Chapter 27
CHAPTER 27
TAHEGIN ELLINGSWORTH
I have my eyes closed, head tilted toward the water pouring down on me, when hands slide around my waist, coming to a stop splayed across my abs. A firm, equally naked body presses against my back. Every hard muscle—and I mean every hard one—bumps against me, and I relax into Hendrix’s embrace.
Though I have been nervous to let things go too far—worried he will freak out and run away once things get too real—Hendrix seems to have no qualms touching me like this. We shower together often, and though most of the time it leads to us getting off, I have dodged Hendrix’s attempts to blow me or jerk me or us together.
I’m terrified he is going to reach a point where he’s looking and touching everything that makes me a guy, and he just . . . leaves. Says “maybe I’m not gay after all” and walks away. I would be heartbroken.
“Tahegin,” his low, gravelly voice rumbles in my ear, and he nips at my soft lobe. The hands on my stomach press me harder against him, trapping his erection between my back and his belly. Glancing down, I find a matching situation in front of me. “Here’s what is going to happen right now,” he says. One of his palms slowly drags up my chest, briefly cups my throat, then settles entirely over my mouth, silencing me. Almost absentmindedly, the thumb still on my stomach begins to rim my navel. “You’re going to shut it with all this slow business, and I am going to touch you.” His voice, still in my ear, drops to a low, husky whisper. “ Everywhere .”
A shiver travels from the tips of my ears to my knees, gooseflesh appearing across my exposed skin. It’s hard to focus with the way his thumb taunts my belly button, but somehow, I manage. “Rix,” I mumble beneath his hand over my mouth.
“No, T. No more of the ‘trying to protect me’ bullshit. If you truly mean no, then say so, but if you’re trying to do it because you think I’m not ready, don’t. ” He pauses, letting the words sink in. “Now, are you going to let me touch you?”
Am I? I want it so badly that precome is already beading at my tip. For months, he has been all I can think about. Of course I want him. But what if?—
His thumb presses into the barely there hollow of my navel, hitting the sensitive base that sends tingles of arousal in a direct line to my groin. A guttural moan slips through his hand over my mouth.
“Yeah?” his husky voice asks teasingly, filled with mirth in response to the humiliating noise I just released. “You like that, don’t you?” That wicked thumb circles and grinds again.
I gasp and writhe and mentally curse him up one side and down the other because damn him for discovering my secret sweet spot. None of my past partners ever found it, and I never told them either. I have always been self-conscious about it. Like they would laugh or tell me I’m weird, but it isn’t my fault that my body reacts the way it does. And fuck if Hendrix doesn’t know exactly how to manipulate that fact.
He laves his tongue across my ear, completely unconcerned about the wet mess he leaves behind. It only makes the action so much hotter. “This?” He thumbs my navel again, and I squirm. “So. Fucking. Sexy.”
Managing to get my bearings, I reach up and gently grasp his wrist, pulling his hand from my mouth. Then, I turn to face him, my eyes immediately locking on his—their usual grey now all dark and stormy with unbridled desire. My palms land on his bare chest, and I take a moment to appreciate his strength under me. The pale skin of his chest—the part that rarely sees the sun—is several shades lighter than mine, something else I admire about us. We have our differences. We have our similarities. We have us . “Rix.”
“Please don’t let your worries about me prevent us from doing this.”
Though the words aren’t meant to wound me, they still do. I never meant to prevent anything between us, but my worries have unintentionally kept our intimacy at bay. Yes, I am concerned he might spontaneously one-eighty and leave. No, I don’t want to let my concern be the reason we never move further in our relationship.
Mind made up, I lean in to give Hendrix a delicate kiss on his lips—a sweet one full of apology. “Let me wash you.”
His eyes search mine, looking for the answer I’m trying to give him without outright saying it. He allows me to steer him beneath the water raining from the showerhead that cost nearly as much as my mattress. The whole shower is fitted with massaging jets on all sides that I can turn off and on whenever I want and a rainfall feature in the center high above us. I love my shower, and I love it even more with Hendrix in it.
Hendrix’s hair turns brown as it soaks in water, messy curls flattening to his scalp and head until his ears are sticking out. I trace the shell of each before reaching to the side for shampoo. Since he began spending more nights at my house, different shower products have appeared on the shower shelf. Beside my hydrating shampoo and plethora of conditioners, his bottles fill the few bits of space left. Whereas my products are for hydrating, his are specific for soft, fine hair. Hair that I am now lathering and rinsing, following with conditioner as I have seen him do—a significantly less amount than I use.
Finally, I soap his body, beginning with his neck, then shoulders, then pecs. Down and down, skipping the straining length of him standing tall between us. I kneel to clean his muscular thighs, hairy calves, and manly feet—athletes and their calluses, you know. At last, I stroke him with a fresh dollop of bodywash in my palms, but only until he groans low in his chest and tilts his face toward the ceiling in pleasure.
I let go, and his darkened grey eyes snap to meet mine as if to demand I continue, but I’m already leaning against the tile wall, the fingers of one hand coated with the coconut oil I use when my hair is especially dry. I’m not using it for my hair this time, though.
Spreading my legs, I slip that hand between my thighs and past my taint to push one slick finger inside myself. My head falls back at the familiar intrusion, and I watch through hooded eyelids as Hendrix devours me with his gaze.
His eyes rake down my body as if taking me in for the first time—the piercings in my ear and nipple, the tattoos on my arm and hip, the trimmed thatch of dark curls at the base of my cock. With a dazed expression, he falls to his knees, and when he blinks up at me from beneath his lashes, licking his lips, I’m a fucking goner.
“Rix,” I gasp, my free hand carding into his hair and tangling in the wet locks. I’m not sure if I pull or if he leans, but I’m suddenly inside the warm heat of his mouth. It’s exquisite, and not just because it’s been nearly a year since I last had someone swallow my dick. No, it’s amazing because Hendrix is touching me, sucking me, licking me. It’s a little sloppy as he tries to find his rhythm for the first time, but nothing has ever felt this good. He sucks hard, pulling me further in, and my finger glides over my sensitive prostate at the same second he gags, jerking back and gasping for breath. More precome dribbles from my slit as my balls tighten with arousal. “Fuck, Hendrix.” My voice is low and rough.
Looking down, I watch through heavy eyelids as his reddened lips stretch around me once more. Our eyes lock as he takes me deep again, this time controlling his gag a little better, but— shit —the sounds he’s making are pushing me closer and closer to the edge. Sliding my hand to cup his chin, I carefully pull him off my length, his tongue lingering a second longer.
“Let’s move to the bed,” I suggest in a loaded whisper, the promise of what’s to come laced between each word.
Hendrix licks his swollen lips and nods. His pupils are blown wide, but he’s looking at me like I’m an Alaskan sun appearing after months of darkness.
A giddy smile plays on my lips as I lead us out of the shower and we half-ass dry ourselves. The thought of Hendrix and me on my bed, naked, coming together in a way we haven’t . . . Happiness shoots from my nose to my toes.
We fall onto the bed, rumpling the pristine sheets one of the housekeepers must have made earlier. Our bare bodies are a tangle of limbs, skin against skin, but there is no rush as we hold each other, gazes locked.
“Tahegin,” he breathes my name onto my lips, then kisses it away. Hips rolling leisurely, he slides his shaft between us as a reminder of our desire growing heavier. The mushroomed head catches on my navel, making me arch and moan. “Can I?—”
“ Please ,” I interrupt. I’m not sure what he was going to call it. Fuck seems too crude a word for the way my emotions are pouring into this moment, but make love . . . Well, I suppose that could?—
Caught up in my thoughts, I miss Hendrix wetting his fingers in his mouth and only realize his intent when one slides inside me. He’s wrapped my leg around his hip, and those stormy greys are locked on me, watching my expression as he enters me to ensure he isn’t causing me pain. Little does he know, I have wanted that big cock of his inside me for close to a year now, and I have been dutifully preparing myself to take it.
I raise my head to meet his lips, muttering desperately against them. “Lube. Beside drawer. Give me more.”
Hendrix chuckles, a low, rumbly sound I rarely get to hear. “Slow down, T. Let me . . .” His finger swivels and explores, applies pressure and strokes, and?—
Crying out, I grip him harder as he hits that spot inside me, sending electric pleasure shooting throughout my entire body. My back arches, my breath stutters, and I blindly search for his mouth again, wanting to stifle my moans into him. I can’t kiss him, though, because he’s working his way down, kissing and sucking and tonguing at my neck, my collarbone, my chest . . .
Stopping at my pecs, Hendrix teases my nipples, toying with the piercing in my left one while he slides another finger inside me, stroking over and over on that sensitive spot. Just as my moans rise to near porno volume, he abandons my nipple in favor of my navel, and— “Oh, shit. Rix .”
My legs lock around him, pulling him impossibly closer as my orgasm washes over me, tightening my balls and my hole around his fingers while that wicked tongue of his presses into the shallow divot of my belly button in a vicious rhythm, milking every drop of release from me.
When Hendrix raises his head to look at me, his lips, wet and dark and swollen, are curved in a sinister smirk, the desire in his grey eyes swirling like a dangerous storm. “Can you go again?” he asks, flicking his fingers inside me, making me spasm with an aftershock.
I nod, entirely too many times, because I need him inside me. I’m so turned on right now my cock isn’t even softening. “Yes, as long as you get inside me. Now .”
Now must be a relative term. Hendrix takes his sweet time torturing me, stretching me, slurping up the release splashed on my abs, kissing the semicolon tattooed on my hip, taking me into his mouth . . . And then I blink, and we have somehow agreed to forgo condoms since we both got tested and have been on prevention meds. He has one hand beside my head, his body hovering above me, my legs wrapped around his waist, his other hand holding himself steady as his thick, hard cock slides, sweet and slow, inside me.
He grunts and groans, kissing me like he needs something to hold on to. In and in, stretching and stretching. He bottoms out with a rough exhale, and I . . .
I kiss him back, brain foggy with lack of oxygen, and once I can finally breathe again, unbidden words follow my heavy gasp. “I love you.” The three words whisper from my mouth to his, and though they are a shock to both of us, he accepts them with an even harder kiss.
Hendrix draws back, long and slow, and when he pushes in to the hilt, he breathes his response. “I love you, too, Tahegin.”
Smiling with joy, laughing with disbelief, I take his face in my hands and meet his beautiful grey eyes. “Really?”
“Since Halloween, I think. When we were in the back of your truck,” he says softly, returning my smile. “I leaned in.”
“ You leaned in? I thought it was my fault we almost . . .”
“Kissed?” Hendrix shrugs as well as he can in the position we are in. “Maybe you leaned in, too. But I knew that was when I wanted you as more than a friend. That you were already more than a friend. I think I started to fall for you when you brought me that soup.”
My smile twists into a playful smirk. “That easy, huh? A little bit of soup when you’re sick, and now I’ve got you locked down?—”
“Shut up,” he grumbles against my lips, trying not to laugh. And then he moves his hips, and all conversation is forgotten. He rolls and thrusts, and I tip my hips to meet his with each move.
We kiss and moan, hands exploring bodies, and I forget all worries about him suddenly turning straight again—not when he’s touching me and looking at me like he will never, ever look away. I don’t want him to either.
Somehow, for a baby bi or whatever type of queer he is, Hendrix manages to peg my prostate with each thrust. The relentlessness of his strokes has me too close to coming again already, so I unlock my ankles from his lower back, plant a foot on the bed, and flip us. Once on top, I straddle his hips and brace my hands on his pecs, slowly lowering until he is fully seated deep inside me. His hands grab my sides over my ribs, his thumbs splaying across my belly.
“Tahegin,” he gasps as my hips roll, circling and dragging up and down his length.
I reach back with one hand to fondle between his thighs, rolling his balls between my fingers and rubbing the sensitive skin just behind his sack.
Hendrix groans and holds me tighter. “Fuck! T . . . Goddamn. That feels amazing. Mmm . . . What are you doing to me?” he asks breathlessly when I rub harder.
My body rocks on his lap, dragging up and down, circling. Up, down, circle. He’s hard and hot inside me, girth stretching me, tip gliding against my prostate.
“You’re fucking torturing me.”
I keep up the pace, palm slipping between us to stroke his shaft with each rise of my hips.
His hands grip me tighter, until I know I’ll feel the fingertip bruises tomorrow. Biceps flexing, he takes control of my movements, keeping my pace but slamming me harder onto his lap with each pass. “Damn. You fuck me so sweet, T.”
Gasping for air, I breathe his name, pleading for my release and for him to bring me there. “ Rix ?—”
“Come here.” He brings one hand to the back of my neck and drags my face to his, kissing me deeply. The move raises my hips, and Hendrix uses the advantage to plant his feet and thrust, hard and fast, into me. His arms wrap around me, holding tight, using his grip to pull us together over and over again.
Carding my fingers in his silky hair, I grab on for dear life, letting pleasure consume me.
He groans loudly and bites the meat of my shoulder. “Gonna come. Ah, fuck, you’re—gonna make me— Nngh !” His palm finds my throat, and he pushes me up far enough that his other thumb can massage my navel, and?—
“Oh, God! Yes!” My cry is hoarse due to his hold on my throat, but the pressure on my sensitive belly button is all it takes for me to come again, painting his abs as he twitches his release inside me.
We come down together, panting and boneless, sweating and chuckling with ecstasy. Hendrix begins to fade into sleep, not a care about the mess drying between us, but manages to murmur a drowsy, “I’ll remember to reach around next time,” before passing out completely.
Laughing under my breath, I kiss his lax lips. “I love you, Rix.”