Chapter 24 #2
His hand snakes around the back of my neck, squeezing, and he brings himself in to meet my lips with his. I smile against his mouth and he moves his hand just slightly to trace his fingers along the side of my neck, tickling me, and I can’t help but break away from him to laugh.
“Let me get someone out here to make us some drinks,” he tells me.
“From the bar right behind us,” I chortle. “Have you ever made your own drink? Actually, don’t answer that.”
I slide past him and out of the pool to pull my phone from the pocket of my discarded slacks before making my way toward the small bar. Crouching behind it, I pull out the bottles of liquor and mixers, reaching into the mini fridge beneath it to get a lime.
“What are you doing?” Nash asks, resting his arms over the wall of the lounge.
“Get your ass in here,” I tell him. “You’re gonna make your own drink.”
“I don’t know what I want. My staff usually surprise me.”
I pull open the web browser on my phone and punch in a search before opening a webpage full of recipes. “Well would you look at that,” I tease him, “all I had to do was type in ‘classic cocktail recipes’ and there are about fifty different pages for it. I didn’t need staff or anything.”
“You’re a real smart aleck,” he teases as he climbs out of the water and into the lounge.
“And you’re a menace.”
Nash settles behind me with a laugh, resting his hands on my shoulders with a squeeze. I scroll through the website in front of me until I find a drink that sounds decent which we can make with what’s already stocked out here before I set the phone down and hand Nash the lime.
He takes the fruit and cuts it into thin slices, occasionally glancing over at me with the ghost of a smile on his lips. I put away the alcohol that we won’t need and pull out two drinking glasses and a shot glass, setting them onto the bar in front of us.
“Two shots of this into each glass,” I tell him as I give him a bottle of spiced rum. I study him as he follows my instruction, carefully pouring the rum into the shot glass. “Do you ever tell them thank you?”
“My staff?” Confusion crosses his features before he answers my question with his own. “Why would I thank them for doing their jobs?”
“Because they’re people and they’re helping you,” I tell him. “You don’t ever give them a quick ‘thanks’ when they do something for you?”
“I give them a paycheck.”
I laugh with a shake of my head as I pour cola into each of the glasses, topping them off while Nash drops the slices of lime into them. I clink my glass against his as we each take a sip and the perfect blend of sweetness and spice dances on my tongue.
“You and I grew up very differently,” I tell him as we start down the path that leads back to the water.
“Yes, we did.” Nash’s arm snakes around my waist while we walk. “I was born into generational wealth and devout Catholicism, and—”
“I grew up broke with a dad in the service industry who gave me one hundred percent of his attention one hundred percent of the time.” His fingers flex against my bare skin and I wrap my arm around him in return.
As we dip back into the water, I take another sip of my drink before asking, “Are you still Catholic?”
He seems surprised by the question, and he goes quiet for a long time.
I watch his eyes move to the space ahead of him as if he’s looking for the answer to the question before he blows out a breath.
“Yes,” he finally answers, “I suppose I am. I still believe that God exists, but I’ve been so angry with Him for so long that I wish that He didn’t. ”
“That’s probably harder than if you didn’t believe in it at all anymore, huh?”
“Yes,” he answers, the smile on his face almost looking as if it’s plastered over heartbreak, “it is.”
Resting my drink on the lounge wall, I move behind him and bring my hands to his shoulders, massaging my thumbs into his muscle. I press my lips to the skin just behind his ear and he brings a hand to rest on top of mine.
“Would you go back to it?” I ask him. “If you ever stopped being pissed, I mean.”
His answer is immediate. “Yes.”
“I’m sorry that something you loved so much hurt you.”
“He wasn’t the first, pretty boy,” he tells me. “And He certainly wasn’t the last, either.”
I wrap my arm tightly around his chest and press a kiss to the crook of his neck.
I think if I could, I would fight God for him.
“Come with me,” he says, taking hold of my hand.
I follow his lead into the house, through the mudroom and up the stairs. His staff mills about the house, but none of them pay us any mind. We may as well be invisible to them.
Nash’s bedroom is unlike anything I’ve ever seen.
The walls are painfully white, save a thick slab of marble that sits behind the bed’s quilted leather headboard.
The mattress is massive, topped with an oxblood comforter that spills over each side of it and pools onto the floor below.
Other than the few accents of gold around the room, the comforter and its matching pillows are the most colorful aspect.
A massive window sits at the side of the room which faces the foot of the bed, overlooking the city with a beautiful view.
I drop onto the cushion of the bed with a flourish, falling backward with my arms out at my sides.
Nash steps toward a gold rolling cart tucked into the far corner of the room, using a crystal decanter to fill two glasses.
He brings them over, putting one of the glasses into my hand while he takes a sip from the other.
“I have a question,” I tell him as I bring myself to a sitting position. Nash gestures as if to say ‘I’m listening.’ “Why do you and my dad hate each other so much?”
A loud laugh pours from his chest, his hand reaching up to cover his mouth.
“Because we were a pair of competitive little shits with no one to rein us in.” He pulls another drink from his glass and settles onto the mattress next to me.
“When I came back from my vacation, your father was already into the investing game. He did well for himself there; he must have for my grandfather to actually take notice of him, but Henry Montgomery was an old man. His mindset was progressive, but his methods were outdated. I only took in a little of what he taught me. Your father taught me the rest without his knowledge,” he chuckles into his glass.
“He didn’t appreciate that I was following what he and the Texan—”
“Davis,” I correct him.
“That’s what I said.” He takes another drink, trying not to laugh at the glare that I shoot in his direction.
“We weren’t buddies; we were competitors.
None of us were interested in changing that.
Fast forward a decade or so, and what was once a small thing became a snowball that spiraled into what it is now. ”
“I’m sure the whole prison thing and the brothels haven’t helped,” I add.
“It doesn’t bother me,” he says almost defensively, leaning closer to me. “I don’t need friends.”
“Everyone needs friends, Nash,” I tell him as my hand raises to his jaw, my thumb tracing over the sharp angle of it. “You let me in, you can let someone else in, too.”
“Letting you in was an accident, pretty boy,” he chuckles. He plucks the nearly-empty glass from my hand, reaching forward to set the pair of them onto the nightstand next to us. “Hand me my phone,” he orders as he pulls open one of the nightstand’s drawers, digging through it.
I step toward his massive carved wood dresser – stained white, of course – and I grab the cell phone sitting on top of it, bringing it back to Nash on his bed.
He swipes the screen open and taps a few times on the smooth glass screen, opening an app that looks like it could either be for tracking a workout or for recording music.
After tapping a few more times on the screen, he pulls his hand from the nightstand drawer, bringing with it a sleek black bulb, coated in a generous layer of lubricant. “Is that a—”
“So much better than that,” he purrs, turning the smooth silicone over in his hand. “This will change your life.”
Nash climbs forward toward the edge of the bed, lifting himself to press his lips to mine, and I smile against his kiss.
My hand wraps around the base of his neck, squeezing just beneath his still-damp hair as I feed him my tongue.
He pulls me closer until our bodies press firmly together and I can feel every ounce of heat rolling off of his skin, and my cock hardens in response.
His hands work to pull away my boxer briefs and he moves behind me, using the toy to tease my entrance before slipping it deep inside of me, stopping at the base.
A moan forces its way from my lips as he does, my head dropping forward to rest on his shoulder, and my cock swells as the plug settles against my most sensitive spot.
Nash’s finger hooks below my chin, pulling my face to look at him. “You never thought that you would like to have your ass played with so much, did you?”
“No,” I breathe with a shake of my head, earning a satisfied smirk from him in response.
His mouth takes mine again as he strips away his own clothing and frees his cock, slick and begging to be touched.
My hand wraps around his shaft and I stroke him while I slip my tongue into his mouth, earning a whimper from him.
At the sound, a gentle buzzing stirs from inside of me, and my body tenses with a startled grunt which results in a slightly stronger vibration.
“It’s programmed to respond to moaning,” Nash breathes, a feline grin spreading across his face.
“You’re evil, menace” I chuckle.
Nash brings his hand to the back of my neck, guiding me to settle in front of him, my legs resting on either side of him.
Stroking his cock, I bring my mouth to meet his.
His tongue slips past my lips, swirling over my own as his hand wraps around my shaft.
I groan at the contact, bringing the toy inside of me to life with a rumbling vibration that makes my breath catch.
“So fucking sensitive,” Nash teases, smiling against my mouth. “Just look at how that pretty cock drips for me.”
“Prick,” I breathe.
Nash tightens his grip on my dick, adding pressure to the friction, and my head falls backward while I try to keep a steady grip on him.
A moan slips out of me, sending another vibration deep inside of me that forces a whimper.
The toy responds with a gentle buzzing, and I bite my lower lip to keep from making anymore noise.
Nash reaches behind him with his free hand, a feline grin crossing his features once more. “It has an ON/OFF switch, too.”
With that, the toy comes to life, the vibration pulsing in even beats. Nash’s hand pumps in time with the vibration and I buckle with a whimper. I bring my free hand to my face, breathing hard as electric heat fires up and down my spine, exploding through every nerve ending in my skin.
“I won’t last.”
“Yes you will,” he tells me, “because you aren’t allowed to come yet.”
“Ohhh, fuck you,” I whine.
His mouth meets my ear, his breath hot against my skin as he whispers, “You can’t come until after I do. So you’d better focus.”
God damnit.
I pull every ounce of focus that I can, past the pleasure shooting through me from all angles, to work my hand against his shaft, earning a grunt in response.
His lips meet mine, distracting me for a whole half second before the vibration inside of me becomes my main focus and my grip on him tightens.
I squeeze my eyes shut, trying to picture anything but this moment; anything that will keep me from coming, but I come up blank.
Nash shifts just a bit, and as he returns, the vibration gets stronger.
My eyes roll back in my head as everything in my body lights up, the pressure in my balls bordering on unbearable.
“Fuckfuckfuckfuck,” I whimper as my free hand clamps down hard onto the back of his neck, my forehead pressed against his.
“Not yet,” Nash pants. “Hold it back.”
My strokes become uneven as I pull all of my effort into not coming. It doesn’t seem to phase him; his breathing picks up, a moan escaping him before he meets me in a bruising one-sided kiss.
“I need to come,” I gasp, hardly able to speak. “Nash.”
“Hold. It.”
“I can’t.” I practically choke on the words. My body aches under his touch, every nerve ending on fire.
“You can,” he tells me.
My hand on his shaft falters. Nash moves his body closer to mine until his cock is pressed against my own, and he wraps his hands around both, working them together. My hips give involuntary thrusts in response, forcing more friction against both of us.
With a loud moan, Nash presses his forehead against mine again, the tips of our noses touching. His cock pulses against mine as his heavy breaths dance across my face and cum spills out of him. Knowing that my own relief is close only serves to make the need more intense.
“You can come for me now, pretty boy,” he tells me, kissing the tip of my nose as he catches his breath.
“Oh Christ,” I whine, “thank you.”
I finally let go, giving myself over to the orgasm I’ve been fighting away. A white, blinding release overtakes every sense, sending the air from my lungs for too long while I come, and the two of us collapse next to each other on top of the bedding.
“Did you just thank me for letting you come?” Nash laughs.
One of my hands rests on my chest while I try to catch my breath, the other I use to shove his face away from me. “Fuck off.”
“Most guys just come. Maybe throw in a ‘yes, Sir’ if they’re feeling playful,” he continues, a chuckle turning into a deep belly laugh that has him pressing a hand to his diaphragm. “But I’ve never been thanked.”
My hand flies out to smack into his chest. “Then you fuck guys with no manners,” I laugh. “I hate you.”
“I know.”
I should go home. Staying at his house is practically begging for us to be caught, I know this.
Park at the neighbor’s house. Leave before morning.
Don’t fall asleep. Three very simple rules that we’ve set for ourselves, and yet as we wind down, I find myself wrapping my body around his, and I hold him tightly to my chest, letting the warmth of his body and his steady breathing soothe me until we’re both asleep.
Shit.