Chapter 27
CHAPTER
TWENTY-SEVEN
SAWYER
My life is pretty fucking perfect right now.
I spent the last couple days decorating Mars with Logan and Everest until it looked like an elf vomited all over it.
I wrote the final exams for the two courses I’m taking this semester and did really well.
Most importantly, I’m in love with my best friend and he’s in love with me.
Now we’re heading to Boston for Christmas. Since Preston and I moved to New York, flying on private planes has become pretty common for me. But no matter how many times I’ve been on one, it still kind of blows my mind that we can hop on a plane like it’s a taxi cab.
Preston’s in the window seat and I’m on the aisle.
Madison’s across the aisle from me, engrossed in her phone.
I brought the new thriller novel Preston surprised me with as an end-of-semester present, but I gave up on reading when Preston couldn’t sit still.
The closer we get to Boston, the twitchier he’s gotten.
He’s decided the conversation with his parents will happen sometime during this trip. I told him Christmas is already pretty high-stress, so it’s okay to postpone it until the new year. But this new Preston is determined to push through, no matter what.
I have to say, new Preston is fucking hot.
Like, H. O. T. Don’t get me wrong, I’ve always been attracted to Preston, to his nerdiness and his awkward honesty.
But the resolve that shines in his eyes these days, the way he’s applied his single-mindedness to his life outside of academia…
goddamn, it’s impossible to resist. Especially when he brings that sense of purpose into the bedroom.
We’ve been having a lot of sex. Like, a lot. My dick is a little raw with how often we’re fucking and my balls are perpetually dry. I’m a young guy, an athlete with lots of stamina, but Preston is putting me to shame. He’s insatiable.
He’s on me the second we’re alone. He’s developed a taste for good morning orgasms. I don’t know where or how he learned to eye-fuck, but Jesus Christ, he is so good at it. More than once, I’ve almost come just from having him regard me with lust in his eyes.
“Excuse me.” The flight attendant comes up from the galley at the back of the plane. “We’ll be landing soon. Can I gather your empty glasses and plates?”
Preston’s hands shake as he picks up his untouched plate of crackers and cheese. I take it from him and pass it to the flight attendant.
“Hey, you alright?” I ask, drawing him in as close as the fixed armrests will allow.
He nods and turns his head up for a sweet, lingering kiss.
“Ugh, get a room.” Madison groans. When I glance toward her, she looks so pleased with herself.
“Shut up,” I reply, though there’s no heat behind my words.
“You’re sure you want to talk to your dad on this trip?” Madison asks.
“Yes, I do,” Preston says, his voice a little shaky.
“I’ll be there—right outside the room, at least.”
“I won’t be,” Madison says with an apologetic grimace. “Sorry. I would, except my mom needs help getting stuff ready for the Christmas party.”
Preston nods, then reaches for my hand, intertwining our fingers. “That’s okay. I’ll be fine.”
Madison and I exchange a look at Preston’s tone. He doesn’t sound like he believes himself, but we’ve decided not to baby him anymore. He wants to face the challenges on his own, and we’ll be there to lend a hand when he needs one.
The plane lands and when we disembark, two cars are waiting for us: one for Madison and the other for me and Preston.
We hug Madison goodbye, with promises to let her know how Preston’s conversation goes. Then we climb into our respective cars and Preston cuddles up to me in the back seat.
“Do you want to talk to them tonight?”
It’s the twenty-third. Preston and I are supposed to go to my mom’s apartment for Christmas Eve tomorrow, then the big Christmas bash at Madison’s the day after.
“I guess?” His voice is smaller than it was on the plane. That doesn’t bode well.
“Or you can wait until tomorrow morning. That way you have an excuse to leave in case they want to drag things out.” Apparently, this has become my strategy for giving people bad news.
“Maybe.” He turns his face into my shoulder. “I don’t want to put it off though. Won’t that make it worse?”
I sigh. Dread rolls off him in waves so palpable, I can feel the weight of it.
I want to protect him, to fight off anything that scares him and banish it forever.
But that’s what I would do with old Preston, and this is new Preston.
“How about we play it by ear? See how you feel when we get to the house?”
“Okay.”
Except, when we get to the house, the decision is made for us.
The Boyers aren’t home. One of the house staff greets us at the door and informs us that Mr. and Mrs. Boyer are out at a Christmas party and aren’t expected home until late.
Chef Nina left us some food in the oven for dinner, though, if we’re happy to help ourselves.
I reassure her that we’re definitely happy to fend for ourselves and she can go home to her family. She gives me a grateful smile, then disappears into the bowels of the house.
Decorations from Thanksgiving have been replaced with Christmas ones.
The theme this year is white—white trees, garlands, snowflakes.
The table normally in the middle of the foyer is gone and in its place is the world’s largest poinsettia.
It sits on the floor but the white flowers stand as high as my chest. Fake snow drifts line the walls and fill the corners.
The big Christmas party might be at someone else’s house, but details like that have never stopped Mrs. Boyer from making sure her house is seasonally appropriate.
I turn to Preston to find his shoulders slumped and a slightly despondent look on his face.
“Hey, hey, it’s okay.” I pull him into a hug. “So they’re not home tonight. That just means you talk to them tomorrow morning. Then we escape to my mom’s right after. It’ll be great. You’ll see.”
Preston tries to give me a rallying smile, but I can still feel the tension in his body.
“Come on. First, let’s put our bags away, then get something to eat, then find a way to distract ourselves. How does that sound?”
“That sounds good.”
So we do just that. I carry our things to the blue room—my usual guest room—then we eat dinner—or at least, we try.
Preston’s so wound up he’s practically coming out of his skin.
By the time I’m putting the dishes in the dishwasher, I’ve made up my mind.
Tonight calls for some hardcore distraction techniques.
I close the dishwasher, wipe my hands clean, and pull Preston into my arms, back to chest, just the way he likes it. I curl myself around him, cocooning him, and he wriggles backward into me.
“I want to fuck you so bad, Pres,” I murmur into his ear, and a full-body shiver races through him. Oh yes, this is definitely what he needs.
“I love being inside you, being a part of you. I love the way you feel, so hot and tight, clenching around me like you never want me to leave. I love coming inside you, painting your insides, and leaving a part of me behind.”
With every word I speak, Preston’s knees give out a little more, until he’s clinging to me. If I let go now, he’ll melt into a puddle on the floor. But I’m not letting him go. I would never.
“Do you want that, Pres? Hmm? Do you want me inside you? Leaving my cum inside you?”
He nods, the movement both languid and frantic at the same time.
“Let me hear you say it, Pres.”
“Yes, yes, please, Sawyer. Please, come inside me.”
“So polite.” I plant a kiss on his cheek. “How can I refuse?”
I spin him around, then bend my knees to get a good grip around his waist. As I hoist him up, he wraps himself around me like an octopus, and I carry him to the bedroom like that. When we get there, I toss him on the mattress, and Preston bounces with a delighted little shriek.
“Shh,” I say, crawling up the bed after him. “We have to be quiet. We don’t know how many staff are still around. Wouldn’t want them running in, wondering why you’re screaming.”
The likelihood of that happening is basically zero—I’m pretty sure we’re the only ones in the house by now.
But Preston clamps down on his bottom lip, eyes wide and sparkling in excitement.
He’s so fucking adorable my heart pulses in my chest like one of those cartoon hearts, threatening to escape my body.
He scrambles up the bed, but I’m faster and I pin him down before he reaches the pillows.
“Where do you think you’re going?” I tease.
Preston shakes his head. “Nowhere,” he answers in a whisper.
“That’s right.” I rest my weight on him, trapping him. “I’ve got you right where I want you.”
Preston gasps when I wedge a thigh between his, putting pressure on his cock and balls.
I drink down the sound and it tastes just as sweet as it sounds.
Like every other sound he makes when we’re having sex.
I love that he’s so vocal, that he feels absolutely no inhibition about expressing everything he feels.
For someone normally so quiet and shy, Preston is incredibly and delightfully unrestrained in bed.
We grind against each other, making out like teenagers. His hands are on my hips, gripping my ass, holding me to him as he arches against me.
“Hot,” he murmurs into my mouth. “Hot.”
That’s the signal for clothes to start coming off. I slip my hands under Preston’s shirt and push the fabric up to reveal his skinny torso. I trace each one of his ribs with my tongue, working my way from left to right, right to left, from his sternum up to his nipples.
I torture them both—tongue and teeth and lips on one while I twist the other with my fingers. When Preston starts squirming under me, I switch my mouth and fingers to torture him some more.
Preston’s hands are in my hair, blunt fingernails scraping over my scalp. Shivers of pleasure travel from my head down to every corner of my body.
An endless stream of “Yes, Sawyer, yes, more, hot, so hot, more…” tumbles from his lips and it makes me suck his skin harder and pinch his nipple tighter.
“Sawyer! Sawyer!” Preston’s voice is getting loud. His fingers dig into my shoulders, clawing and pushing at the same time. “It’s hot. So hot. Too hot.”
I prop myself on my elbows and gaze down at him. His chest is bright red from stubble burn. His nipples are swollen and bruised and almost grotesque. His chest rises and falls so fast, he could’ve just run a sprint.
I help Preston pull the shirt off all the way, then undo his pants and get rid of them, along with his briefs. His cock pops out, hard and leaking, standing straight in the air. It’s beautiful like this, but it doesn’t quite match his nipples. I’ll have to do something about that.
Preston likes it when I focus on the tip of his cock, licking around the engorged mushroom head, playing with his slit.
He likes it so much that he starts shouting as I work his cock with my mouth.
I reach up, intending to put my hand over his mouth.
But instead, my fingers land between his lips and he closes around them.
Fuck. Jesus Christ. A gush of pre-cum bursts from my cock, still trapped in my underwear. Preston bathes my fingers, winding his tongue in between and around them. He moans, then sucks on them like he’s sucking my dick.
I won’t last long like this. I need to get inside him.
Reluctantly, I let Preston’s cock fall from my mouth and extract my fingers from his. My clothes fly in all directions—I don’t care where they land. Then I scramble for the lube in my bag and race back to Preston. Back to where I belong.