Chapter Thirty-Two #2
“Thank you,” I mouth into the empty air in front of me, hoping it gets picked up on some ethereal wavelength.
Just then, Evan’s phone buzzes on the nightstand. He doesn’t wake, so I take a peek, just to make sure it’s nothing dire. The preview of the message shows up:
Wagner
Before you two head out, stop by here for lunch with Mother and I. We've got something important we'd like to discuss with you.
My gut churns, reading that. I don’t know Evan’s dad well enough to tell if this text is ominous or not. I thought I made a good impression on his parents yesterday. I thought I made a good impression on everyone.
If there were religious or political zealots in the crowd, however, none of them were bold enough to stand up to either of us being there. A fact that, I think, surprised the heck out of both Evan and me, before everything went to crap with Gordy’s breakdown.
“Why’s your heart racing?” Evan murmurs, his voice groggy from sleep.
“Your dad sent you a text,” I explain, passing Evan his phone.
He rubs his eyes and squints at the text. “Cripes, I didn’t even know he knew how to text, but I wouldn’t worry about it,” he tells me. “I can tell my parents like you…”
“What if someone said something to them after we left?”
Evan shakes his head. “My dad’s the type who, once he’s formed an opinion on you, it’s set in stone. Even his old cronies wouldn’t be able to change his mind. As for the others? I just need to learn to say ‘fuck ‘em’ and stop worrying about it. I’m not going back in the closet now.”
“I’m still worried…” I admit.
“You do too much of that.” He yanks me into him, kissing my neck. “Anyone ever tell you to stop?”
I sigh. “You do.”
He lifts his head and quirks an eyebrow at me. “But do you listen, or are you too much of a stubborn goat?”
I do my best impression of a goat bleat, and he chuckles. “That’s what I thought. Tell you what, I have the perfect idea for a distraction. A little something to get your mind off it.” He wiggles his hips, nudging his erection into my thigh.
“I wouldn’t exactly call that little…”
“You do wondrous things for a man’s ego, you know?”
Now it’s my turn to chuckle. “Same could be said for you.”
His palm drifts down, cupping my own stiff length through the silky pink jock I wore to bed last night. “I want this pretty dick claiming me, Brooks,” he murmurs, nipping at my bottom lip. “I’m serious. Now, take off your big girl panties, and fuck me like you mean it.” He smirks, slowly stroking.
I untangle myself from his arms, he grabs a bottle of lube from his nightstand, and I yank him into the bathroom with me. Couldn’t help but notice last night that he had a magnificent, antique claw-foot tub in here, and I think my tattoo has healed enough to use it.
He starts the water—after chastising me about climbing in before it's fully healed, of course—and we both strip completely naked.
My dick is already at full mast, excited anticipation coursing through me.
His also stretches out, proud and ready, begging for attention.
I don't plan to give it any, though, because he seemed pretty astounded that I managed to come hands-free again. Night's ago, when we had sex, again.
It was magnificent, thanks for asking. I will gladly spend my days speared on that man's giant dick, now that I have him in my bed nightly.
I can't believe I ever felt how I did about penetrative sex, all because of time constraints.
Now, feeling the pressure that the camp season is ending in mere days, I wouldn't mind making a little nest, plonking my greedy behind on it, and living there until all I'm left with are my toys and video chats.
Yeah, I know. I'm pouting. Come at me.
After we soak together a bit, me laying on top of him, I can’t take it anymore. I still can’t believe I have the pleasure of letting my hands roam wherever I want on this body of his. It’s like a gift. Reaching up, I twine my fingers into the short hair on his jaw and tug his lips to mine.
My free hand slips around to his back, over his taut, muscular glute, and settles at the apex of his crease.
I let my middle two fingers slip down it, and feel him shudder when the pad of my middle finger teases his rim.
I circle it a few times, before pulling away to drop a dollop of—thankfully, waterproof—lube on my fingers and then quickly replacing them.
“Ready?” I ask, nipping gently at his ear lobe. I feel him nod against my cheek, then I talk him through it, “I’m going to start with just one finger first. Have you ever messed around back here before?”
“Just my fingers, but the angle was all wrong, and I couldn’t get much in,” he admits nervously.
“Okay,” I soothe. “Well, let me know if it’s ever too much, alright? When you feel me start to press in, breathe out and bear down a little. That will help.”
He nods, and I start to press in with just my middle finger. At the same time, I do give him a long pull on his soap-slicked cock, something to get his mind off the inevitable burn of intrusion he’s feeling right now.
“Okay,” he sighs out on an exhale. “This isn’t so bad. Past the initial feeling, this feels…. alright,” he tells me, as I swirl my finger around inside of him, pumping in and out of him lightly.
“Going to add a second finger,” I warn him, and I feel him suck in another breath, readying himself. “Good, baby,” I add, when I feel him clench around my fingers and then give way when he exhales and bears down.
I stroke his length again, feeling him slump a little more into me, giving into this new feeling.
With my two fingers now buried in him, I start curling them inside of him, in a come-hither motion.
He slides one of his big palms around the back of my neck, pulling me in for a kiss while I pump in and out of him, searching for the spot I’m pretty sure he’s never touched before, if he’s never been able to play with himself this deeply.
I know when I’ve grazed it, because his grip around the back of my neck tightens, and he pitches forward suddenly. “W-was that my prostate?”
I smirk against his cheek. “Feel like a pleasure-filled bolt of lightning, straight to your balls?”
“Yeah,” he moans, and I stroke the spongy spot inside of him again. “God, fuuuck, that feels so good,” he groans and his whole body shudders. In my palm, his cock surges out a bead of pre-cum, which I swipe over and down—swirling my one hand, while teasing him with my other.
“Ready for a third?” I ask him.
“Ready to fucking blow,” he warns me, pulling my hand off his dick. “Don’t want to yet. Not without you in me. I want to feel you fill me up.”
On that, I introduce a third finger, hoping he can hold out long enough for me to get him properly stretched. The last thing I want to do is hurt him when he’s this vulnerable. While I definitely have a preference for bottoming, there’s something to be said about having him trust me with this gift.
After I bring him nearly to the brink once more, I feel like he’s ready. It’s not like I have a girthy behemoth, like he does, anyway. When I pull my fingers from him, he whimpers.
“Hang on, baby,” I murmur, dousing myself in a healthy dollop of lube, even with all the suds.
I ponder my situation for a moment. For as big as the tub is, it’s kinda tight in here, too. He’s unable to spread his legs wide enough, so I can get between them. Frickity snickity, I really didn’t think this through, did I?
“What’s the matter?” Evan asks me, concern lacing his features.
“Uhhh, well, see… bathtub sex sounded really good in theory, but I didn’t really plan on not being able to like… fit.”
Evan looks around. I mean, there’s not a ton of space, though it is larger than my shower stall at home. It’s still just a tub though.
Suddenly, an idea pops into my head. I urge him up to a sit, propping myself up on the other edge.
I tug his hand, coaxing him to sit on my lap and wrap his legs around my back.
This will be perfect… more intimate if we’re facing each other, and he has the ability to take things at his own pace.
If we take things slow and steady, we’ll not only get to enjoy it longer, but we shouldn’t slosh water out over the tub.
He lifts up just enough for me to grip my cock and positions himself so that just my tip is nudging his tight ring. God, he’s so tight. This is going to be amazing.
He kisses me as he slowly allows me entry as he descends my length. I feel him suck in and hold a breath the entire way down, until he’s seated on my lap, and I’m buried in him to the hilt. We’re joined as one under the water.
“Fuuuck,” he groans with an exaggerated exhale of breath. “This–this feels so good.”
I bury my face between his pecs and grin. “Facts,” I agree, reveling in his tight heat.
His strong arms wrap around my shoulders as he hugs me into him, and he starts slowly moving—testing out the feeling.
We rock together at a leisurely pace for a bit, allowing the water to gently churn around us—just panting, moaning, and sliding together, until he finds a pace and an angle that suits him.
I’m preening over the fact that I chose this position, since I get to see every wanton expression, every look of pure ecstasy, as he chases his pleasure.
My blunt fingertips grip his hips as I do my best to help guide his slickened body up-and-down and around in a sweet undulation that has us both picking up our pace. His hands slip around to cup my cheeks, pulling me up into a searing kiss—his tongue plunging into my mouth.
“Come first,” he pants. “I want you so deep in me. I want to feel it for the first time, without being distracted by my own orgasm. Baby, I need to feel you fill me up.”
I grip his ass tightly, encouraging him to move faster, giving me more of his heat and energy.
He does, skin slapping at a furious pace as he ruts on me, and I feel heat pooling in my groin as my wave of pleasure is about to crescendo.
It’s become apparent now that neither of us cares how much water spills over the side.
I melt into him, shuddering out my release, crying out unintelligible words of pleasure. Filling him so full, pumping everything I have into him, enveloping me with even more heat and ecstasy.
“Ohhh. Myyyy. Godddd,” he groans, handing himself over to his own orgasm. Cum mixes with the soapy water, as he pulses spurt after spurt of his release into it.
For many minutes, we just cling to each other, until the water starts to grow cold, and I soften enough to slip out of him. He pulls the drain plug, and rinses us both off with the hand sprayer. Then, he helps me stand—which, thankfully so, since my legs still feel noodly.
When we step out, he bats my hand away as I reach for a towel. Instead, he dries me off, eyeing me appreciatively as he does. Then, he wraps us both up in the towel, chest-to-chest. Our heartbeats syncing to one another’s.
“Thank you,” he breathes into my ear.
“No, thank you,” I balk. “You were feeling vulnerable, Evan, which is understandable. You trusted me to care for you for once, and that’s something I feel incredibly honored about.”
“I-I just know that you prefer to bot—”
I silence him with a kiss. When we break apart, I smirk up at him. “Trust me when I tell you that if I didn’t want to, I know now I could have said ‘no’ and had that be a complete sentence. You taught me that, baby. I wanted to, and I regret nothing. That was incredible.”