Chapter 12 Eric
ERIC
I’d memorized Nate without meaning to. The sound of his laughter, the bite of his curses, the rare moments when his guard cracked and that swagger slipped enough for me to see what was real.
The guy who’d let me shove his pants down to mid-thigh in a frat-house storage room while chaos raged below and rub his dick over a mirror older than he was before I fucked us both senseless.
And it wasn’t just the sex. Nate lived rent-free in my head, mentally edging me every damn day.
I wanted to spread his cheeks wide and bury myself inside him. I made him wait, though, because that was what got us both off. The game, the power struggle, the chase.
He held all the power; I just got to touch it.
My jacket was still on, sleeves riding up, and I worked one-handed, digging a few packets of lube from my inside coat pocket.
It paid to always be prepared, especially with Nate, who’d fuck on a moving subway if I gave him the nod.
I wrestled my coat off, dragged my shirt over my head, and then ripped open the lube.
I squeezed out a fat ribbon of the stuff and coated my cock, watching him watch me in the reflection.
I gave myself a couple of greased-up strokes, then ran my soaked fingers between his cheeks to where the base of the plug fit snug against his hole.
Nate let out a sigh of relief that made me smirk, thinking he knew what was next. Not so fast, frat boy.
I tugged the plug with just enough pressure that Nate gritted his teeth and grunted, waiting for that familiar stretch, but I didn’t pull it out.
I grabbed the remote instead, button jammed under the lining of my pants, and I thumbed it on.
Lowest setting first, just to mess with him.
Nate almost head-butted the mirror as the vibrations kicked in.
His head drooped forward, a shattered laugh tearing from his throat. “You motherfucker.”
“Depends on who you ask,” I quipped. Before he could roll his eyes or get too mouthy, I pressed forward, slotting my cock between his thighs.
I let the flex of his ass guide my pace between them.
He was burning up, thighs smeared in lube, and when I notched my hips just right I dragged the entire length of my dick along his taint and over his balls, grinding into him.
Every pass nudged the vibrating plug against his sweet spot.
Nate’s thighs snapped tight around me as I did it again, slipping through the sucking heat the way I knew he loved. He shuddered so hard the mirror glass rattled, and I could almost taste the pleasure ricocheting through him.
The pressure of his thighs cinching my shaft was unreal. I slid through again and splayed a hand low on his back just to feel him straining for whatever I’d give him.
The way Nate turned into a fucking symphony of sweat, muscle, and desperation alone could’ve gotten me off.
He was always fighting for leverage, like if he tried hard enough he could take control.
It was just that he didn’t want to. That was the fucking point, though. That was what got me really hot.
I upped the setting on the plug. One click, two, three, and the hum went right through him. Nate fucking lost it. He clawed at the mirror and let out a moan, hips jerking so hard I had to slam my hand into his side to hold him steady.
He rutted his cock against the cold mirror, and then fucked back on me, chasing sensation like he’d die if he didn’t get it.
I gathered momentum, getting reckless while the plug beat a rhythm inside him that grew more insistent with every passing second. Nate bucked, the mirror fogging where his breath hit.
“Nate,” I gritted out as I clamped down on his hip. He whimpered at the sound of his name, fisting a hand against the glass so hard I worried it’d crack. The lines of his body were so taut I thought he might actually snap if I didn’t give him what he wanted. “Don’t you dare come yet.”
If I were the type to play nice, I’d have softened it, maybe leaned in and breathed it against his ear, tongued out the sweat collecting in the hollow beneath his collarbone, let him feel me smile against his neck.
But I wanted him like this, shaking and stretched to the edge, desperate for the next command.
His cock made an unholy mess of the glass, strings of lube and pre-cum streaking down in slow drips. Every time I thrust against him, he dragged more of it across the surface, smearing foggy fingerprints and filthy evidence of exactly what I was doing to him.
“Eric.” I knew that tone. It was a myriad of things all at once.
Urgency, need, panic, surrender, but mostly restless, buckling want.
It never failed to send me to a different stratosphere of arousal.
I could ride the edge of my orgasm for a solid half hour, no problem, but when his voice reached that timbre, I was suddenly right there, staring into the abyss. “Please.”
There was my ruin in one syllable.
I yanked the plug free with just enough twist to make his whole body light up from the inside out.
Nate choked out a ragged sound, and there was a second where he tried to steady himself, before he gave up and sank forward.
Then I drove in. No hesitation, no warning, I just slammed forward, balls-deep into pure fire.
The grip of his ass was impossible, vise-tight, and electric.
It zipped straight up my spine and cracked through my body like lightning to a tree.
I could split down the middle at any moment.
I felt the exact second Nate lost it. He clamped down on me with a full-body shake and then splattered the mirror with thick ropes of cum. The raw cry he issued, along with the unforgiving squeeze of his hole, ripped the orgasm straight from my core.
I buried myself to the root and unloaded. I fucked him through it, riding every violent twitch as I fell apart. His cries echoed around us while we watched ourselves come undone and then some.
When the thrash of climax receded, it left a mellow satiety behind. I slumped against Nate’s back. We were both wrecked, caught in the weightless afterglow, suspended and stupid.
Nate moved first, a tiny tilt of his hips back that sought more friction even though he was spent.
The motion wrung another pulse from my cock that made me shudder and roll my shoulders.
Gradually, I became aware of the thud of music still coming up from below, that there was still life happening around us.
Sucking in a breath, I caught Nate’s hips and pulled him up straight. He wobbled on his feet, still panting. There was a mess everywhere. It was on my cock and the floor, all over his thighs and clouding the mirror in front of us, an abstract painting depicting every dirty thing we’d just done.
“Holy shit,” he breathed. I was about to echo the sentiment when he continued. “We cracked the fucking mirror. Isn’t that seven years of bad luck?”
I checked, and he was right. A spiderweb of cracks spread from either edge of the frame where he’d gripped it. I smirked. “You broke it, so I guess it’s your bad luck.”
He shot me a glare as I eased back and gave us both some room to shake out our limbs and return to a human state after fucking like rabid animals. “What’s yours is mine and what’s mine is yours, you fucker.”
I couldn’t help the laugh that rumbled out of me and, as he turned to face me fully, I grabbed him by the chin and guided his mouth to mine, kissing him soundly before pulling back. “How about we share custody? I take four years and you take three?”
He pretended to weigh the options, then nodded. “Works for me. You get the extra year since it’s your own damn fault.”
I chuckled, then looked around for something to clean ourselves with. “Not sure that superstitious bullshit is true, though. Hell, we’re already lucky it didn’t crack where I was rubbing your dick against it.”
We both cringed at that, imagining a very different—and much more painful—mess.
I spied a pile of bright red fabric nearby and scooped it up, unraveling it and finding an end to mop over myself before extending it to Nate.
He grabbed it, held it up, then wheezed with laughter. “Dude. Do you know what this is?”
I examined the fabric and came up empty. “A hideously-colored bedsheet?”
“No.” He cackled with amusement. “It’s bunting for Parents’ Weekend.”
For some reason, that struck us as the most unhinged part of the entire night.
The two of us lost it, collapsing into knee-buckling laughter.
Nate caught his breath enough to add, “Talk about a warm welcome.” He waved the sodden strip in the air like a victory flag, then finally wiped his own mess with it, folding the cum-streaked fabric into a gross little square before neatly stacking it atop the throne.
The obscene symbolism wasn’t lost on either of us, but we were too delirious from endorphin whiplash to acknowledge it.
“What the hell even is bunting anyway? Weird word,” I said, fastening my pants. I picked up my shirt and wrestled it back on while Nate did the same.
“Whatever it is, I think we’ve given it a new purpose.” He watched me shrug my coat over my shoulders. “I guess we should get back to the party.”
“For like ten minutes before we go home and crash?” A bone-deep exhaustion filled me. I wanted our bed and him, skin to skin, craved the contentment that descended when I flipped off the light and we lay next to each other in the dark.
“Fuck yes.”
Before we got fully downstairs, right at the landing where the banister curled, I snagged his collar and pulled him to me.
It didn’t matter how many times I kissed Nate Sanders, how many times I pushed him up against doorframes or cars or even the inside walls of my own goddamn skull, he always leaned into it with every fiber of his being.
I stole one last taste of him—cheap beer, the salt of his sweat along his jaw where my tongue followed the curve before I pulled away.
I’d be back for more later.
Once back in the main room, we found Mark, Chet, Jesse, and Sam kicked back on a couch that was way too small to support all of them.
“What the hell happened to you two?” Nate asked, eyeing the gore splattered liberally all over Mark and Chet’s costumes. They looked like they’d gotten into a fight with every single chainsaw in a five-mile radius and lost.
“I think Troy happened,” I said wryly. Only Chet seemed to get it, though. He chuckled, and I tossed him a conspiratorial wink.
“Troy is definitely the best answer,” he agreed.
I studied Sam next, shocked to see he’d branched out from the obvious. He might have gone a little too far, though. I had no clue who the fuck he was supposed to be. “Who’re you?”
“Landon from Thrice Bound by Oath.” He grinned at me expectantly, but I was still clueless.
“That’s a movie? A show?” I tried.
“It’s a book.” The low baritone of Ansel’s voice came from behind me. “Excellent choice, Samson. Damien sucks.”
“He’s just misunderstood,” Jesse protested, then paused. “Wait, you read it?”
Ansel slipped in alongside me, sipping from a water bottle. “Only to page 47, I think. But enough to know he’s a jackass.” He looked Mark and Chet over carefully, but didn’t ask. Ansel was selective with his curiosity that way, usually when he didn’t want the same turned on him.
But Jesse was here, so it was kind of moot, especially since Jesse leaned forward, swatting at something on the outside of Ansel’s black-clad thigh. “You’ve got leaves on you or something. Where have you been?”
“Here, there, everywhere.” The paint on Ansel’s face made his enigmatic smile even more striking. “Now I’m going home.”
“Us too,” Nate said, resting back against my shoulder. “I’m beat.”
“Beat or…” Chet let the implication linger with a laugh, then whooped when Mark stood and yanked him upright.
Jesse and Sam exchanged a glance before Jesse cleared his throat and said, “I considered not saying anything, but I feel like it’s my duty to inform you, more specifically Mark—since you’re sort of the head of the house—that the police came by the house earlier…”
“What?” Mark roared. “Why?”
Sam put a hand up. “Chill, bro. It’s not a big deal. Someone thought they saw a person creeping, so they were just checking that everything was okay.”
I watched him closely as he spoke, the way his eyes kept darting toward Jesse. He was lying. But I was too tired to investigate, and it wasn’t my style anyway.
“Bet they took all the candy.” Nate aimed a grin at Sam. “Maybe try not to puke in the candy bucket this year. You’re looking a little flushed.”
“It really was you,” Jesse exclaimed. “God, I still can’t believe it. So disappointing.”
Sam hung his head in shame, but beneath the fall of his hair, I caught the curve of a smile. Yeah, there was definitely some tea there.
But it would have to wait for another day.
Nate and I walked home from the party, swaying against each other—not from too much booze, just from sheer exhaustion. Once we were in bed, my body curled around his, and darkness cocooning us, Nate walked his fingers down my thigh. “Remember what you said earlier about being lost?”
“Mm-hmm.” I rubbed my lips along the fringe of hair at his neck, inhaled the scent of his shampoo. “I meant it.”
“You know I’d always find you, right?”
My lips brushed his skin and parted, drinking him in. “I do.”
—END—