Chapter 239 Midnight Rhythms and Reckless Hearts

Chapter 239 Midnight Rhythms and Reckless Hearts
Oliver's desperation sharpened into pure need. His hips jerked uselessly against the empty air, cock throbbing and dripping steadily onto the shiny floor. The cuffs bit into his wrists as he strained forward.

"Takeshi… please," he begged, voice rough and broken. "Touch me. Fuck—please, I need your mouth on me. I can't take it anymore…"

Takeshi's eyes darkened with satisfaction. He closed the distance slowly, dropping to his knees between Oliver's spread thighs once more. He leaned in close, so close Oliver could feel every warm breath ghosting over his aching cock, and finally—finally—let his tongue out.

He teased first. The flat of his tongue dragged slowly from base to tip, swirling around the swollen head, lapping up the continuous beads of precum with soft, wet sounds. Oliver's entire body shuddered. A deep, guttural moan tore from his throat as Takeshi circled the sensitive underside, licking, kissing, tasting him without ever fully taking him in.

"Takeshi—god—" Oliver's head fell back against the chair, eyes half-lidded and wild. "Please… suck me. I need it—"

Takeshi answered by wrapping his lips around the head and sinking down in one smooth, devastating motion.

Heat and wetness enveloped Oliver's cock as Takeshi took him deep, throat relaxing, nose brushing against the base. The tight, perfect suction made Oliver cry out, hips bucking upward into Takeshi's mouth.

Takeshi hummed around him, the vibration sending sharp sparks of pleasure up Oliver's spine.

He pulled back slowly, tongue working the underside, then sank down again—deeper, wetter, hungrier. Spit slicked Oliver's cock as Takeshi set a relentless rhythm, cheeks hollowed, hand coming up to stroke what his mouth couldn't reach.

Oliver was completely lost. His chest heaved, muscles flexing against the restraints, every thrust of his hips met by Takeshi's eager mouth.

Soft, filthy moans spilled from him with every bob of Takeshi's head—"Fuck… yes… just like that… your mouth feels so fucking good—" His thighs trembled, the wet sounds of Takeshi sucking him filling the high-tech garage under the red and blue lights.

Takeshi only took him deeper, eyes locked on Oliver's face, determined to drive him completely out of his mind.

Takeshi's mouth worked Oliver with devastating skill, taking him deep again and again until Oliver's entire body was wound tight, the pressure building fast and fierce.

Oliver's hips stuttered, a broken groan tearing from his chest as he teetered right on the edge—

Then Takeshi pulled off completely.

Oliver's cock slapped wetly against his stomach, glistening and throbbing, the sudden loss of heat making him snarl in frustration. Takeshi stayed on his knees for a second longer, locking eyes with Oliver's hungry, pleading stare. His lips were shiny, voice soft and deliberate as he whispered:

"Will you fuck me now?"

"Fuck—Takeshi," Oliver cursed, voice raw and desperate. "Sit on me. Fuck yourself on my cock right now or I'm going to lose my goddamn mind. Do it."

Takeshi rose slowly, a wicked little smile playing on his swollen lips. He turned his back to Oliver, giving him a perfect view of the smooth line of his spine and the curve of his ass. Carefully, he straddled Oliver's thighs, knees settling on either side of the chair, and began to lower himself.

But he didn't take Oliver inside.

Instead, he reached back, guiding the thick, dripping cock so it nestled perfectly between his cheeks. Then he started to move—slow, deliberate rolls of his hips, rubbing the hard length up and down the cleft of his ass, massaging it against the soft heat of his skin and the hard plane of Oliver's abdomen. The slick friction of precum and spit made every slide filthy and exquisite.

Oliver's head fell back against the chair with a guttural sound, cuffed hands straining hard. The sight of Takeshi's ass working over his cock, the teasing pressure, the heat of him so close yet still denying entry—it was pure torture.

Takeshi kept going, grinding and sliding, moaning softly as he felt Oliver's cock twitch and throb between his cheeks, never once letting the head catch at his entrance.

Oliver's voice came out strained and desperate, hips jerking against the teasing slide of Takeshi's ass. "Take—fuck—stop. If you keep doing that I'm going to come. I'm serious… I won't last."

Takeshi only smiled, slow and wicked. He rose from Oliver's lap, leaving the older man's cock throbbing and glistening in the cool air. He bent to pick up the discarded pink pajama shirt from the floor, then climbed back onto the chair, this time facing Oliver. Knees bracketing Oliver's thighs, he settled his weight just above the aching cock.

Without a word he twisted the soft fabric of the shirt into a makeshift restraint and looped it around Oliver's throat. The pressure was immediate—firm, controlled, possessive. Oliver's breath hitched as Takeshi tightened the hold just enough to make every inhale a conscious effort, eyes locking with his.

Takeshi reached down, guided the thick head to his entrance, and sank down in one continuous, punishing motion. The tight heat of him swallowed Oliver completely.

"Fuck—Take!" Oliver's cry was choked and broken by the fabric at his throat, raw and loud. "Jesus Christ… you're so tight—ah, fuck—"

Takeshi began to move.

He fucked himself hard on Oliver's cock, rising and dropping with deliberate, relentless force. Each downward thrust was sharp, deep, almost brutal, the wet slap of skin echoing through the high-tech garage. At the same time he pulled the shirt tighter, choking Oliver in perfect rhythm with every rise and fall of his hips.

Oliver couldn't stay quiet. Every thrust dragged a new sound from him—grunts, curses, desperate praise. "Take… fuck, just like that—ride me harder. You're gonna kill me—ah, shit—your ass feels so fucking good—" His eyes rolled back as the dual sensation of tight heat and controlled pressure overwhelmed him. "Never been fucked like this… never—Take, please—"

"This is your punishment," Takeshi whispered against his ear, voice trembling with emotion even as he rode him harder. "For every time you made me feel unwanted. For every night I went to bed sad because you kept me at arm's length. Take it. Feel it."

"I feel it—fuck, I feel everything," Oliver gasped, voice rough and broken. His cuffed wrists strained uselessly behind the chair. "Take… I want to hold you so bad. Want to flip you over and ruin you right back—but fuck… don't stop. Ruin me. Use me. I'm yours tonight."

Takeshi rode him without mercy, choking him harder when Oliver's moans grew too loud, easing just enough to let him breathe before tightening again. The shirt bit into Oliver's throat as Takeshi's ass clenched around him with every punishing drop. Sweat slicked their bodies under the red and blue lights.

Oliver's vision blurred at the edges, pleasure crashing through him in waves so fierce he could barely form thoughts. He kept talking through it all—broken, filthy, worshipful. "Take… you're perfect. So fucking perfect on my cock. Don't stop—please don't stop—"

He was being ruined—beautifully, thoroughly ruined—and he never wanted it to stop.

Takeshi's free hand shot up and gripped Oliver's chin hard enough to bruise, forcing his head up so their eyes locked. He never stopped bouncing on Oliver's cock—hard, punishing drops that made the chair creak beneath them.

"I'm close," Takeshi panted, voice thick and trembling with power. "If you beg well enough… I might let you come inside me."

Oliver's hips jerked upward on instinct, trying to fuck up into that tight heat. Takeshi immediately stopped moving completely. He stayed seated to the hilt, chest heaving, and glared down at Oliver with dark, warning eyes.

"I never asked you to move."

Oliver's breath stuttered. "I'm sorry—fuck, Take, I'm sorry. Please… please move. I'll be good. Just ride me again. Please."

Takeshi's expression softened only a fraction. He started again—slow this time, deliberate rolls of his hips that dragged every inch of Oliver's cock through his clenching heat. Soft, broken moans of Oliver's name spilled from his lips between gasps. "Oliver… ah… Oliver…"

The sound of his own name in that wrecked voice made Oliver lose his mind. "Fuck—Take, I'm so close. You're gonna make me come. Don't stop… please don't stop—"

Takeshi's grip on Oliver's chin tightened further, fingers digging into skin, and he yanked the shirt around Oliver's throat harder at the same time. His rhythm turned sharp and frantic as his orgasm crashed through him. Thick ropes of cum shot up across Oliver's jaw and chest, painting him in messy stripes while Takeshi's ass clenched impossibly tight around the cock buried inside him.

"Don't stop—Take, fuck, you're so tight—" Oliver begged, voice cracking. "Please keep going—"

Takeshi slammed his mouth onto Oliver's in a bruising, desperate kiss, teeth catching Oliver's lower lip hard enough to draw blood. The sharp metallic taste and the violent squeeze of Takeshi's orgasm around him shoved Oliver over the edge. He came with a raw, broken shout, flooding Takeshi's clenching heat as the chair rocked violently beneath them, nearly toppling over from the force of their shaking bodies.

Takeshi stayed seated deep on Oliver's cock, body trembling as he rode out the last waves of his orgasm with slow, shallow rolls of his hips. Every soft movement milked another pulse from Oliver, drawing quiet, broken sounds from both of them. The shirt around Oliver's throat had loosened, the grip on his chin gentled into a tender hold.

Takeshi leaned forward, pressing their sweaty foreheads together for a moment before tucking his face against Oliver's ear. His voice was soft, almost fragile after everything.

"I love you, Oliver."

Oliver chuckled hoarsely, "A man of your words." He whispered, nuzzling his nose in Takeshi's neck.

Finally, Takeshi slids off Oliver thigh, walked around the chair in shaky legs and released Oliver's wrists. He then eased the makeshift shirt restraint from around his throat.

Oliver's wrists ached faintly, his lip still stung from the bite, but none of it mattered. He scooped Takeshi into his arms without a word, carrying him bridal-style out of the garage and up to the bedroom. Takeshi stayed quiet against his chest, soft and pliant after the intensity, only nuzzling closer when Oliver set him down on the edge of the bed.

Oliver disappeared into the bathroom for a moment and returned with a glass of cool water. He held it to Takeshi's lips, watching him drink with quiet care.

Takeshi looked up at him through his lashes, cheeks still flushed, pink pajama top loosely draped over his shoulders like a cape. He tilted his head cutely, voice small and sweet. "You carried me… like a princess."

Oliver chuckled, low and fond, brushing damp hair from Takeshi's forehead. "You're so cute and so sexy at the same time," he murmured. "It's unfair."

He stood beside the bed still completely naked, cock soft but heavy between his thighs. Takeshi's eyes dropped to it. Without warning he shifted onto his knees on the mattress, leaned forward, and gave the semi-hard length a slow, deliberate lick from base to tip. Then he looked up, hazel eyes gleaming with mischief.

"Did you enjoy it down there?" he asked softly.

Oliver cursed under his breath, a rough "Fuck…" escaping before he could stop it. He nodded, voice thick. "I enjoyed it more than anything in the world."

Takeshi's smirk was pure sin. He licked the rapidly hardening cock again, slower this time, savoring the way it twitched against his tongue. "That was just stage one," he said, voice low and full of promise. "I'm going to have you in positions that make you tear up… good tears."

"Not if I make you tear up first," Oliver murmured huskily.