His mouth was hot and knowing. There was no hesitation, no teasing. He took Pete’s entire length in one smooth, deep swallow. Pete cried out, his back arching off the table. It was expert, devious. Rami’s tongue worked him with a skill that felt illegal, swirling around the head before diving deep again, his throat muscles fluttering around the sensitive tip.
Pete was lost, a writhing, moaning mess. He fisted his hands in Rami’s hair, not guiding, just holding on. The build was impossibly fast, a tsunami of pleasure gathering in his core.
Just as he was about to crest, Rami pulled off with a wet pop. Pete groaned in protest.
“Not like that,” Rami said, his breathing ragged. He reached for a bottle, slicking his own cock with a generous amount of oil. The sight of him, hard and glistening, sent a fresh jolt of desire through Pete. “I want to feel you.”
He gripped Pete’s hips, his strength undeniable, and flipped him onto his hands and knees with a single, fluid motion. The position was so familiar, so submissive. Pete’s heart hammered against his ribs.
Rami’s oil-slick hand stroked Pete’s back, then slid between his cheeks. One finger, then two, pressed inside, preparing him with a firm, brisk efficiency that spoke of vast experience. Pete pushed back against the intrusion, needing it.
“Ready?” Rami growled, the head of his cock pressing insistently against Pete’s entrance.
“Yes,” Pete gasped, the word tearing from his throat. “God, yes, please.”
Rami pushed. He was thinner than Bill, but longer. The stretch was a sharp, breathtaking burn that quickly melted into a deep, filling perfection. He didn’t start slow. He set a relentless, driving pace from the first thrust, his hips slapping against Pete’s ass with a wet, rhythmic smack that echoed in the tiled room.
His hands gripped Pete’s hips, holding him in place, using him. The force of it drove Pete forward with every thrust. It was raw, animalistic. Rami leaned over him, his chest pressed to Pete’s sweat-slick back, his mouth at Pete’s ear.
“You take it so well,” he grunted, his breath hot. “Such a good client. So fucking tight.”
The filthy praise, the brutal, perfect rhythm, the sheer anonymity of it—it was all hurtling Pete toward the edge. He reached down, frantically stroking his own aching cock, but Rami batted his hand away.
“No,” he commanded, his voice guttural. “You come from this. From me.”
He shifted his angle slightly, and on the next thrust, he hit a spot that made white light explode behind Pete’s eyelids. A broken shout was ripped from his lungs. Rami hammered against that spot again and again, his own control fracturing.
Pete felt his climax tear through him, a convulsive, shattering wave of pleasure that had nothing to do with his own hand. He came in hot, pulsing streaks onto the table beneath him, his body clenching and milking the cock buried deep inside him.
The violent clenching of Pete’s orgasm tipped Rami over the edge. With a final, deep plunge, he stilled, a raw, groaning cry escaping his lips as he poured himself into the condom. He collapsed over Pete’s back, both of them spent, panting, slick with sweat and oil.
After a long moment, Rami slowly pulled out. He gently eased Pete onto his side on the table, his touch surprisingly tender now. He fetched a warm, damp cloth and began to clean him, his movements slow and methodical.
He leaned close, his lips brushing Pete’s ear. “I hope you will visit again sir.”
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