Chapter 22
RAFE
It’s not all that uncommon for a theater to be haunted, honestly. I’d be more concerned if all these years had gone by and it wasn’t haunted.
I’m used to this level of beauty in buildings.
I know my house isn’t of the usual construction around town.
But there’s something to be said about buildings from a hundred years ago.
They took more pride in what they were putting up.
Things were done by hand. They were made to last. Made to be breathtaking.
Now, people live in bland boxes.
One of the things that interested me about the fraternities was their housing. It’s far more in line with the kind of house I’m used to living in. There are secrets within those walls. Just like there are in the walls of the castle.
And in the walls of the theater. All old buildings with a hundred or more years of history have secrets forgotten by time. Sometimes, those secrets come out. Sometimes, those stories once thought lost are told.
My mom used to say that the theater is one of the places whose past gets told all the time when people perform. So many of the performances have been done right on this stage for generations. In a way, every time a repeat performance is done, the past lives on through those characters.
I keep my arm around Brent’s waist as we linger in the lobby while my parents get our seating sorted with the attendants. I’ve seen the theater every single year since I was a small child, and I know that it never loses its enchantment.
I don’t remember seeing it for the first time, but every year I watch my nieces, and while they attended in years prior, every year feels new to them. This year, it’s new for Brent.
His head might as well be on a swivel as he shifts and turns to look at everything. You can look for an hour and still not see it all, but Brent makes an effort not to miss a single detail.
“This is almost as stunning as your castle,” he says after a minute.
I chuckle. “It’s not made of stone brought over from England, but it’s still impressive work.”
He hums, nodding.
“This way,” my aunt says, and I guide Brent along with the crowd that is my family.
We always sit in the same area every single year. Just as we always attend the performance two to four days after Christmas, depending on the day of the week Christmas falls. I feel like we should just have our names on the seats.
Then again, it might be the additional six guests joining us tonight. Instead of thirty-eight tickets, we need forty-three. Considering that most of the nights are generally sold out, I’m impressed that we were able to add on to our party without much hassle.
We’re led to our seats stage right. We’re at an angle, but not so far to the right that we don’t have a good view of the entire stage. We’re also a few steps up from the lowest floor, which means our heads aren’t below the stage. It’s easier to see everything that’s happening this way.
Brent sits to my right with his uncle beside him, and I have Xavi to my left. Mom turns around just as we’re all getting settled and hands us one of the programs, already opened to a page. She taps a picture.
“This is Rebecca Royce. She’s the sugarplum fairy,” Mom says.
“Good to know.”
She smiles and turns back around to settle into her seat.
“Who’s she?” Brent asks.
“One of the women Mom wanted me to meet this week.”
His body immediately stiffens, and I smirk. Brent leans into my side, his hand on my leg as he stares at the stage in silence. I press my lips to his ear and murmur, “Are you jealous, Brent Mitchell?”
He shivers. “No.”
“Liar. I think you are.”
“Why does she still want you to meet her?” he mutters, keeping his voice a whisper.
“She doesn’t. She’s just pointing her out.”
He’s not convinced. I can tell. I don’t try to convince him otherwise. I know my mother. If she’d still intended to introduce me to these women, she’d have done so at the party last night. She didn’t. Ava Delaney simply didn’t get the memo that I’m in a relationship.
A fake relationship, but as far as she’s concerned, it’s real.
The performance is just as amazing as always. Brent quickly forgets that he’s jealous and watches as if he’s transfixed. I don’t blame him. There’s something about The Nutcracker that is enchanting. Maybe the storyline or the elegance of the ballet dancers. Whatever it is, I wouldn’t miss this.
We’re home pretty late and head upstairs to bed.
I’m still mindful of Brent’s used hole, so I orchestrate our orgasms without penetration tonight.
No less possessive, though. I think Brent needed the reminder that he has nothing to be jealous of.
I’m here with him. Not one of the girls my mother had wanted me to meet.
Him. And I have zero regrets.
I fall asleep with him in my arms, but wake up with a cold wind flooding the room. I shiver, trying to curl in on myself. Squinting through barely open eyes, I find the balcony door open a couple inches.
Frowning, I push myself up and find that I’m alone in bed. The bathroom light is off, and since the balcony door is open, I’m guessing that Brent has found his way outside.
With a yawn, I grab a blanket from the bed and wrap it around myself before making my way outside.
Brent is leaning against the railing, looking over the vineyard. Like me, he chose to wrap up in a blanket instead of getting dressed. The sky is clear tonight, and the moon looks like it takes up a quarter of the sky, painting Brent in a beautiful glow.
I watch him for several minutes before joining him outside. He jumps when I wrap around him, resting my chin on his shoulder.
“Did I wake you? I’m sorry,” he says.
“No. Okay, maybe. I reached for you, and you weren’t there.”
Brent smiles, leaning back into my arms.
“You okay?”
“Yeah. Woke up and couldn’t get back to sleep. It looks like a fairy tale outside, so I thought I’d come out.”
“Have you thought of your next story?”
He grins. “Yeah. A dozen at least.”
“They take place here, huh? In the vineyard?”
“Yep.”
“Tell me one.”
“The balconies here.” He gestures to the three in proximity. “There are different futures inside. Different stories to walk into, and you need to choose wisely.”
“What’s behind this door?”
“A gorgeous man who’s kind, smart, and loving.”
“Mm,” I hum and kiss his jaw. “What happens when you choose this balcony?”
“He meets you outside and they fuck over the railing, telling all the other futures that could have been chosen that this was the one. They weren’t good enough, no matter what was on the other side of the door.”
“I think that’s something we can enact,” I muse.
“Oh yeah?”
“Yep.” I tug his blanket, and he lets it fall. I’m not surprised at this point to find his cock is ready for me. I think he’s always ready.
While we didn’t fuck earlier, I did finger his hole because I love how wild he gets when I rub his prostate. So he’s got some lube still in him when I press my fingers inside.
Brent shivers.
“I think you need some more.”
“No,” he breathes and spreads his legs. “Just get inside me.”
“Is that what happens in your story?” I ask as I press my fingers into his prostate. His entire body shudders.
“They’re self-lubricating beings,” he pants. “Hurry up, Rafe. I need to feel you.”
“Hold the blanket,” I tell him, and he grips the ends, pressing them to the railing. Bringing my fingers to my mouth, I spit on them and then rub it on my dick. I do this a few times before I press my cockhead to his hole.
I’m slow as I work inside, reapplying spit every few thrusts for a while. He’s still wet but not as slippery as I’d like him to be.
When I’m finally buried deep, I wrap my arms around his torso and move inside his body. Brent’s head hangs down, his groan filling my head.
“Like this?” I ask.
Brent nods. “Just like this. Rafe, you feel so fucking good.”
I grin, nipping at his ear. “Me? You should feel you! Your body is so tight. I feel like I need to force my way inside you with every thrust.”
“Do that,” he says and leans over the railing.
I follow him down, keeping my body blanketed over his. Kicking his feet further apart, I grip him to keep him where he is and fuck him with more force. I’m rewarded with a sexy, loud grunt. Another, and another, and he’s shaking in my hold.
“Like this?” I practically growl. “This what you see in your story?”
“Yes,” he pants. “More.”
I give him more. Holding him in place so I can take him how he wants me to, I listen to the way he loudly cries, though he tries to keep his sounds muffled into his arm. His legs shake. His body spasms when I hit inside him just right.
“God, just like that,” he cries.
“You going to come on me, Brent?”
He shudders. “Yes.”
I pull him off the railing and force him down onto his hands and knees. In this position, I continue taking him how he wants me to. Hard. Forceful. I listen to the sounds he makes as I do, letting him guide me without words.
When his arms shake almost violently, I bring him further down, stuffing his face into the blankets. Pressing his chest down flat but keeping his ass up slightly.
In this position, the only sound I hear besides those coming from Brent is the loud slap of our skin together as I slam into him. It’s rhythmic, wet. The squelch of my cock inside him assures me he has more lube than I thought.
Or it’s just in my head because I need to be inside him like this. Taking his body and making it mine. I push his hands over his head, shove his body flat, and continue to fuck him. I want to feel him fall apart, but I think he’s holding back.
Unfortunately for him, he showed his cards last night. I let go of his right wrist and reach under him to wrap my hand around his neck.
Sure enough, Brent loses himself. His body jerks under me. His cries are much louder, humming through the air like a very low speaker. The kind that you can feel in your bones because the tone is so low. His sounds are high, but the frequency still moves through my body like a low sound wave.
“Come on my cock, Brent,” I demand. “I need to feel you come on me.”
He does. His choked sobs are beautiful. I keep him under me as I continue to fuck through his orgasm, feeling his ass clench around my dick with every pulse of release.
When I fill his ass, my mind feels fuzzy.
Full. As though his orgasm spilled deep inside me, filling me up.
Not in the same way I’m filling his ass, though.
I can’t explain how it feels. Somehow, it’s as if his orgasm invades my body, taking root in every crevice.
Every dark corner. Coating every nerve ending.
I let my body weight drop onto him and close my eyes.
“Keep moving,” Brent moans, his ass clenching around me.
My eyes close, and I rock my hips slowly. Just as I had last night. With the addition of my cum in his body, I move much more easily now.
The hand I released in favor of gripping his neck slides down and grips the back of my thigh. Keeping me there. Encouraging me to keep going.
“Close your legs,” I murmur, half asleep.
We shuffle until his legs are pressed together beneath me. Brent’s moans are louder. They come from deeper within him now. With every short, shallow thrust, he shudders beneath me.
My hand flexes around his neck. “You think you can come again?”
“If you keep—like that—fuck.”
“You’re very sensitive,” I observe and shift my body a little further up his, making my dick shift angles. When I shove back down, Brent’s entire body spasms as he cries into the blanket.
“Prostate exams are awkward as fuck,” he says, and I laugh.
I fuck him like this with no real drive behind it. I’m tired. My dick is tired. But I keep moving in Brent because it feels good, and that’s what he wants. Because he’s incredibly, addictively, hypnotically sensitive, as long as I’m hitting him in the right position, he seems to be happy.
Exhausted. But happy. I keep fucking into his tight hole that he clenches every other thrust until I fall asleep. Maybe he comes again. Maybe he continues to fuck up on me. Maybe I come again in my sleep.
All I know is that being a part of his body like this is the best feeling in the entire world. I’ve had my fair share of sex in my short life, but nothing compares to this feeling. It’s more than the orgasms. Bigger than the act itself.
There’s a sense of combining my body with his after the main fuck is over that I can’t describe.
In these moments after, when it’s no longer about the orgasm, but I’m still moving inside him, that’s when the real magic happens.
That’s when the overwhelming feeling of my body serving his needs, and feeling him fall apart for me, have me drowning in Brent. All that he is. All that he will be.
On some deep level, I’m tying myself to him for better or worse. Those moments after sex when I’m inside his body just because it feels good… they’re life changing.