“There,” murmured Oberon, warmly. “Now you can relax.” He was possessing Ángel’s body completely. He ran a lazy hand over Ángel’s belly, rubbed semen and lube into his skin, stroked his dick and balls.

“Aaah. Oberon.” Ángel’s body jolted, still wildly oversensitive. The big hand on his scrotum sent sparks of discomfort up his spine.

“Relax.” Oberon shifted that hand to Ángel’s hip, and he began to move, dragging his fat hard cock endlessly out, surging slowly, slowly back in. “Feel free to take a nap.”

Ángel’s toes curled. He moaned, helpless to do anything but feel, as Oberon continued to sinuously slide in and out of him, and thumbed his nipples. Oberon cupped his balls again, and his body jerked.

“Too much,” gasped Ángel.

Oberon crooned, a pleased noise, as though Ángel had done something particularly skilled, and he took his hand off Ángel’s scrotum and used it to hitch one of Ángel’s legs higher, over his waist, opening Ángel and sinking deeper. “Better?” he murmured, stroking Ángel’s belly, pulling slowly out.

“Nnngh—”

“You’re very sensitive,” said Oberon. He toyed with Ángel’s navel and gradually thrust his hips, pushing back in. “Should I stop for a few minutes?”

“No,” whispered Ángel. He dared a glance at Oberon’s face; his eyes were closed, his expression peaceful. But his hands were commanding and the air was thick with an erotic thrum. Ángel closed his eyes as well, letting Oberon move his body, use him for his pleasure. This soon after climax Ángel was even more pliant than usual. Palms open, he melted into the mattress, enjoying the drag of Oberon’s dick against his prostrate.

“At last you are still.” Ángel could hear the tease in Oberon’s voice, the playfulness. “You’re like one of those little hovering birds—what are they? They fly around in the flowers?”

“A hummingbird?” Ángel huffed a laugh. “Shut up.”

Oberon mouthed his neck, his shoulder, and continued to leisurely grind inside him. “Always in motion,” he said. “You’re always dancing or pacing or singing or jumping into swimming pools. The only time you hold still is when I fuck you unconscious.”

“This is the worst sexy talk I’ve ever heard,” said Ángel—which was not true. The timbre of Oberon’s voice was pure sex, and the words fuck you unconscious made his skin flush hot all over.

“It’s not criticism,” murmured Oberon. “I enjoy making you jump.” His fingers ghosted over Ángel’s nipples, pinched them, and Ángel jolted.