Chapter Nineteen
Lake
“Kiss you back.” The response came with zero hesitation—because Baxter was right. I’d been eyeing him all night like I was a starving man and he was the juiciest thing on the buffet. Even that wasn’t enough for him.
“And then?”
I frowned. “What do you mean?”
“You kissed me back last time. And then you pushed me away.”
“I’m not going to push you away.” I was drowning in Baxter’s blue eyes, the rest of the world reduced to background noise.
“You talked about spontaneous combustion to get out of having this conversation. You can hardly blame me for—”
I grabbed him, yanking him forward and crashing my lips into his.
He yielded immediately, his mouth soft and eager as we explored each other.
“I’m different,” I demanded between heated kisses.
“I’m not one of your one-night stands. You don’t get to forget about me in the morning.
We’re friends, right? This doesn’t change that. ”
Baxter pulled back, pupils blown wide, lips flushed and swollen. For a horrible moment, I thought he was going to say I was wrong, that this changed everything.
Then he nodded. “Friends. I’ll still be here in the morning. I’ll even listen to whatever monologue you want to give about your favorite country in the whole wide world.”
“I’m not obsessed with France.”
He smiled.
“I’m not! It just has a lot of history.” I might have kept defending myself, but Baxter chose that moment to grab the hem of his T-shirt and drag it over his head, revealing what had to be the eighth wonder of the world.
Any coherent thought vanished, replaced only by an analysis of bare skin, muscle, and a smattering of dark hair across his chest.
“Not bad,” I said. “For a dead man.”
Baxter took my hand and pressed it flat against his chest, his fingers firm around my wrist. I could feel his heart hammering beneath my palm. “Do I feel dead?”
“No.” It was pleasing to feel how rapid his heartbeat was. He dragged my hand lower, over his treasure trail and washboard abs, past his waistband, then curled my fingers around a cock that was already half hard.
“How about here?”
I let my fingers explore, tracing his length as desire rose in me like a tsunami.
He hardened beneath my touch, breath hitching when I transformed my gentle exploration into a slow rub.
Conflicting wants raged in my head. I wanted to keep stroking until he came.
I wanted to take his cock out and swallow him to the root.
I wanted to bend over for him and have him fuck me. I wanted to fuck him.
Baxter chuckled, dropping a soft kiss on my lips. “Steady, Eddie. That sounds more like an orgy, and I am but one man.”
“Yeah…” I let go of his cock and slid my fingers into his hair. He didn’t resist when I dragged his mouth back to mine, our kisses growing harder, messier. Proving I could multitask with the best of them, I kept my mouth glued to his as I backed him towards the bed.
He laughed when the mattress hit the backs of his knees. “Smooth. I had you down as a lot of things, but smooth wasn’t one of them.”
“I can be smooth.” My voice was thick with desire, barely sounding like my own.
Baxter spread his arms and theatrically let himself fall back onto the bed, lying there like a starfish. “Is this how you want me?”
I kicked off my shoes and yanked my shirt over my head in seconds, fumbling with the fastening of my trousers next. Now that I’d given in and this was happening, every second I wasn’t touching Baxter was a second too long. “Yeah,” I said. “But naked.”
He sat back up to deal with his shoes, sneaking looks my way. Once the shoes were off, we stripped in unison. “Underwear on or off?” he asked.
“Off.”
He wriggled free of his at the same time as I stepped out of my mine, his cock rising to curve against the tight muscles of his abdomen. Once he was naked, he lay back with one arm tucked behind his head, openly scrutinizing me.
Baxter was wholly, unabashedly perfect in every single way, and I couldn’t even bring myself to care that he knew I felt that way.
There would be no hiding from Baxter. Not physically, and not mentally, and instead of terrifying me, it felt freeing.
He knew how badly I wanted him, and he still wanted this.
I crawled onto the bed, goosebumps erupting where my skin brushed his.
I kissed his chest. His neck. The soft skin behind his ear.
Each kiss earned a laugh. It got quieter when I found his nipples and stopped altogether when I crouched between his thighs and wrapped my hand around the base of his cock.
He came up on his elbows to watch me. “Going to suck me?”
“Yeah.”
I held his gaze as I leaned in and licked the head. He let out a tiny gasp. “Fuck. That’s hot.”
“I’m only just getting started.” I tongued the slit, drawing more sounds from him. “Have I ever told you that—?”
“This had better not be a historical fact.”
“You said it was cute.”
“It was then. Now? Not so much.”
“Have I ever told you…” I paused deliberately, daring him to interrupt again. He didn’t. “…that I don’t have a gag reflex?”
His interest sharpened instantly. “Really?”
“Really.”
I proved it by swallowing him to the root.
His response was half laugh, half moan. For the next however many minutes, I showed him every trick I had: tonguing the tip, rubbing him against the inside of my cheek, licking him from taint to tip, and massaging his balls.
And, of course, deep throating him just like I’d promised.
I loved giving blow jobs. It was kind of my thing.
By the time I pulled off with a pop, Baxter was slick with sweat and right on the edge of coming. I crawled up over him, kissing my way back to his mouth while making sure to keep any pressure off his cock.
“You,” he breathed, “are really good at that.”
I shrugged, but there was no holding back my pleased smile.
It widened when Baxter rolled us both and spent some time giving my body the same attention I had his.
He didn’t suck me. Instead, he spat into his hand and wrapped it around both our cocks.
It was a little awkward, but no less pleasurable for it.
We fell into a rhythm, gasping into each other’s mouths between kisses.
As frotting went—and this wasn’t my first rodeo—it ranked at the top.
Baxter was easily the most sinuous and enthusiastic partner I’d ever had.
That realization dragged an unwelcome thought to the surface at the worst possible time.
Carl had been going through the motions.
Buttering me up. Telling me what I wanted to hear.
Playing me like a fiddle. Whereas this—this was real.
This was something rarer. Something precious.
Or maybe that was the impending orgasm talking.
When Baxter’s wrist cramped, I took over. My hips moved faster, blood molten in my veins. Sweat—mine and his—eased the way. It made for good lube. Or maybe it was pre-cum. Either way, I was on the brink, and from the sounds Baxter was making, so was he.
My heart was pounding hard enough that I was either going to come or pass out. Hopefully, it would be the former.
“I'm going to come,” I warned.
I had barely finished speaking before Baxter’s back arched and he moaned, hot cum spilling across my hand.
He collapsed back on the bed, and I followed, straddling him. Using his cum as lube, I stroked myself over his heaving chest. It only took a few pulls, my breathing ragged as my cum mixed with the sweat on his skin.
I was still admiring the mess we’d made when he tugged me down beside him. I went willingly, curling against him in a way I’d never wanted with Carl.
Once my breathing slowed and my legs felt like they might hold me, I grabbed a damp cloth from the bathroom and cleaned us both up before climbing back into bed.
“Such a gentleman,” Baxter teased. It was the first thing he’d said since coming.
“I try,” I said honestly. “I don’t always succeed, but I try.”
“You do just fine.” Baxter rolled over onto his stomach, head propped on his arms, and eyes closed.
I reached out tentatively, resting a hand on his flank.
When he didn’t balk, I gained confidence, tracing a line down his muscled back, over the dip of his spine, to the firm curve of his arse.
It was a travesty that after admiring it earlier I hadn’t given it the attention it deserved during sex. “Number one,” I said. “Not top three.”
“Flatterer.”
“Just honest.”
He gave a contented little wiggle that wormed him deeper into the mattress. “Give me an hour,” he said, “and we can go again.”
“An hour might be optimistic,” I admitted. “You have to remember the age difference. Physically,” I added quickly before he could correct me. “We might be the same age mentally, but my body’s been busy ageing while you were…”
“Flouncing around being dead?”
“Something like that.”
“Two hours?”
I laughed. “An hour and a half.”
Baxter turned his head to make sure I’d see his smile. “Works for me.”
Noise drifted from the corridor—someone staggering back to their room. It grew louder and then cut off with the slam of a door. “How are you feeling?” I asked.
“About what just happened? Or life in general?”
“Both.”
“Zero complaints about the sex.”
“And life?”
“I don’t know how I’m supposed to feel about today.”
“Happy, maybe,” I suggested. “Or at least relieved that he’s locked up and can’t hurt you again.”
“Yeah…”
He didn’t sound convinced. When a phone started ringing, Baxter reached for his discarded trousers. He fished out his phone and stared at the screen as it kept ringing.
“Not someone you want to talk to?” I asked.
“Unknown number.”
“Well,” I said, “you can either answer it or ignore it.”
He answered. After only a few seconds, a slight frown creased his brow. “Must have been a wrong number. They hung up.”