24. Ryan #2
“You’re not cute. I tell you I’m barely hanging on, and you laugh. I say I’m serious about you, and you change the subject. I ask if you want me to slow down, you tell me to come home with you.”
“Then that should answer that question,” I say, reaching up to pet Stephanie, sidling closer to Malcolm in the process.
“So, you don’t want me to slow down?”
“I don’t mind you at full throttle. But I might move slower.”
“Why?” he asks.
“I don’t know why,” I tell him honestly. “It’s just how I’m built.” Fuck, I’ve never had to explain this to anyone before. I don’t know how to put it into words.
“Is it because I’m a guy?” he asks softly.
“No,” I whisper. “No, that’s never been it.
It’s more about how close I feel—like when you let me in—when we share a look or finish each other’s sentences or something—make each other laugh.
That’s when I want you most. Like tonight.
Like now. This connection, when it feels like we’re on the same page. ”
“Are we?” he asks.
“If you’re serious about coming home with me. Yeah.”
He frowns slightly, studying me. This probably makes as much sense to him as his room metaphor did for me, but I kinda got it. Maybe he’ll kinda get this, too .
This is where never having been in a relationship before is a problem. I’m used to taking things a day at a time. One encounter, one conversation, one night. This has felt different from the beginning because it’s him , but I’m still me. Still gun shy. Still, also, obsessed.
He slips his hand back into mine and squeezes. “Let’s go.”
We make it back to my place without much more conversation. He heads straight for the shower, telling me he’ll be a few minutes, which I take to mean he wants to be alone.
I get us both some water in the kitchen and nod hello to Deacon when he peeks out of his bedroom.
He sees the two glasses of water and retreats behind his door.
A moment later, music comes on. I close my door and lock it.
The shower’s still running, so I take off my shirt, grab Bud and do a few recordings I came up with throughout the day.
Ideas come easier now that I know what kind of content gets the most engagement.
Also, my hair looks good, so there’s no time like the present.
I’m on the beanbag adding tags and links to the post that needed the least editing when Mal comes out of the shower.
Maybe Miguel can take over all the editing.
It’s way easier to film the content than it is to prep and upload it.
“You’re in my seat,” Malcolm says from the bathroom doorway with one of my gray towels around his waist.
Unable to help myself, I say, “You look fucking great like that.”
“I smell good, too.”
I guess he’s in a better mood. “Prove it.”
With Stephanie circling his feet, he walks over to me and drops his knees onto the beanbag outside my thighs. The towel doesn’t come loose, but with his legs spread, it might as well.
He’s exposed—cock and balls, his goddamn nipples in my face.
I wish he’d grabbed the lube on his way over.
My own cock is thick and heavy, wanting out of my pants.
I want to fuck him like this. Facing him.
Kissing him. Looking into his eyes. Thinking about that, I wrap a hand around his neck and pull him down for a kiss.
He humors me a moment, licking a hot wet trail through my mouth before shaking his head slightly and pulling away. “I love you,” he says, gaze locked on mine like he’s daring me.
I nod.
“What do you have to say about it?” he asks.
“I believe you?”
“Yeah?” he asks.
“Yeah, you’ve said it like twenty times. I believe you love me.”
“So the tables have turned, I guess.”
I frown. “Meaning?”
“Meaning only one of us knows how the other person really feels again,” he says.
Does he think I’ve changed that much? That I would let him anywhere near me if I didn’t love him fundamentally?
The trick here though is that he doesn’t just love me.
He thinks he’s in love with me. It’s hard to believe this is actually happening.
Having sex with him is easier to wrap my mind around than us being in love with each other .
I always sort of thought—if he ever forgave me for what I said, and he accepted my love—that we wouldn’t have to have a physical relationship. Not any more than holding each other and maybe sharing a bed at night.
I imagined it monogamous and intimate, but not necessarily sexual, not if that was a bridge too far for him.
I could have lived without it. After all, when you fall in love with someone at thirteen, believe it or not, sex is not the primary motivator.
Just affection. Being close. I wanted to be his partner.
The only one he ever touched the way he used to touch me. I wanted him all to myself.
It sounds stupid now with my dick straining to get to him— wanting him so much it stretches credulity. “I love you, too,” I tell him, which isn’t a lie.
His mouth twists at my tone. Granted, my delivery was a little flat. “You do, huh?”
“You want me to think about it?” I ask.
He sighs, wilting. “Not really. You’ll just start remembering all the reasons you have to hate me.”
I reject that. “No. I know you’re sorry. Dumb kids do dumb shit, right?”
“It’d be very generous of you to let me off the hook on that logic,” he says.
I counter with, “I mean, it’s obvious I don’t disgust you anymore.”
“Never,” he says. “You fucked with me, but you never disgusted me.”
“You had a lot of people convinced I did,” I remind him.
“I almost had myself convinced, too,” he says as he runs a hand through the hair above my ear. “Almost.”
“And then I showed up with an eight pack?”
He puts his other hand there, on my abs. “I’m not sure I’m that shallow.”
“But you missed me?” I ask.
“Yeah,” he says quietly.
“And you forgive me.”
“Fuck, yes . Of course I forgive you. I was the one who shit all over what we had. You didn’t do anything wrong, Ryan. You were the best thing that ever happened to me. You still are. So, am I forgiven?”
Wow . “A hundred percent,” I tell him, meaning it.
“But you don’t trust me.”
If he keeps talking to me like this, I won’t have a choice. “I’m working on it, Mal.”
“Are you?” he asks .
I hold his gaze and nod.
“Loving you hurts , Ryan.”
Fucking same . I sigh. “I know exactly what you mean.”
He leans in, and I think he’s going to kiss me, which he does, but his lips touch my forehead. “I’m so sorry,” he whispers.
“I’m sorry, too.”
With his hand on my jaw, he tilts up my face and presses his mouth to mine.
I want him so much at this point, it’s hard to keep the kiss from turning into a feeding frenzy.
Nevertheless, the feel of his tongue lashing through my mouth works me up.
It’s got me urging his hips closer, putting his ass over my erection to give myself some friction.
“ Mmmph…fuck …” he sighs.
It’s such a turn on to know that if someone walked in and saw us right now, they’d see him covered in a towel, while I’ve got a view of everything.
His dick is hard and ruddy, the tip shiny with arousal.
The skin of his inner thighs is soft and lightly dusted with hair that’s softer than the hair on his calves.
I run my thumbs over and over it, kneading the muscle and grazing his warm, tight sac.
“Grab the lube, would you?” I ask between kisses.
“In a minute,” he whispers as he keeps kissing me. I’m practically melting into the chair. I don’t want to let him go either, but it’ll be worth it. It’d be easy enough to get my cock out and jerk us together—I’m genuinely desperate to get off, but I’d much rather be inside him.
He caresses my face and pulls back an inch, his lips hovering near mine. “Is this why sexting you doesn’t work? You prefer seduction to propositions?”
“Sort of.”
“Conversation, then?” he asks.
“I think you’re getting warmer.”
He smiles. “I love you,” he tells me again .
“Get the lube, Mal.”
Biting his lip, he climbs off me, the towel falling to the floor. I watch him walk naked to the other side of my bed and retrieve the bottle from the nightstand.
By the time he’s handing it over to me, I’ve shucked my pants and underwear, my own cock so hard it’s hitting my abs. I catch Mal staring at it. “Turn around,” I tell him.
He rips his gaze from my dick to my face, a mournful look in his eyes before he does what I say.
I squeeze the lube onto my fingers and rub them over his hole, pushing some inside, first using one finger, then adding a second.
“Shit,” he gasps, bending over to brace his hands on his thighs, his legs already quivering.
Once he finds his balance, I torture his prostate gland for a few, slow, firm strokes, each one causing him to pant heavily.
“Ready?” I ask.
“Yes. Fuck yes.” He starts to sit back, but I catch him by the hips, turning him to face me again. I let him watch while I cover my cock in more lube. I go slow, not trying to come before I even get inside him, but it feels so fucking good with him looking at me like that.
“Wanna sit on my lap?”
His breath comes out in a sigh. “Yeah…”
I spread my legs slightly, causing him to have to part his thighs wider to straddle me.
Holding my cock, I watch it disappear as he lowers himself onto it, his hands braced on my shoulders.
His nails dig in at that first hissing penetration.
Then, as he adjusts and sinks deeper, a low groan I feel down to my nuts erupts from his throat. “ God… ”
I watch as his eyelids flutter. His irises nearly disappear as they roll back in his head. His lips are parted, and that’s all I see before he drops his head and fully seats himself.
I sink back into the ever-accommodating chair and bear the sensation of being fully sheathed inside him—something I never managed with a woman.
The heat is something I’ll never get over.
Grabbing his ass, I roll my hips up. His hands move closer to my neck, and I remember why I wanted him like this in the first place beyond the blatantly fucking obvious.
I seek out his mouth, and once we make the connection, he wraps his arms around me, and we fall into the beanbag together.
Massaging his ass cheeks, I work them around my shallowly thrusting cock as his tongue delves deep into my mouth. He delivers his moans directly to my throat, my chest. Our movements are limited, but that only makes the closeness more intimate.
Slight clenches of his hole put us in sync, and we maintain a lazy rhythm, as languid as the kiss.
Fucking him like this is intensely erotic.
I’ve never been so turned on—so locked in—so connected during sex.
I wish I could think of a better word for it, but the only one coming to mind is special. This is so fucking special.
Letting go of his ass, I run my hands up his back and make sure he’s pressed as tightly as he can be to me. When I feel his leaking cock on my abs, I work my stomach muscles over him until he turns his head to gasp and whimper. “Jesus, Ryan…it’s so good. You feel so fucking good.”
I kiss his neck while he’s catching his breath, but soon enough our lips are sealed together again.
Our tongues move in that frenzy I was trying so hard to put off before, but I’m starving for him now, rapidly approaching the end of my control because this is Mal.
This is Mal making love to me and giving me shadows of feelings past, but also new ones—huge ones.
What the fuck am I so afraid of? Why do I think this unending feeling can be pushed aside like it’s nothing?
Why did I ever think it could? What difference does Kaylin make when I know how completely I’ve fallen for him?
The fantasy of loving him was one thing, but the reality of it is unlike anything I could have imagined.
It’s worse in some ways—admittedly. He’s needy and messy and moody as fuck, but in the ways it’s better—it’s exponential.
He’s into me. He might even be lowkey obsessed with me. He’s possessive and passionate and beyond affectionate. He also takes me so fucking well—and for me, who’s never felt like I’ve belonged anywhere—I fit perfectly here.
A quickening in my groin locks and loads my balls. Biting his lip, I break away. “Close,” I whisper.
“Touch me,” he begs, his breath shaky and stretched thin.
I do, sliding my hand between our abs and fisting his cock. He gives me just enough room to move, but mostly he thrusts through it as I shove into him, chasing our release. I want him to come with me.
Our mouths find our way back to each other. The kiss is wet and sloppy and delicious. Too good. “Mal…” My voice breaks. “I can’t. You feel so fucking good.”
“Yeah,” he groans. “God, Ry, fuck, yeah. Come inside me. Fill me up, baby.”
Oh God… I bury my cock deep in his ass and let the bone-shattering orgasm take me. Shuddering and grunting, I do my best to keep holding him, keep kissing him as blood drains from my head and leaves me dizzy and stupid. A rutting animal.
Mal gasps once—twice—and his warm cum slicks my hand and abs as his cock throbs in my tight fist.
My orgasm is still wrecking me, my dick still pulsing out erratic spurts spurred on by everything I notice about him. His catching breath. His wet lips. His sweat-slicked chest and his quivering body. I run a hand up his spine and grip his neck while we quake against each other, riding it out.
When every drop has left us, I let his dick go, and he smashes his body to mine, burying his face in my hair and holding me tight.
I return the embrace as his spasming hole sends intense aftershocks zapping across my hips and down my legs. “It’s so fucking good with you.”
He kisses my neck, and that’s how I know I’m the one who said it. His response is quiet and non-intrusive. “Maybe you’ll wanna keep me around, then.”