Chapter 4 TARAN #3
“Oooh, freaky girls, huh?” He raised both eyebrows and grinned. No, he didn’t look like a prince on a throne. He looked like a god.
“Just kidding. It’s not that freaky these days.
” He laughed out loud, cheeks reddening, and lifted up a little higher so he could point my dick between his legs.
His cock stood up straight and dark beneath its cloak of yellow plaid and gave a little jump when he rubbed my dickhead against his hole experimentally.
It was like standing on the edge of a cliff, waiting to jump. Exquisite anticipation, my whole body keyed up and ready. I had zero control over what happened next, and as long as he liked it, I didn’t give a shit.
He sank onto me, took in my dickhead, and gave a gut-wrenching moan as he slid all the way down until his balls sat on my belly.
He rocked, and I shuddered at the feeling of him all around me, tight and hot and eager.
I clutched at his ass, biting my lip and trying to think about anything but how fucking good he felt.
His eyes fluttered closed, then he rocked forward a little and gave a shiver, nips, balls, and cock tightening visibly. In a voice that was almost tortured, he moaned, “Oh, fuck, daddy. That hits good.”
I might’ve whimpered. The sight of him perched on me like that, impaled on my dick and thrilled about it, was almost too much.
The rumpled skirt was incidental. A flush of heat through my cock and balls made me think I was going to cum already, but after a second, I caught my breath and bit it back.
He opened his eyes. “This okay, babe?” he asked quietly.
“Y-yeah. It’s—fucking great,” I barely managed.
His smile was slower now, dreamier. “I want it to be great.” He rocked his hips in a kind of circular motion, pulling up and forward so I slid out, and then down and back to take me all the way in again. “I wanna ruin you for anyone else.”
I thought, You did that eight years ago. A wild thought, immature, silly. Patently untrue, seeing as I’d had plenty of partners since. That didn’t stop it from feeling desperately fucking true in the moment, though.
He put one hand on my belly and gradually built up a rhythm, thighs and belly flexing, fingers curling into my happy trail, eyes fluttering shut now and then, only to open and fix on mine again.
Something about his pale, greenish eyes calmed me, kept me from exploding into him right away like the inexperienced horny teenager he made me feel like.
But just like in the back of his car, this was nothing like it used to be.
The one time we’d gotten to hook up in my bed, it had been incredible—the best night of my life, I thought back then.
No fear of getting caught, no time limit, no uncomfortable places to squeeze into. Just me and him and whatever we wanted.
The last twenty minutes blew that long-ago night out of the fucking water already.
His moans grew more regular, deeper, and his rhythm erratic, and my dick teetered on that edge between numbness and ecstasy.
I wrapped my hand around his cock, and he made a sound almost like a growl.
He rocked forward into my hand, then back down on my dick hard and fast. Again.
Then again. “Ah, Jesus Christ, I fucking love your cock, Tare. Yeah, fuck yeah, just like thaa-aaa—fuck!” He shuddered hard, his insides contracting around my dick, his cum spilling all over my belly and chest in spurt after spurt as he fucked himself on me and into my hand.
I watched and felt it all hungrily, spellbound
After a few gorgeous moments, he relaxed again and swatted my hand away from his spent dick.
He leaned forward, hand on my chest to prop himself up, and used his other hand to toy with my nipple.
His thighs shook as he lifted slightly, so the skirt straightened out.
His hair fell across his forehead like a wild halo as he looked down on me.
And grinned. “You wanna cum in me, lover boy?”
I grabbed his hips and fucked up into him without even a thought.
Again and again, and between his ass and his fingers pinching my nip, the circuit of pleasure closed real goddamn quick.
I groaned and shuddered and the world went black, and Diego slid back down to sit on my balls, squeezing me inside him while I came. And came. And then came some more.
“Mmm, fuck, Taran…” he whispered into my lips. “ ’Bout to give me a breeding kink.”
I laughed and put one arm around his waist, pulling him a little closer for a breathless kiss.
***
I offered him some of my clothes, but instead he sent me out to the car for his bag, in which he had a pair of underwear and some comfy pants.
He did offer to keep the skirt on, but I decided that unless he wanted to go hungry tonight, for real hungry, not just dick hungry, then we better go with the pants.
“Tell me about the freaky girls,” he enthused, settling in at the breakfast bar, elbows on the countertop.
I was grating the pecorino Romano, so it took me a second to remember what he meant.
Then I laughed. “Oh, Jesus. It was when I first went to college. There was this girl who—heh.” And now I was blushing.
In front of a guy who’d just ridden my dick like a jockey at the Kentucky Derby.
God, I was a loser. “She said she was saving her virginity for marriage—I think she was Catholic. But I’m pretty sure if you ask the Pope if getting fucked in the ass counts, he’d say yeah. ”
“The hoops people will jump through.”
“Did not see that coming,” I admitted.
He chuckled. “She ever fuck you? Like with a strap or something?”
I shook my head. “I thought about asking.” Not her, but Jennie, anyhow. Then I realized, “Should I have eaten your ass first?”
He started laughing all over again. “Yeah, you were always pretty good at that, considering.”
“Considering we had no idea what we were doing.”
“Yeah.” He tried to purse his lips but failed. “I did not have time for foreplay, tonight, if you didn’t notice. Next time, you can definitely eat my ass.”
“Nice. Thanks.” That was a relief, anyhow. I thought maybe I’d fucked up some kind of protocol. Seemed like if you were gonna fuck someone in the ass, the least you could do was eat it out, first.
I went back to work on the food while he checked his phone, and the silence was weirdly nice. Calming, almost, like it used to be when we just sat and listened to music in the back of my car after—well, whatever.
“It’s funny,” he said suddenly. “We only screwed around in a bed once.”
“I was thinking about that,” I admitted. “I remember it being awesome.”
“Yeah.” He propped up his chin on one hand, that elbow still on the counter.
I glanced up, wondering at a change in his voice. He was staring out the window over my shoulder, his eyes far away.
“What?” I asked.
“I always kinda wondered…” He shrugged and met my gaze again. “Maybe I’m misremembering. Felt like you started doing cute stuff after that. Blankets under the stars and date-like stuff. But you never invited me back.”
I looked back down at my pile of cheese, tidying it up, hoping I wasn’t flushing.
God, it really had been the best night: right before Valentine’s, when my parents were out of town for a little trip together.
I told them I was having a friend over to work on a project, but obviously all Diego and I worked on was each other.
I’d been into him since long before he ever kissed me, but that night, I scared myself with how much I wanted to keep him.
How seriously I considered what, exactly, I’d have to do to make it happen.
He left late, well after my curfew, but I figured it’d be fine since we were supposed to be working on school stuff. I was right about that, at least.
What I didn’t count on was that my dad would recognize Diego on the doorbell cam footage.
He gave me a lecture about hanging around with the “wrong people” the next day.
Something about Diego’s dad being a “druggie” back in their school days, and Diego’s brother Frankie being a “druggie and a thief”—which was technically true, but he didn’t know that for sure.
And then, just when I thought he was done talking to me about how my choices today would affect my football career tomorrow, he came out with, Doesn’t it bother you when guys act all faggy like that?
Jesus Christ. I hadn’t thought about that in forever. Even if you didn’t know your son was also a fag, what a fucked-up thing to say to him.
I cleared my throat and started grinding the pepper. Better to get it all done before, since the dish came together really fast once it was in the pan. “You never invited me over.”
“I mean, obviously.” He smiled again.
Yeah, his house was pure chaos. Everyone in the county knew it. And it was part of why Dad didn’t want me hanging out with him. “So?”
“Fair. I guess.” He shrugged, then relaxed his shoulders again. “Sorry. We’re supposed to not think about that. Before-stuff.”
A rush of regret hit me, frayed and familiar. “No. I don’t want…” I knew what I wanted. I wanted this: Diego, here in my kitchen, talking to me like we’d always been friends. But I didn’t want it to be fake. Built on a lie.
Should I tell him what my dad had said about that night? No. It’d just fuck with his head—or make him think I didn’t care if it fucked with his head, which was just as bad.
But mostly, “I want… you to be able to say anything to me. And me to you.”
“So, nothing like last time,” he said wryly.
“We were kids.” I smiled. “We’re not anymore.”
“We certainly are not.” His gaze slid down my bare front, then back up again. He licked his lips.
Jesus Christ, he was good.
“There was a lot we didn’t say last time.” He finally looked away, releasing me.
I turned my back to check the pasta, which was just about done, the water barely covering it now. “Never again.”
“Big words.”
“I’m not just a pretty face.” I glanced over my shoulder and smiled, trying to lighten things back up again.
This time, his smile showed the adorable gap in his front teeth. “We’ll see about nothing going unsaid. I’m quick to fuck, slow to talk.”
“I got time,” I promised.
He let me feed him and declared my cacio e pepe perfection, which felt pretty nice. Then, after dinner, I couldn’t help saying, “You could stay.”
He glanced up at me sharply, eyes narrowed, as if trying to figure out what I meant.
“I mean, for a movie. Or as long as you want. Overnight.” Again, blushing seemed so fucking dumb, but I couldn’t help it.
He smiled, finally. It lit up his eyes like the sun through stained glass. “Let’s not push it. Invite me out sometime this week?”
I opened my mouth to suggest tomorrow.
As if he knew, he cut me off with, “Thursday, maybe?”
I shut my mouth and nodded. Of course, wait a day or two. He had a life. Jesus.
I kissed him at the door, and he bit my bottom lip playfully to finish it off. “Thanks for dinner. And letting me have dessert first.”
I leaned down to press my forehead into his. “Thanks for coming.”
He laughed, which made me realize the double entendre too late, and then twisted out of my arms.
I watched him go from the doorway, and then stood there a few minutes after, just thinking. Hoping.