The Broken Arm Favor - Finale

By the time I got to Troye’s room that night, the air felt electric. We’d already crossed every line, burned every excuse—but somehow the tension was thicker than ever. My cock was straining before we even touched, slick from the last edging session we’d sneaked in during the afternoon.

Troye was waiting, sprawled on his bed, sweatpants low, chest bare, his arm still glistening from where the sheets clung. His gaze locked onto me the second I walked in, dark, hungry, commanding.

“I want to ride you tonight,” he said, voice low and serious, sending a shiver down my spine.

My chest tightened. “You… you sure?”

“Yes,” he said, smirking. “I want to take control. You’ve had it all these weeks—I want this. I want you.”

The words made my cock throb uncontrollably. I nodded, already moving toward him, pulling my shorts down.

He rolled onto his back, legs spread wide, eyes glued to me. “Get over me,” he whispered.

I climbed on top carefully, cock nudging against him. His hand immediately wrapped around my hip, guiding me closer, and then he positioned himself—my cock sliding into him at an agonizingly slow angle. He gasped, his teeth biting his bottom lip as he sank down, his tight heat molding around me.

“Fuck,” I groaned, the sensation sending sparks up my spine.

He set the rhythm, rolling his hips, grinding down on me with deliberate control. I let him, my hands bracing on his chest, moaning his name into his ear. Each motion stretched and squeezed me in ways my hand never could, every inch of him pressed hot and needy against me.

“Connor… oh fuck—move with me,” he begged, rocking faster now.

I let him set the pace, following his lead, my hips bucking instinctively. The sound of skin slapping, our moans, and our gasps filled the room, thick and sticky with heat.

His hands roamed my back, pulling me closer, holding me as tight as he could. I rested my forehead against his shoulder, chest heaving, feeling every twitch, every shiver, every moan that spilled from him straight into me.

“You’re mine,” he whispered fiercely, grinding down harder. “Every inch of you. Don’t forget it.”

I shivered at the possessiveness, the raw hunger in his voice. “I… I’m yours,” I gasped, cock buried, leaking inside him, moaning against his neck. “I need you… need you so much.”

His pace grew frantic, greedy. He leaned down, brushing his lips against mine in sloppy, desperate kisses. I moaned into him, my hands tangling in his hair, in his sheets, anywhere I could grip.

“Connor—fuck—oh God—don’t stop—” His words were broken, ragged with need.

I couldn’t. Not now. Not ever. I let him ride me, controlling every thrust, every inch of motion, until he was shaking under me, his breaths short, his chest heaving.

I slid my hands over his thighs, over his stomach, touching where his cum from earlier had dried and mixed with sweat. I teased him, dragging my fingers through the mess, feeling him shiver and whimper at every touch.

“Please… please let me cum,” he gasped, grinding harder, hips snapping against me like he couldn’t contain himself.

I wrapped my arms around him, holding him tight, pushing him to the edge, whispering his name again and again. “Cum, Troye… cum for me.”

And he did. His body convulsed, cock pulsing around me, warm ropes of cum spilling down his stomach and my chest. I groaned, clenching him as he shivered, shaking against me, until I couldn’t hold back anymore.

I erupted inside him, hot and thick, moaning his name, collapsing on top of him in a sweaty, sticky mess.

We stayed like that, gasping, tangled together, skin slick, cum mixing, our hearts pounding in unison. The intensity of it—everything we’d shared, every late-night session, every stolen moan—crashed over us at once.

“I need you,” he murmured finally, voice low and ragged. “Not just for this… not just for the sex. I need you, Connor. All of you.”

I buried my face in his neck, shivering, still throbbing inside him. “I need you too… more than anything,” I whispered.

He smiled faintly, tired but still possessive, still ours. “Good. Because you’re mine. Always.”

And at that moment, lying in the mess we’d made, bodies sticky, hearts racing, I realized it was true. This wasn’t just about release. It was about us. Every moan, every hand, every kiss—everything—had led us here. We were theirs and each other’s, addicted, obsessed, and utterly, irrevocably in need.

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