10. Ian
CHAPTER 10
IAN
I have a problem. A big, burly, muscular, secret teddy bear of a problem.
It was bad enough when I had a lusty crush on my best friend's dad, but then I went and caught feelings.
Real feelings.
The kind of feelings that have me wishing things were different. That our lives weren't so different. That he wasn't my best friend's father.
That he would keep me.
"You're staring," Henry grumbles, his face barely illuminated by the moonlight filtering through the blinds.
"Guilty."
He opens his eyes, and I marvel at his face from all angles. The scruff he's grown out over the last weekend accentuates the laugh lines around his eyes, and I love every single one of them. I love that there's evidence that he's not as surly as he likes to pretend. I run a finger over them, tracing his jaw and lightly scraping my fingernails through the stubble that is quickly becoming a short beard.
"What are you thinking about?"
"Your massive cock," I say, which gets a laugh out of him.
"Don't talk about it like that. You might wake it up."
I smirk and return my cheek to his chest, nestling my face in his chest hair. We've been sleeping in the same bed almost all week, since I've been sneaking in here at night after Michael goes to bed. Every night, it seems, our bodies grow closer, like magnets. Even on the first night, we woke up touching, his arm thrown around my waist. Then two nights ago, we fell asleep touching. Last night, I fit my back against his chest, just as an experiment. He accepted my cuddling without balking, making a surprisingly clingy big spoon. I woke up this morning with his arm and leg thrown over me, pinning me against his front. And tonight, after I finally got him to release me so we could clean ourselves up, he pulled me right back down on his chest.
And I don't ever want to leave.
As if sensing my serious thoughts, Henry strokes his hand up and down my arm and kisses the top of my head.
"I've been meaning to ask," he says, almost tentatively. "What were your plans for after the summer? When Michael's project is done, I mean."
I don't want to answer him, because I don't want to seem like the irresponsible errant child I know he's always thought I am. But then again, maybe hearing some disappointment from him might drag me back into reality.
"Honestly? I'm not sure yet. I don't really want to work for a big firm like Mike, but it's not realistic for me to bank on living off my art." I sigh and give him the whole truth. "Half the reason I came home with Mike was because I was feeling a bit aimless. I'm not actually convinced he actually needs my help."
"Sounds like something he'd do," Henry says. "But I do think you're helping. He has a girlfriend because of you. You helped him open up, and I'm appreciative of that." He's silent for a moment, before he speaks so low I almost miss it. "I was afraid he'd end up like me."
I turn my body so I'm lying on my side next to him, while he lies on his back, looking up at the ceiling. "What's so wrong with ending up like you?"
Henry cringes. After a long while, I give up on waiting for him to answer me, but he sighs, filling his lungs with air and expelling a deep, slow breath.
"I'm almost fifty years old and I've spent every day, save this last week or so with you, alone. I didn't even know I was missing anything. I just buried myself in work, my routine, fatherhood." He looks at me, and I can just make out the way he narrows his eyes. "I blamed you for taking Michael away from me, for him not coming home every weekend, for invading the little time I had with him. It was unfair and immature of me."
"I didn't exactly make it easy for you to like me," I say with a chuckle.
"You're nothing but yourself, all the time, no matter what. I think that's commendable. Fuck anyone that doesn't like it."
I smirk, but I'm not sure he can see it. "Oh, I did," I say pointedly.
Henry growls in response, yanking me against him and rolling his big body over me. "You better watch your mouth, young man, or I'll wash it out with my cock."
"Ooh, yes Daddy."
Mike is coming home today. I feel guilty for wishing the weekend would last longer. Sneaking around with Henry has its moments of fun, but living in the bubble of perfection we've been in for the last three days has been amazing.
I woke up to my cock being sucked, before Henry made me go for a long, slow jog with him. We walked along the golf course for a while, laughing and talking about nothing of consequence. He's been asking me a lot more questions about my personal life, like what I want to be when I grow up. The words I want to say stay locked inside. More than once, I notice him looking sad and pensive.
When we got home, we took a shower together, lathering each other up and touching each other. I fucked him against the wall, slowly and tenderly, letting the water wash away the evidence of my emotional turmoil. I’m still a bit raw from it.
I think it’s probably best to back off from each other for the rest of the day. When we have to fuck around in secret again, when we return to those quick and dirty hookups, it’ll be easier to wrap my head around the reality of being short-term, secret fuck buddies.
But we dance around it all morning. His eyes burn into me, and I can feel his presence on a cellular level. It's like there are tiny magnets all over my skin that prickle when he's near, and pull me to his side. While we're picking up the house and putting everything back to normal, folding all the extra sheets we went through this weekend, the tension is palpable.
Every time I pass him in the hall, I can feel the heat of his body too close to mine. There are constant little touches, brushes of his hand over my arm or my waist. Without thinking about it, I reach up and brush his hair back or scratch the beard growing in. Then we realize what we're doing, and the fact that we have to go back to behaving like normal people, and pull back.
It happens again when Henry decides to make us lunch. We're putzing around the pool, fully clothed by some unspoken agreement, because if either of us so much as takes a sock off, we both know it'll be on.
"Do you want to get out of here, go get something to eat?" I ask, thinking that maybe spending some time in public might help cool us down.
"What do you want to have?"
You.
"I'm a simple man, Henry. I'll eat anything, but there are bonus points if anything involves bread and cheese."
A grin spreads across his face. "Let me take you to a place I know that has the absolute best grilled cheese sandwich you've ever eaten."
"That sounds perfect," I say, my stomach growling at the prospect.
Henry takes me by the hand and leads me into the kitchen, where he starts pulling out all kinds of ingredients.
"Uh…What's happening?"
"Has Michael never told you about my famous grilled cheese?"I shake my head, and he gasps. "For shame."
Leaning against the kitchen island, I watch Chef Perfect Man prepare the fanciest grilled cheese I've ever experienced. He swats me with a hand towel when I steal a piece of bacon, and so many slices of apple that he has to cut up another. I even make a joke about coconut oil being a great lube.
I'm getting a kick out of bothering him while he's being all domestic, but if the heart-eyes and laughter are any indicators, I don't think he really minds. As much as we've tried to back off today, in preparation for Mike being home this afternoon, we're still surrounded by a heady bubble of lust. It's like humidity, sticking to us like a second skin.
Instead of sitting down at the table, Henry takes the sandwiches off the pan and puts them directly on a cutting board. He halves one and lifts it up to my mouth to taste. The cheese stretches from my mouth when I take a bite, and Henry catches it in his own mouth, licking my bottom lip in the process. We both step back and stare at each other for a beat, because it's clear he didn't mean for it to happen. My chest heaves with need, and his eyes are burning into me, several shades darker than usual.
"Fuck it," I say, surging forward. Henry meets me halfway, cupping both sides of my face and crashing our mouths together. The kiss leaves my lips raw and bruised, and I gasp as he trails nips and kisses down my throat.
We move without thinking. Henry grips my thighs and lifts me effortlessly, my legs wrapping around his waist. I absentmindedly grab the coconut oil off the island as he carries me to the table and sits me down, keeping his mouth fused to mine until he's settled between my thighs and we're writhing and dry humping each other. My hands push under his shirt, raking my nails against his sides.
"I want you," he growls against my neck. "I need you."
Yanking at his belt, I pull him in closer and slip my hand in the back of his pants, teasing the crack of his ass. At the same time, he opens the fly of my jeans and palms my achingly hard cock. It twitches in his hold, already leaking pre-cum. Feeling frenzied, I unbuckle his pants with my free hand, pushing them down so they fall around his ankles. I press our cocks together, and we stroke them in tandem.
"Fuck, I love everything about you. I can't stand this," I say, my emotions and my arousal overriding my better judgement.
"God, me either. I don't want to let you go." He sounds anguished. "Ian, I need you inside me."
I push him back roughly, tearing my shirt over my head and dropping my jeans. He follows suit, bending over the table and presenting that perfect ass to me. I reach for the jar of coconut oil, scooping some out with my fingers and pushing it into his ass with two fingers. His back arches and he hisses, but he pushes back, fucking himself on my fingers. I add a third, trying to take the time to stretch and prime him properly, but he's not having it.
" Now , Ian," he barks.
With a large handful of rapidly melting coconut oil, I quickly lube up my cock and line up to his entrance. I'm too worked up to hesitate or go slow and gentle, but the way he pushes back wouldn't allow for it, anyway. I surge into him mercilessly, pulling back and pounding into him with quick, rough thrusts.
Grunting, I flatten his chest against the table and grip onto those delectable love-handles to use as God intended. “God Fucking Damnit, I want to live inside this ass. You feel so good.”
"Nmmmmfffff. Oh God, Ian, right there. Harder, baby! Oh fuck, oh fuck?—"
We're grunting and panting like animals. The room fills with the sounds of me rutting into him like some kind of beast, filthy words falling from my mouth.
"That's right, Daddy. You take it so good?—"
And that's how Mike finds us.
With our pants down around our feet, his father bent over the kitchen table, and my cock buried in his ass.