24 Aubie #3
Not that I’d admit that. No sense getting ahead of ourselves. I kind of like having him a little off balance. The problem is, every downstroke of his cock drives home the fact that I’m in the same boat. I’m so far over my head in this I don’t recognize who I am anymore.
I’ve never wanted to keep someone close after getting what I want.
Never felt the urge to make myself indispensable to another person.
Never, ever yearned for anyone before.
And yet, that’s where I find myself.
This line of thought merits further reflection, preferably at a time when I’m not getting my ass railed in the most mind-numbing fashion.
I suck his tongue back into my mouth, hungry for his taste, and drag my nails across the warm skin of his back.
Marking him as surely as he did me with his teeth.
“Are you close?” he grunts.
You would think, since he just got me off in the livingroom, that the answer to that question would be a firm no. But judging by how hard my cock is and how everything inside me is speeding toward the finish line, I would be foolish to think I wasn’t about to surrender to the mother of all orgasms.
“Yes,” I manage to hiss. I can feel his body start to tense, his rhythm becoming more erratic, so I know he’s only asking because he’s on the verge himself. Damn him for being a considerate lover.
I reach down between us, intending to give my cock a couple of helpful tugs, but the damn thing is apparently ahead of me. As soon as he announces he’s coming, I feel all that pent-up pressure reach critical mass.
He grunts and stiffens while my cock detonates, decorating my chest with cum. Talk about timing.
He collapses on top of me and for a moment the only sound is our combined heavy breathing. His mouth lands next to my ear and every exhale sends aftershocks to my still-twitching cock.
I would never complain about a human blanket, but he seems to realize he’s crushing me and pushes up on his elbows and looks down at me.
His espresso eyes are almost fully blown, but the fires of hunger I saw there earlier have cooled.
When that damn wayward curl falls across his forehead, I reach up without thinking and brush it back.
The motion seems to wake him out of his cum coma.
He raises himself and flips over onto his back with a soft grunt.
Mourning the loss of his heat, I turn my head to him and study his face for clues to what’s going through his head.
I don’t think I could stand it if he suddenly jumped up and ran away right now.
What? Me…needy?
Before he gets any of those ideas, I offer up a solution. “Shower?”
I can see the wheels turning behind his eyes. Finally he sighs and nods. “Fine. As long as that’s all it is.”
I sit up and scoot to the edge of the bed. “Baby, I don’t think even I could go another round right now.”
His smile is a sight to behold and might be my new favorite thing. After his cock, of course. “So you’re saying I satisfied you?”
I stop myself before making some flip remark. “Very much, but don’t let it go to your head.” I stand up and head toward the bathroom.
“I satisfied a fuckboy,” he singsongs behind me.
I smile to myself as I reach into the shower to turn on the water. “I’d hardly call that an accomplishment.”
He grabs me from behind and spins me around, pressing me against the wall and closing his lips over mine.
This time the kiss is slow, sweet, and sensual.
The man can kiss, I’ll give him that. Unlike his initiation into gay sex, that’s something I can’t take credit for.
I feel a pang of jealousy at whoever taught him that.
When we pull apart, there’s wonder in his eyes. “I never thought…” he starts, then shakes his head.
“What?”
He seems embarrassed when he replies, “I never thought it could be like that with a man.”
I think it has more to do with the who rather than the what, though I’m not about to suggest that because that would be admitting that while I’ve had plenty of sex with men, it’s never felt like that before.
That admission might scare the hell out of both of us, and the last thing I want to do right now is spook him.
I don’t know what this thing is between us, and part of me is terrified of the idea of it, but that doesn’t stop me from wanting to explore it further.
We manage to take a shower without giving each other a hard on, though I’d be lying if I said I didn’t enjoy running my hands over his soaped up body.
I fully expect him to leave after we get done, but he surprises me by joining me on the bed.
Pinch me, please, because I don’t know what’s happening here.
He reclines on his side and looks at me like he can’t figure out what he’s doing here, his fingers tracing circles on my arm. I don’t think he’s even aware he’s doing it. Like some kind of muscle memory from a former lover. My mind goes back to something he said earlier.
“What did you mean when you said you weren’t interested in sex?”
He groans. “You caught that, huh?”
“I did. So?”
“I was never all that into sex. I thought maybe it was because I was so focused on baseball.”
“Baseball?” I remember him saying something about being an athlete.
“I was a pitcher. Started in Little League then up through school and college. Had even been drafted to the pros.”
“What happened?” I prompt, wondering how we got from there to here.
He hesitates, like he doesn’t want to talk about it. Ordinarily I’d let it go because I’m usually not that invested in other people’s lives, but for some reason I am in his.
“I kind of blew up my life after I caught my brother fucking my fiancé.”
So that’s the betrayal he was talking about. “Ouch,” is the only thing I can think to say.
“Yeah. I started drinking, and well, I never stopped. At least, not until Daryl pulled me out of the gutter.”
That explains their bond. “Is that why you’re so uptight?” He rolls his eyes at me. “What? You’re going to deny it?”
“I can’t afford to lose control.”
I’ve known addicts, so I know the struggle they face every day. “You afraid you’ll relapse?”
“I don’t want to take that chance.”
Okay, that kind of makes me feel a little bad for teasing him.
He sits up and looks over at me. “I should be going. I haven’t had much sleep lately.”
Join the club, I don’t say, though that’s almost all his fault. If I wasn’t tossing and turning thinking about his cock I could go back to sleeping like a baby. Well, when I’m not plagued by nightmares.
I almost ask him to stay, but I can’t seem to make myself say the words.
Maybe it’s me who’s afraid of losing control, because right now I’m close to wanting to keep him in my bed forever, and I don’t do sleepovers.
Problem is, I’d sure as hell make an exception for him, and that scares the hell out of me.
I roll over on my side and prop up on my elbow. His eyes rake over my body, then he reaches out and runs a finger along my hip. It takes me a minute to realize he’s tracing my tattoo.
“This is beautiful work. What’s the story behind it?”
“Who says there’s a story?”
He frowns at me. “There’s always a story for work like this.”
“Maybe I just wanted something pretty on my skin.”
“I thought we were being honest here.”
Shit. I really don’t want to talk about this, but I know he’s waiting for an answer. This is why relationships are a no-go for me.
“It’s a tribute to something I lost.”
I stopped at the tattoo parlor to get it started the day of his funeral.
Every painful session helped the healing process.
Every stab of the needle killed a little more of the pain.
Thirty-five hours worth still wasn’t enough to erase the guilt, but having the evidence staring at me every day reminds me that I tried.
Sensing that I’m not going to elaborate, he shakes his head and stands up, picking up his discarded towel and tucking it around his waist before going in search of his clothes.
I feel a moment of panic when I realize I don’t want him to leave. That I want to curl up under the covers and fall asleep with his sinful body molded to mine.
But that’s not the world we live in. We all have our roles to play. I’m the shameless slut, he’s the uptight prick. In what universe do we belong together?
When he returns, he’s already dressed. “Where do you want this?” he asks, holding out the wet towel.
I don’t want to talk about towels. I don’t want to talk about anything. I just want to be. Preferably with him.
“Just toss it in the bathroom.”
I act like it doesn’t matter. Like I don’t care if he leaves.
Meanwhile I’m dying inside.
He stands next to the bed and stares at me. I don’t know what he sees. Fuckboy? Lover?
After a minute, he runs a hand back through his hair and sighs. “Well, I guess I’ll get going.”
“Don’t go” is on the tip of my tongue, but I can’t say it. “Okay,” is all I manage before rolling over and getting up from the bed. I grab the kimono laying across the side chair and slip it on.
“I can at least walk you out.”
I follow him to the front door, then grab his hand as he reaches for the knob.
“You forgot this.”
I lean up and press my lips to his and that familiar zap of electricity shoots through my system at the contact. He wraps a hand around my nape and pulls me closer, deepening the kiss. It’s like neither one of us can let go.
When he finally pulls back, he meets my eyes and offers a half smile. “Guess I’ll be seeing you.”
“You know where I live.”
I already miss him as soon as the door closes.