Chapter 13 #3
“That you’re so worked up you might come immediately?” Luca reached for the band of Emerson’s briefs. Wrapped his hand around him, brought him out into the light. “Yes.”
And then Luca lowered his head, not wasting a second, and Emerson let out an exclamation that hardly sounded like himself. The wet heat of Luca’s mouth surrounded him all at once, his tongue caressing, not even a bit of lead-up.
“Fuck,” Emerson breathed, his arms flailing, hitting the arm of the couch, reaching for Luca’s shoulders, the fuzz of his hair. Soft. His hair was definitely soft. “Luca. What the fuck.”
Luca’s head bobbed, the suction and rhythm of his mouth increasing, humming around Emerson’s dick, and Emerson was lightheaded. He was going to float away. Away from this couch, away from this house, away from this farm.
“Luca—shit—”
And before he could stop himself, he was coming inside Luca’s mouth, like his entire body was a closed fist unclenching, over and over again.
He could only stare dazedly down at Luca as his vision started to clear, mouth hanging open as he sucked in breath. As he watched Luca slide off, wipe his mouth with the back of his hand. Tuck Emerson neatly back inside his briefs. Give Emerson a little pat on the stomach.
“I’ll go slower next time,” he said, voice hoarse but almost…chipper. “Just kinda felt like you needed that.”
Done, for now, with his tasks, Luca looked up, eyes bright. Emerson stared back, still slack jawed.
And then, a surprise to himself, Emerson started to laugh.
“I, uh.” Another bizarre bubble of laughter. “I guess. I really did?”
Luca smiled at him. And leaned down to place a kiss on Emerson’s knee.
“That’s it,” he said quietly, to Emerson’s leg. “That’s the stuff.”
Emerson gazed down at him a minute more, the last of his laughter wheezing out of him, his heartbeat becoming only slightly more in control. Luca waited there, patiently, seemingly contentedly, on his knees.
Emerson’s eyes slid to the tent in Luca’s sweatpants.
“Touch yourself,” Emerson said, voice reedy, all hint of laughter gone. “Please.”
Luca’s gaze sharpened.
Barely a second passed before he slipped a hand—the hand that had just been wrapped around Emerson—inside his sweatpants.
Emerson sucked in a breath. He had asked—well, he had asked this of Luca without even really thinking, but whatever vestiges of his brain were left had asked for educational purposes.
He’d only ever touched Jayden before. He didn’t know how Luca did it, how he liked to be touched; Emerson didn’t want to look like an amateur.
But Luca, now, kneeling on Emerson’s living room floor between Emerson’s splayed knees, staring up at him through those eyelashes, the tendons in his forearm flexing as he—
Emerson spent most of his life trying to be as humble, as close to the earth as possible. Producing what he could from the soil, as sustainably as possible; consuming less. Being part of the ecosystem—quiet, grateful—not taking any part of it for granted.
But at this moment, with this image laid out before him, Emerson felt, at least temporarily, like a god. Like an actual fucking king.
“Come up,” he rasped anyway, after a stunned second. As erotic as the image was, he still needed to actually learn. “Come here. I want to see you.”
Luca, again, complied without complaint, climbing up until he was in Emerson’s lap once more.
He leaned in for a kiss before returning to his task, a kiss that started out slow, soft, Luca capturing Emerson’s upper lip with both of his before repeating the action with Emerson’s lower, where he lingered.
A few more gentle presses, languorous slides, until Luca pushed Emerson’s mouth open.
Emerson’s hand came up to grip Luca’s jaw as the kiss deepened.
He was learning Luca’s mouth, now, how they worked together.
And even if it still felt strange, a betrayal somehow, learning how to kiss someone else—god, Luca’s mouth felt good.
Tasted good. Emerson was still depleted from his orgasm, but he could feel something warm and heavy stirring in his gut the longer the kiss stretched.
Like he could conceivably, if they kept going, go again.
Eventually, Luca pulled his mouth away. But he stayed close, their foreheads almost brushing, as he pulled himself out of his sweatpants.
He turned his head away once to spit into his hand before turning back.
Emerson looked down, studied the shape and girth of him, a little thicker than Emerson, or at least Emerson was pretty sure; his brain wasn’t one hundred percent sure of anything.
He studied the level of Luca’s grip, the way he twisted his wrist once he got closer to the tip.
Maybe it was just because Luca started slow, like he knew Emerson really wanted to look, but it almost seemed—Emerson didn’t know.
Skilled, purposeful, like an art. Emerson tried to envision what his own hand looked like when he got himself off and couldn’t picture it.
He was positive he didn’t look like Luca looked right now.
He was suddenly mournful that all their clothes were still on.
He wanted to see what Luca looked like, in this exact position, doing this exact thing, against the background of his bare chest, the muscles of his thighs.
He was pretty sure if he asked Luca to pause, to take off his shirt—if Emerson reached out and took off Luca’s shirt for him—that Luca would say yes.
But Emerson felt frozen, incapable of doing anything but watching and keeping a leash on his own regenerating arousal.
Next time. Emerson would be brave enough to disrobe Luca next time.
Because apparently Emerson was already thinking about next time. In the space of a half hour, Emerson had lost his mind.
Luca sped up his rhythm, a low moan humming in his throat, a vibration Emerson could almost feel in his own skin with how close they still were.
Luca leaned in for a quick kiss and Emerson was helpless but to give it to him, even if he didn’t want to break his focus on what Luca was doing to himself.
The kiss helped revive Emerson’s body, though, made him realize he shouldn’t be leaving Luca so alone in this.
His hands woke up, running themselves over Luca’s thighs again.
One stayed there, gripping Luca’s sweatpants above his knee, while the other stretched around Luca’s back, underneath his t-shirt, scratching lightly up his skin.
Luca made a grunt of what Emerson hoped was approval. His hand was moving fast now, with less finesse, his breath coming heavy, feathering against Emerson’s chin.
“Close,” Luca said. “Gonna—”
Emerson squeezed his thigh harder, leaned forward for another quick kiss for encouragement.
Luca moaned against his mouth until he pulled away to come, mouth open, spilling over his hand, onto Emerson’s shirt.
Emerson didn’t need to study that part. He stared at Luca’s face instead, those long lashes fluttering against his cheek, the tendons flexing in his neck, the sharpness of his jaw.
“Thank you,” Emerson murmured. He relaxed his hand on Luca’s back, switching from scratching to a gentle massage.
Luca stayed hovered over him, one hand gripping the back of the couch next to Emerson’s head to steady himself as he caught his breath.
“Gonna need to wash my hand before we shake on it,” Luca eventually said, still breathing heavy, “but this was okay?”
Emerson could only stare at him and nod.
“More like this?” Luca asked.
I’m so sorry, Jay, Emerson thought. A swirl of emotions burned in his stomach. He couldn’t name a single one.
“More like this,” he agreed.