted him in me. I wanted him to not stop, and I knew him well enough to know he would if I made a point of it.
I shut my eyes and pressed my hands hard against the counter and focused instead on the feel of him in me and over me. His skin was sweaty against mine, hot and cool at once, and his cock was slowly, slowly filling me up enough that I thought I might, eventually, have enough to satisfy me. He was just as well-muscled as he had been when we'd known each other before, maybe more, and the feel of all that power moving itself to move me was still just as heady as it had ever been. I was achingly hard, and the pressure on my cock from the combined weight of both Bansi and myself was almost a torture.
Bansi drove into me slowly, steadily. It had been four years, but even that wasn't long enough to erase my body's memory of how we fit together. My body knew his, and stretched to fit him easily, readily, so that even though he was determined to take his time and reluctant to do anything that might possibly hurt me, it still didn't take long before he had sunk into me completely, bottomed out with his hips pressed flush to mine and his breath panting hard against the side of my throat.
I rocked forward, as much as I could, and had to bite back a groan at the way it made my cock move against the slick counter. Then I drove back against Bansi, making him move in me. He choked out an inarticulate sound. His hand tightened on my hip. The one on my back slid up to hook over my shoulder. His fingers bit in hard enough to hurt. It made me bite my lip and arch beneath him.
Finally, finally, he groaned and drove into me hard, using the leverage of his grip on my shoulder and hip to pull me back into his thrust so that he reached something deep inside that made my hands curl and claw at the counter, made me gasp at the shock and pleasure of it.
With the dam broken, Bansi drove into me like he was desperate for it, like I was the one who had been denying him, like he had been as desperate and waiting for it as I had been all this while.
"Gods. Renad." His hips slapped hard against mine, rocking me forward against the counter, making me choke out a cry as my cock leaked beneath me.
I couldn't speak any more, not even to beg him or urge him on. Every time he drove into me, it knocked the air from my lungs, made me moan and gasp and shudder, turned me into one massive raw nerve. Every touch added fuel to the fires that burned through me. Every stroke made me want more. I was thankful for the counter to lie on, because I felt limp and boneless. I was wrung out, and I couldn't possibly have held myself up if I'd had to. There was nothing left in me but the raw, overwhelming pleasure, and the need that fueled it.
When Bansi straightened, lifting off of my back, the air felt frigid in his absence. I shivered and made a mewling, animal sound of protest.
"Come on, Renad." He slid his hands around to the front of my thighs and pulled me back onto his cock with a solid thrust. "Come on. Come with me."
I thought he was just urging me on, trying to get me to my climax. But then he was moving, drawing back and pulling me with him, sliding me off of the counter as I clawed at it, trying to stay. "Stop." He drove into me again, rocking me hard and cutting off my voice with the force of it. "Bansi, stop. What--"
"Shh. Come on, Ren." He pulled me until I was off of the counter, bent at the waist with only my arms braced against the counter's edge, my brow pressed hard against them. It was worse like this, unsteady. Every thrust shook and rocked me, made my knees tremble and threaten to give way.
When Bansi slid one hand from my hip, around my waist to press flat against my stomach, I had to draw a shaky breath just to keep from tumbling to the shop floor and dragging Bansi down with me.
He slid his hand down, teasing me, tormenting, until his fingers grazed the shaft of my cock.
I cried out and thrust forward, fucking into the air. Bansi gripped my hips and pulled me back onto each stroke, every time he drove into me.
I didn't know what he was waiting for, why he was torturing me even now. I could have guessed that he was waiting for some words of affection or care, but I wasn't going to give him that, not even for an orgasm. "Touch me," I snarled, angry, not caring. "Damn it, touch me."
Maybe he was waiting for that, because he laughed breathlessly above me, dragged his fingers along my sweat-damp skin, and then closed his hand around my cock.
There was still enough of the oil on his hand to make it slick and good. His fingers slipped along my skin, his grip firm enough that I didn't care that I was trembling and unsteady and half out of my mind with pleasure and frustration.
"Renad! Renad, God." He swept his thumb over the head of my cock, the way he liked to stroke himself. His grip was tight and his hand moved fast and somehow, just like this, it was perfect, perfect. I shook like a flag in a storm, shuddering and undone and stretched to my limit. With a final, frantic half-dozen thrusts, the fires in me flared up, burning hot enough that I couldn't help but cry out as it washed over me.
Bansi locked himself deep inside me and held himself there though he hadn't come yet. He did it because I was, because I was shaking and shuddering, my knees sagging and my lungs burning as my cock jerked and I spent myself in ropes right across my shop floor like the wanton I'd told him I wasn't.
Bansi groaned something sharp and desperate, something that sounded too much like an endearment for me to focus on it because I didn't want to hear that, not now, not when the flames were dying down into something soft and liquid and languid. I didn't want to have to be irritated with him, not yet, so I shut my eyes and shivered as he moved in me again, in search of his own climax.
When he came, it was with one arm wrapped across my stomach and the other around my chest, pulling me upright so that I was pressed to him along the full length of my body. He pressed his face into my hair, lipped lightly at my skin as he fucked into me and locked deep once more, shuddering, spilling his heat inside me.
I allowed myself to lean back against him, boneless and limp and, for the moment, content to let him hold me up with his strength. He whispered against my skin, his lips grazing across it, almost enough to tickle, but I didn't dislodge him. Let him say what he liked. I hadn't felt sated like this in years, and I wasn't going to let him ruin it with his mouth.
A few moments passed, and the sweat began to cool on my skin, and the stickiness of Bansi against my back began to grow uncomfortable. I pulled away with a sigh, sighed again as Bansi's cock slipped out of me, leaving me empty and just a little bit sore. It was a pleasant fatigue, the ache of a body well-used in the way it was meant to be. I tipped my head back and smiled up at the ceiling above me, content with a bone-deep exhaustion that I hadn't known for much too long.
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