Chapter Thirty-Three
I went untouched, however, as we edged into the city.
The bumper-to-bumper traffic was no less nerve-wracking when it was someone else driving.
In the end, I pulled out my phone and sent a quick message to my parents, telling them we’d pretty much arrived and - more importantly - warning them that Flynn’s mom would probably be stopping by with a heavy helping of patronizing sympathy and supercilious (but hopefully well-meaning) advice.
“I’ve got a second pass for the parking garage,” Flynn said, as he pulled the SUV into his spot. “And a key, of course.”
“Of course,” I echoed, distracted. It hadn’t quite sunk in that this was the first day of me moving in; that, rather than stopping by for moral support, or a hookup, I was beginning to set down roots of my own here.
The consternation had apparently been clear enough on my face. Flynn reached over and squeezed my hand.
“Boxes first. Mental collapse after that. Okay?”
In the end, it only took a few trips up and down in the elevator and we were done. A stack of cartons in the spare room - my room, I kept reminding myself - and the scent of freshly-brewing coffee from the kitchen.
I tensed, instinctively, as his arms wrapped around me from behind. Eased into the warmth of him a moment later, wondering whether I’d ever get used to that sensation. Come to take it for granted, even.
“Are you seriously going to sleep in here?” Flynn sounded amused. “When I have a perfectly lovely, large bed in the next room.”
I squeezed his bicep. “Yes, for now, anyway. This has all been really fast, remember?”
“I believe it’s called a ‘whirlwind romance,’” he teased.
“If it works out, sure. Otherwise it’s just ‘they should’ve slowed down, rather than rushing into things.’ And I want better than that, for us.”
His chin felt good on my shoulder. Just the right degree of weight.
“It’s annoying that I can’t argue with your pragmatism. Could you try to be a little more emotional and illogical, sometimes?”
I turned, feeling his hands slipping down to the small of my back. Grinned at him. “Sorry, am I not behaving like your previous boyfriends?”
Flynn laughed. “Don’t worry, in all metrics bar this one, you’re coming out well ahead.”
“And I bet you said that to all the boys.”
He leaned in, to land a quick kiss on my lips. “Honestly, Oli, I’m hoping that I never have another boy to say it to.”
My cheeks were fire-truck red, I just knew they were. “You’re such a smooth-talker.”
“So, what do I have to say to get you into bed, then?”
I glanced over my shoulder. “What, that bed?”
“That does seem to be the most convenient,” Flynn agreed.
“You, and me, in that bed?”
“I mean, that’s what I had in mind, yes.”
“But not to sleep,” I asked, smiling.
“No,” Flynn said, shaking his head, “I don’t think for sleeping. You still owe me something, if I remember correctly.”
“The security deposit?”
He snorted, presumably unconvinced by my innocent expression. “I swear to god, Oliver Carter, if you don’t get on that bed and let me ride your dick, I’m going to...”
“Sit in the corner and pout?”
He narrowed his eyes. “I didn’t pout.”
“Sorry, there was a mask in the way.”
A grunt of frustration, and then he was pushing me. Hands on my chest, moving quickly so that - by the time my legs hit the edge of the mattress - I was already toppling back. Staring up at him, as he reached down to tug off my sweatpants.
“You did complain, about me showing too much self-restraint,” he pointed out, as he yanked off his shirt and shoved down his jeans.
I nodded, savoring the view framed by my thighs. Flynn looked delicious in white briefs; I’d already been half hard from our flirting, but the sight of him had me rigid.
His stare was predatory. “T-shirt.”
I sat up, just enough to strip it off and toss it aside.
He smirked as he moved between my legs. Hands gripping my hips, face pressed into my boxer-briefs as he ground his nose and lips against me. The friction tantalizing through the clinging fabric; my own hands moving by instinct to grab Flynn’s head and squeeze it to me tighter.
Maybe he was impatient. Maybe the way I kept lifting my hips, driving myself against his face, was sufficiently communicative.
Either way, I felt his fingers dig under the waistband of my underwear; strip it down, exposing me further, until his mouth was working its way along my bare skin.
Not sucking me, barely even licking. An animal, urgent rubbing, as though Flynn was desperate to bear my scent, to have me imprint upon him.
I gasped when his lips closed around me. Fighting his hold on my hips, suddenly desperate to pump up and bury myself in his hot, wet, talented tightness. As frustrated by his chuckle of amusement as much as it strummed me, vibrations adding to the maelstrom of sensations already building.
Pulling at him, his mouth never stinting, I repositioned him atop me.
Already drooling at the sight of his ass, high and tight above my face; at the splay of his muscled legs as he crouched over me.
Trying my best to focus, to concentrate on easing the briefs down until the white cotton was taught between his thighs.
Barely any encouragement required at all, then, to bring him within reach of my eager tongue.
Flynn squirmed, cried out - my cock briefly forgotten, throbbing in the tight grip of his fist - as I lapped across him. Then dropped back down, redoubling his efforts as I did my level best to overwhelm him in return.
A battle, then, a war of delivered pleasure. His body softening to my devious tongue, while he in turn did his level best to distract me with his sloppy, hungry mouth.
I felt his grunt as I drove one finger into him, then - his hips driving back onto me - a second. Groaned myself, as he shifted the angle and the churning in my crotch suddenly accelerated.
“Too... too close,” I managed to gasp out.
Flynn sat up, peering at me over his shoulder. Face a sweaty, spit-slicked mess, his grin triumphant. “Can’t believe you’re tapping out already.”
I glared at him, panting still. “I thought you wanted to get fucked.”
He winked, then swung his leg over me.
Part of me wanted to roll on my side, to taste the urgent erection spearing from his crotch. But I knew that I wouldn’t be able to stop there; that restraint, of a sort, was the only way that we’d finally get the coupling I’d long promised him.
I sat up, only for him to pull me into a kiss. Less controlled than the last one, his tongue driving in against mine.
His eyes gleamed, as I yanked his head away with fingers laced in his hair.
“Condom?”
A nod to the side. “Nightstand.”
Lube, too. I tossed him the bottle before I tore the foil open, watched him dig beneath himself with greased fingers.
No protest as I pushed him down onto his back. Or as I pulled his legs up, stripping his underwear all the way off, and then shoving his knees against his chest.
“Spread yourself,” I demanded.
A hand reaching for each cheek, pulling them apart. So that I could see all of Flynn’s most intimate parts in lewd detail; presenting his body, with a confidence and a need that left me breathless and achingly hungry.
Pinning his legs back with one hand, I used the other to guide myself against his hole. Savoring the warmth of him, and the way it only served as an accelerant to my anticipation.
“Come on...” It was a whine, raw desperation.
I sank into him like it was meant to be.
Tight, but welcoming, and enveloping, and so smooth and hot, I thought for one awful, teenage moment that it was too much. Felt too good; that after all that flirting, and teasing, and Flynn’s mouth, I was going to lose it in the very first seconds I was inside him.
I grit my teeth, and thought of monstrous, soggy, stinking things in donated garbage bags, and the orgasm shifted just out of reach.
“Don’t hold back.” Hunger there, and pleading with it.
“Shut up and let me fuck you,” I snapped, and slammed my hips forward.
He writhed beneath me, squirmed as I wrapped myself around the curve of his muscled ass. Relishing the incredible intimacy of it, that sense of being meshed with Flynn’s body. The throb of his erection against me, and the unmistakable sense of him pushing back, goading me on.
No conscious thought behind my hips’ movement, then, no decision-making process at all. Just the inescapable need to rut, to hear him pant, and groan, and beg, as the sweat dripped from my face and onto his contorted body.
He’d watched me fuck before, seen the way my ass moved, the pacing of my strokes.
Some distant part of my brain wondering whether Flynn was picturing that now, too; if, as well as the grunting man beneath me, in his mind’s eye he was also sitting in a chair in the corner.
Observing my technique, memorizing the sound of flesh smacking flesh.
There was a part of me that wanted to watch it, too.
Wanted to be the observer, even as I played a starring role.
To take that distance - for all it would be frustrating, the pinch of denial - and use it to stock my memories.
Burn the image of our coupling into my brain, and with it save indelibly these feelings which all too quickly were becoming overwhelming.
“Do it,” he hissed, as though my thoughts had been screamed out rather than merely rattling in my skull.
I clung to him, and fucked, and fucked, and fucked.
And then, with a suddenness that felt shocking, I was past the point of no return.
Burying myself in him, as deep as I could possibly go and yet even then not quite deep enough.
Cock throbbing, muscles close to cramping, as Flynn watched me with hooded eyes brimming with lust. The orgasm like a punch between my legs.
He hissed as I pulled out of him, and then again as I dropped down to lick up his erection. My tongue circling for only as long as my desire could stand it, before I swallowed him eagerly.
Flynn yelped, batting at my head with his hands. His pleading protests losing all semblance of sense.
I needed, in that moment, for him to lose control as completely, as thoroughly as I had.
“Oli!” A warning, though it wasn’t required. His shuddering body enough, and then the splash of him in my mouth while he wriggled and whimpered.
It felt like mercy to finally release him. Flynn’s arm loosening, even as he stayed there in a fetal position. Panting, as I rolled onto my back and listened to the hammering of my heart and the sound of my own tortured breathing.
#
Using his shower felt different when he was in there too. There was more to look at, certainly. Not to mention someone eager to wash my back.
Even if that someone’s hands did seem prone to straying further down, to my ass, every so often.
“Is this cleaning, or you trying to go for a second round,” I teased, looking back at him over my shoulder.
Flynn’s smirk was unrepentant. Then again, claiming the moral high-ground would be a stretch, when your fingertips were busy stroking across someone’s butt.
“Can I help it if I have a hot boyfriend?”
I chuckled. “It’s still weird to hear you say that. About me, anyway.”
“The ‘hot’ part, or the ‘boyfriend’ part?”
“Both, I guess,” I conceded. “Though I was thinking more about the latter.”
“I like thinking about that part, too.”
I was pretty sure I could feel his erection pressing against my hip. Not that I was complaining.
“Any regrets?”
He laughed. “You mean, after I finally got the fucking you promised?”
“The lure of the unknown can be a strong motivator.”
Flynn shook his head. “I can’t believe you’re fishing for compliments. This is not the Oli Carter I thought I knew.”
“No? What was he like, then: the one in your imagination?”
The flash of a grin. “Serious. Sober. Frustratingly restrained.” He shrugged. “Capable of so much more than he gave himself credit for.”
I looked at him skeptically. “Oh, sure, you thought all that. Considering we barely spoke for more than a decade.”
“Are you excited about your new job?”
Blinking, I tried to process the change in subject. Knowing that he’d done it because I’d called him out, and yet once the seed of it was planted there was no way my brain couldn’t focus there.
“I haven’t even started yet,” I hedged. “It could be okay.”
“You mean, you could be good at it.”
“I guess.”
Flynn sighed, exaggeratedly. “Imagine if you had half the confidence in yourself that the people in your life have in you. In your capacity to succeed, at the things which are important to you.”
It took me a moment to work through his words; a moment more, before I felt confident enough in my voice to reply. “I’m not used to this sort of pep talk from you. Maybe that therapist actually did you some good.”
“I’m not allowed to confound your expectations in me, all by myself?”
“To be fair,” I reminded him, “the Flynn Cunningham that Oli Carter thought he knew was a real asshole.”
His hand eased around to my stomach, soap-slick hands groping. Not so much aimless, as simply content to fondle whatever he might encounter. “Well, I hope I redeemed myself.”
“Ask me in a month.”
He pulled me against him. Now, there was no doubting the heft of his cock sandwiched between our wet bodies. “An ultimatum. How daring.”
“I figured you’d enjoy a challenge. Something to replace the self-imposed restraint, perhaps.”
“Considerate of you.”
“Not really,” I admitted, reaching back to push my fingers through his wet hair. “If you insist on sitting in the corner every time, it’s going to get lonely in bed. Regardless of which bed I end up in.”
“Handsome, a great fuck, and wise with it. I really did get lucky, didn’t I.”
I laughed. His flattery was heavy-handed, but I couldn’t say I disliked it. There was, at least, a sense that Flynn wasn’t just saying all this in order to get into my pants. That put him well ahead of most of the guys I’d spent time with over the past decade.
“I do have one request,” I told him. “We should film it sometime.”
It was almost frictionless, thanks to the sheen of soap and the running water, his hand’s slide down to my crotch. Fingers gripping the base of my hard cock and wagging it, pointedly. “Are you telling me you want to watch?”
I tugged his hair, just enough for punctuation. “You of all people should understand the appeal.”
Flynn chuckled. “And we already know you enjoy putting on a show.”
His hand slipped further down, stroking me properly now. I let my head tip back against Flynn’s shoulder, my eyes closed against the spray.
“I’d better practice my dialog, then,” he murmured, lips brushing my ear. “Please, daddy, my boypussy is too tight.”
“Fuck you, asshole.” It was hard to hide my smile. “I think I preferred you when you were gagged.”
Flynn turned me, just in time to see his smirk as he dropped to his knees. “There you go again, Oli, threatening me with a good time.”