Chapter 29
Dmitri
Fireflies dance around us in a soft glow that flickers in a peaceful, random display.
Daylight takes its final breath, giving way to the darkness.
I tuck Eric into my chest, holding onto this deep sense of contentment.
The breeze brushes his hair against my face, the strands tickling my cheeks.
We collect what we need from the bus and head into the house.
Tai’s snores drift from the couch. “He might end up crashing there all night,” I say with a grin. “I hope your parents have earplugs.”
Eric shows Dante and Theo where the guest bathroom is, and both of them are ecstatic to shower in something other than the tiny stall on the bus. They’re squabbling about who goes first as we walk away, snickering.
The goodnight hug Eric gives his parents is full of unfiltered emotion. Whispered conversations pass between him and his mother that bring tears to his eyes, and after she releases him, Susan surprises me when she pulls me in. I have to bend down for her to reach.
“Be good to my boy,” she whispers. “He’s not as tough as he pretends to be.”
Affection is not so freely given in my family, and I latch onto the warmth as I return her hug. “I swear I will be,” I whisper back.
Eric leads me up the stairs into his room, and I grin when he flips the light on.
This bedroom could easily be featured in an article about the quintessential all-star teenage athlete.
Football trophies and awards line the bookshelf, along with several framed pictures of Eric in his uniform throughout the years.
My finger trails over one where he looks to be in early high school, with a thinner face that hadn’t yet grown into his nose.
A handful of 4-H livestock ribbons drape over a different picture. He’s middle-school age in this one and posing next to an impressive goat—a giant black billy with a long beard.
Country boy, through and through.
The queen-sized bed is covered with a blue and red quilt, and a random assortment of pillows leans against the wooden headboard. A few framed posters hang on the walls, mostly metalcore and emo punk bands. They’re out of place in a space that screams banjos and twangy guitars.
He lets me take my fill, then grabs the strap of my bag to slide it off my shoulder. “Bathroom’s in here,” he says as he leads me toward a door on the far side of the room, and my brows shoot up in surprise at the enormous soaker tub.
It's the size of a small swimming pool, with jets everywhere you look.
“Football’s tough on the body, baby,” he says with a nostalgic smile. “The older I got and the more physical it became, the more important it was to soak. Dad spent a summer expanding the bathroom so it would fit.”
Something akin to jealousy lurches in my gut.
Eric’s parents were loving and supportive, and his childhood was filled with happy memories of a family who always had his back.
Flashes of my own isolated early years remind me of quiet hallways and imaginary friends, and hugging tutors and music instructors in my search for affection.
Closed doors and hidden emotions.
The thought of my father dedicating a single day to me, much less an entire summer, is…
Well. Laughable doesn’t quite cover it.
Eric is watching me carefully, so I force myself out of my memories and gesture toward the bathtub.
“We are so getting in there.” Amusement flickers in his eyes as he cocks an eyebrow at me.
“I'm not kidding. It’s been way too long since I took a bath, and the thought of one right now after using that tiny shower on the bus is fucking incredible.”
“Do you want me to run you a bath, baby?” he teases.
“Fuck yes, I do,” I answer immediately, lifting my fingers as I count off my demands. “Bubbles, oils, and fancy soaps. Maybe even a bath bomb, if you’ve got one. Make me smell like I fell out of a magical forest for the next two days.”
“Is that all?” he asks with a grin.
“And I want you to get in with me.”
“That's quite the list of demands,” he says as he scratches his chin, staring at the bathtub. “Think we’ll both fit?”
“Only one way to find out.”
His grin is downright devilish as he twists the tap, and the sound of rushing water fills the bathroom. Steam rises in misty whorls and creates a fine haze over the mirror as he dumps in some salts, and the scent of pine and sea salt fills the air.
After he’s satisfied with the bath, Eric slides over and cups my cheeks. “So, this is what you want, huh? Bubble baths, foot rubs, maybe a back massage or two—”
“I want to go on the record and say I will never turn down any of those things.”
He chuckles as he fists my shirt. “Are you looking to be a kept man?”
“You can keep me,” I tease as I reel him in. “Pamper and spoil me. Coddle me. Take care of me, daddy.”
Eric’s rumbling hum comes from his throat, rich and drawn-out, as he presses his front against mine.
“Daddy, huh?” His husky voice in my ear sends a shiver through my body as his lips find my jaw.
“I’ll show you Daddy.” The flat of his tongue drags down my neck until my shirt prevents him from going any further.
“Don’t talk smack you can’t stand behind,” I taunt, knowing that I’m riling up his competitive nature.
Fingertips brush against my abs as he tears my shirt over my head, and he sinks to his knees. “You think I’m bluffing?” he asks as he grips the waistband of my shorts.
“Shit, baby,” I mutter as he pushes them to the ground, leaving me in my boxer briefs. My hand weaves through his hair, relishing each coiling strand as it glides between my fingers.
I don’t move him, don’t even tighten my grip.
I simply crave the connection.
If it were up to me, I'd find a way to touch him every hour of the day.
Hazel eyes meet mine as he leans in and closes his mouth over my cock through the fabric of my underwear, the barrier turning every sensation into a frustrating promise. My grunt slides into a low whimper as I rock my hips up, seeking friction, but he draws back and leaves me throbbing.
“Not nice,” I whine.
His smile curves into something wicked, eyes glinting with that quiet possession he saves for moments like this.
His tongue moves to the bare skin of my stomach next, tracing up one side of the faint V carved in my abs, then dragging slow and wet across my belly before sliding down the other side.
My cock twitches as he gets closer, pre-cum growing into a damp spot from the glide of his mouth.
Just when I’m convinced nothing beats the frantic heat of Eric when he’s desperate and breathless, he shifts gears.
He slows to something deliberate, almost reverent, lavishing every inch with unhurried focus that makes my mind blank out.
He takes his time like he has all night, and forces me to feel every flick of tongue until I’m questioning everything I knew about want.
Breath hisses out of my nose in short bursts as he drifts nearer to my cock again, so close the heat radiates through the cotton and promises relief.
I tense, ready for his mouth, but he veers at the last instant, kissing instead along the taut line of my thigh.
He nudges the leg of my boxers higher with his nose, inching until he’s a hairbreadth from where I’m leaking.
I rock forward, barely an inch or two to chase him, but he stills me with an admonishing click of his tongue.
His eyes meet mine again with silent command, and I force my body to go shock still.
“Good boy,” he purrs.
He's playful as he grips the leg of my underwear, then tugs them aside until my cock springs free to hang out the side. The simple friction from the cloth against my shaft is enough to make me moan.
“Why are you tormenting me?” I whimper, unable to help it as my hips rock. His breathy laugh blows across my overheated skin just before his tongue flicks out and swipes the beaded liquid from my slit. Breath punches from my lungs as my hips drive forward again.
“Someone’s impatient tonight,” he teases.
“Please, baby. Give me what I need.”
His eyes move up my body to meet mine with a predatory smirk curling his lips. “Tell me what you need and it’s yours.”
You, all of you. Everything you’ve got to offer, and then more.
Dramatic, perhaps. Doesn’t make it less true.
But instead of saying that, instead of letting the confession spill from my lips, I grip his hair tighter, trying to guide myself into his mouth.
He clicks at me again and shakes his head. “Use your words, D.”
An impatient growl rumbles out of my throat, and he looks pleased at my unraveling. “Open your mouth,” I say, and he immediately complies. “Show me your tongue.”
The underside of my cock glides against his waiting tongue, the wet heat sending a jolt straight through me as I start to move.
I thrust in and out of his open mouth a few times, easing deeper with each careful push.
It’s intoxicating having him on his knees, submissive and steady, not moving an inch until I allow it.
Every line of his body is tuned to my rhythm.
“Now suck.”
His lips close around me, and the broadest part of his tongue drags along my shaft as he suctions—gentle at first, then building.
He draws me in with steady pressure that makes my hips stutter.
I pull out almost to the tip, watching his lips stretch wide around the ridge before it slips free with a soft, wet pop.
His gaze never wavers as I slide back in, finding a steady rhythm that has me sinking deeper each time.
When I push far enough to hit the back of his throat, he gags, eyes watering, but he stays right there and takes it.
Spit spills freely—trailing down his chin, slicking my cock until it glistens, stretching in thin, sticky strands between us with every thrust.