9. Henry
CHAPTER 9
HENRY
Alright… so apparently, I’m a bottom.
A damn needy one at that.
Since the moment Ian stretched me open and stroked my prostate, I've been on him like a cat in heat. It's everything I can do not to bend over and present myself at any given moment. We've barely left the bedroom for anything more than hydration and to accept food deliveries. It's become a challenge to see who can get each other off more times, although Ian has an unfair advantage, considering I apparently have the most sensitive prostate known to man. We spent a long time getting very comfortable with each other's most intimate parts, and he walked me through not only how to find his prostate, but my own.
Two weeks ago, I would have never even considered sitting in front of another man, spread eagle, fingering my own asshole. Or begging a man over twenty years my junior to fit yet another finger inside me, because I crave the stretch. But I'm a fiend.
I was already getting a little needy after he took care of me so well when I pulled my hamstring. I got used to his touch and attention, and just like that, I started craving it whenever he wasn't around. He's like a drug. I'm really not sure who I am anymore, or where this sudden need for physical touch came from, but I'm addicted to his fingers, his mouth, his skin on mine in any capacity.
What's even more is that somewhere along the way, I started craving him on another level than just physically. His smell calls to me, and I miss it when he's not around. If I don't find an excuse to get him in my bed for the night, I end up with my nose buried in whatever pillow he had his head on last. A couple of times I even wore one of his carelessly discarded shirts while he and Michael went to work and I was stuck at home. Imagine the smirk on that cocky bastard's face when he came home unexpectedly to see me stuffed into one of his too-tight tank tops.
The personality traits that used to rankle my nerves have somehow become endearing, and I have to force myself to pretend to be irritated with him. Especially when Michael is around. But the last day and a half, since Michael went out of town, we've been free to just be without the pressure of anyone finding out. It's been peaceful. Comfortable.
It's been a long time since I enjoyed the companionship of another person aside from my son. I've never been romantically inclined, or so much as tempted to spend so much time around another person. The mere idea of having to share my space, my free time, my bed with another human being felt like a chore. I've gone out on dates and had occasional casual sex partners, although few and far between, but really only because it was something I felt like I should be doing. Not to say that the sex wasn't good, I always got off and took the time and effort to make sure my date did too, but it never felt like this.
Is it because I was gay all along and didn't know it? Am I sexually repressed? It's not as if I have any qualms with homosexuality, but I've never had any indication that I was attracted to men. Until I met Ian.
I'm man enough to admit that I hated him because I wanted him, even if I didn't understand that at first.
Watching him now, as he saunters across my room wearing nothing but that signature smirk, I have zero issue admitting that I'm fucking obsessed.
It's a problem, really. Because at the end of the summer, once he and Michael finish their project and my son nails that interview, Ian will be moving on to God knows what and where. I haven't asked him about his plans. Not because I don't care about him or his life, but because I'm not ready to burst this bubble. I don't want to think about moving on or what life will look like after they leave. I don't want to think about what a sad, old sap I've been living as or what an even sadder, older sap I'll be when they're both gone.
For now, I'll follow the scent of coconut and chlorine. And when he winks before disappearing into the bathroom, I've dropped my pants and taken off the compression sleeve around my thigh before he's even got the shower running.
Like magnets, our bodies plaster themselves together. My hands come up to grip the sides of his face, moving into the nape of his hair, pulling him in to kiss him harder, deeper. I no longer hide my need for him, moaning and panting as all the cells in my body light up with his touch. He walks backwards, pulling me into the large walk-in shower. We've spent so much time in here in the last thirty-six hours, it’ll probably take years for me to not get an erection at just the sound of the shower cutting on. My ass clenches just looking at the shower attachment.
The steam fills my nose with Ian's coconut body wash that I made him bring in here.
"God, I love this," he says, lathering up my chest hair and raking his fingers down to my stomach. "And this," he says, massaging the soap into the trail of hair below my navel, following it down to the dark hair on my groin. Funny how much he likes my hair, even asking me to grow out the scruff on my face, when nearly every inch of him is waxed or shaved. Then again, I'm a hairy bastard that's completely enamored with every hairless inch of his body, so maybe it's an opposites attract thing. Or maybe Ian has a kink for older, burlier men and I'm just an old pervert lusting after his young, supple body.
Whatever the case may be, I'm hard and dripping for him within moments, groaning at the sight of Ian dropping to his knees. He looks up at me with that devilish smirk, touching, washing, massaging me. All around the base of my cock, my balls, the insides of my thighs, my taint and ass crack, massaging his fingers over my greedy hole. Everywhere except my desperate cock, bobbing inches from his face.
"You're a fucking tease," I growl playfully.
He snickers, because we both know who is in charge here. Even when I'm fucking his face, hard and rough, using his mouth for my own pleasure, he owns me.
Ian reaches out a hand, and I automatically remove the shower attachment from the wall and hand it to him. He rinses me methodically before adjusting the head to the massage feature, and I nearly whimper. Prep is the most wicked kind of foreplay. The anticipation is building already, and he hasn't even started.
"I'm going to wash you, suck you, and stretch you until you're a quivering mess, begging for my cock to take your virgin ass."
I really do whimper then, because I've already resorted to begging. Hell, it took me less than an hour for me to recover from the prostate milking he put me through yesterday afternoon, and I was already raring to try taking his cock. Oh, how far we’ve come.
"I'm a big boy, I can take it," I begged. But he wouldn't give it to me, torturing me with his fingers and mouth instead.
"We have to work up to it," he said. "I like hearing you beg," he said.
And beg I did, while drowning in what feels like buckets of cum as we pleasured each other over and over. I'm insatiable for him.
My intrusive thoughts keep me from being as open as I’m tempted to be. What if Ian doesn't want to fuck me? What if he thinks that I'll get even clingier once he breaks this last barrier between us?
Honestly, there's a good chanced that will happen. I don't want this to end. Michael comes home tomorrow, and we'll have to go back to hiding. Then, before we know it, he'll be gone. And then what? I'll pine over him until the next time Michael brings him home with him? Or will he make things easier on me and keep his distance?
"Turn around, Daddy, let me see that sexy ass." I do what he says, because I'm a blithering, whimpering fool for him.
He plays with me, tortures me, with the pulsing water and his tongue, bringing me to the edge until I'm panting with my head resting against the tile. Finally, he takes my cock deep in his throat, inserting a single finger into my greedy ass. I buck into his mouth, growling with the effort of holding my climax back. My balls ache with the need for release.
"Let's see how many fingers you can take, and we'll see if you're ready."
Those words alone are almost enough to set me off. I hear the cap of the lube bottle before his fingers and mouth are on me again, and I'm sure the expression on my face is bordering on pain. The pitiful look in my eyes encourages him, and he presses two long fingers all the way inside me, brushing past my prostate and making me squirm. Two fingers feels good, the pressure making my balls throb. The third finger makes me hiss in a breath, but I bear down the way he taught me, and my muscles relax.
"Yes, Daddy, just like that." His voice is coated with unmistakable lust. I can hear it in the strain of his words and the shudder of his breaths, even if I couldn't see the evidence right in front of me. His cock juts from between his legs, twitching like it's straining to get closer to me, leaking to be inside me.
Ian strokes and scissors his fingers, stretching me until I can't control the way I press my ass against them.
"Fuck yourself on my fingers, Henry. Fill my mouth with your cum and then I'll fill your ass with my cock."
Fuck. I do exactly as he asks, shuddering with every stroke of his thick fingers inside me, and fill his mouth with stream after stream of my release. I'm panting and near dizzy by the time I'm spent, leaning against the wall while Ian kisses his way up my hips. I reach for him, wanting to taste my cum on his tongue, but he doesn't let me. He turns off the shower and smacks my rear, telling me to get my sexy ass on the bed. I barely bother drying off, leaving my towel on the floor in an uncharacteristic display of impatience. Despite having just had the most delicious orgasm, I'm half hard just thinking about having Ian inside me. And there's a part of me that's worried he'll change his mind.
Ian hands me the lube.
"Get yourself good and wet for me, Daddy." He slowly strokes his dick from the doorway of the bathroom while he brushes his teeth. His gaze is zeroed in on my wet, gaping hole as I plunge my fingers in and out for him. "Fuck me," he says, wiping toothpaste off the side of his mouth and stalking towards me.
Despite being so ready, my heart thuds like it's trying to escape my rib cage. I feel it in every limb and pulse point, all the way to my balls. I'm relaxed and prepped for him, and even if it might hurt, I want this. I want him.
"Damn, Daddy. Look at you, all primed and ready for me." His eyes flick from my ass and already erect cock to my eyes. "You're so fucking sexy," he says, and keeps eye contact while he crawls over me.
His mouth lowers to mine, licking against the seam of what I'm sure is a goofy smile. I open for him, his minty fresh tongue lapping into my mouth, tangling with mine. The kiss is deep and gentle, unhurried and passionate.
His fingers find my ass again, pushing more lube inside me while I stroke his cock. I try to line him up, ready to just get it over with, but he's having none of it.
"This is why you're not in control right now. You'd hurt yourself and it would be weeks before I could fuck this sweet ass again." My eyes about roll back with lust and impatience, but he finally lines himself up, rubbing his cock against my hole before pushing forward.
Keeping his eyes locked on mine the whole time, he pushes into the tight ring of muscle. After being stretched and milked the way I was in the shower a few minutes ago, I have no problems taking the entire head of his cock, but he still pulls back. His body shakes with the control, but he gently moves in and out of me, only giving me a tiny bit at a time. The further in he pushes, the more pressure I feel.
"Breathe," he says, despite it sounding like he's holding his own breath.
There's so much pressure, I can't look him in the eye anymore. It's too intimate, too emotional. If I keep letting him stare into my eyes, he might see everything I'm hiding. All the emotion and fear and attachment I've found with him. I feel hot tears behind my eyes, and even though I don't want him to stop, I let him think it's pain that is causing it.
"It's okay," he pants. "We can pull back. And if you need to stop, we can try again later."
"No!" I spit out. "Please. Don't stop."
"We're almost there," he whispers, kissing me sweetly. I can't bear it, wrapping a hand around the nape of his neck to pull him closer. I plunge my tongue into his mouth, deepening the kiss until he moans. His hips buck a little, and the upward motion brushes against my prostate. He rocks back and forth over that same spot.
"Feels good," I pant into his mouth. "More."
"More?"
"Yes. Fuck. Give it to me."
He's more than halfway in, so when he slowly pushes in to bottom out, it's not too much to take. It feels like a lot of pressure, mostly.
Sweat drips from his forehead as he leans it against mine. "I knew you would feel good, but fuuck," he groans. He rocks against me, letting my body adjust, before pulling back to thrust inside again.
With each thrust, he pulls back a little more, surging forward with a little more power.
"Oh. Shit."
He nods and chuckles, before pulling himself up to his knees, fingers digging into my hips as he rolls his into mine.
"Jerk yourself, Daddy. I want you to come with me."
Wrapping my hand around my cock, I stroke myself in time with his thrusts, harder and faster until I think I might scream.
"Fuck, Ian?—"
"Are you gonna cum?"
I nod frantically, my hips thrusting up to meet his. I groan like an animal as cum erupts from my cock, spurting out with each thrust. He starts to pull back, but I lock my ankles around his back and hold him to me.
"Cum inside me, Ian."
"Oh, fuck!" He cries out, and warmth floods me as his cock pulses.
He collapses on top of me, his softening cock slipping out of me, and we lay there panting for a while before Ian apologizes and tries to move off me.
"Don't you dare move," I tell him, locking my arms around him. I feel his smile against my chest.
"I knew you would be perfect," he says sleepily.
He made it perfect.