20. CHAPTER TWENTY
CHAPTER TWENTY
TRAVIS
After Brenden and I somehow win the stupid egg toss, his excitement reaches an all-new height.
He’s bouncing around so much, I’m not sure he’ll have any energy left to complete the rest of the events.
He’s not even the tiniest bit bothered that I covered him in egg yolk, when he could’ve escaped totally clean.
“What’s next?” I ask, in an effort to get him to focus and calm down a bit.
Roddy announced that the second event would be starting in five minutes, and I don’t see them dragging out anything crazy.
“Wheelbarrow race!” he shouts gleefully.
I look around again.
“Where are the wheelbarrows?”
He grabs my wrist, giving me a disbelieving look.
“Um. Do you really not know what a wheelbarrow race is?”
“Sounds like we push a wheelbarrow.”
His snort of laughter concerns me.
“No, Mr. Doesn’t-Like-To-Have-Fun-So-He’s-Never-Heard-Of-Classic-Picnic-Games. A wheelbarrow race is when one person holds the second person’s legs up in the air and runs while the second person uses their hands on the ground.”
Okay, I guess I have heard of that at some point in my life, but I must have tried to erase it from my memory.
“You actually think we can pull that off?” I ask warily.
“Yeah! I mean, normally I’m competing with May, so I’ve always been the one standing up. But you’re obviously way stronger than me, so you should be the one to hold my legs. I even remembered to wear contacts so my glasses don’t go flying off my face.”
Using that last comment as an excuse to examine his face, I reach out and brush my thumb along his cheekbone.
His eyes lock on mine.
“I noticed you did that,” I tell him.
“And it was smart. But I’ve got to admit, I really like you in your glasses.”
“You do?” he breathes out.
“Mmhmm.”
I don’t know what possessed me to say that, only that it’s the truth.
Sure, I like being able to look into his eyes without anything in the way, which is something I’ve learned by spending time with him at night after he’s taken his glasses off.
But glasses suit his face well.
Thankfully, before I fall under a trance and start confessing all the other things I really like about him, Roddy yells into his stupid megaphone for everyone to get into position.
This also leaves me no time to consider how ridiculous the event is going to be and decide to bail out.
I don’t want to bail on Brenden.
But fucking hell, I don’t want to do a damn wheelbarrow race either.
I know so many people are probably already laughing at me for participating.
It’ll be a miracle if no one takes any pictures to send to my dad.
He’d believe that I got roped into doing this with Brenden without anything else sketchy going on, but he’d definitely give me shit for it.
He knows I hate town stuff.
“Ready?” Brenden asks as he steps in front of me, facing the line that’s been taped across the field.
“No.”
He laughs and crouches down, placing his hands in the grass.
“Come on, grab my ankles.”
I swear under my breath for good measure, but do what he says, raising his legs up in the air behind him as he uses his arms for balance.
This is going to end with someone breaking a limb.
Glancing over at Elise, who is two people away from me, I worry for a moment.
But she’s smiling as she holds up May’s legs.
At least May is light.
“Go as fast as you can and I’ll try to keep up,” Brenden tells me.
That sounds like a terrible strategy, but then Roddy yells, “On your marks, get set, go!” and I don’t have time to argue.
I just go.
It’s awkward running like this, supporting most of Brenden’s weight so he doesn’t face plant in the grass, while also trying not to knock into him.
But we find a rhythm pretty quickly, and I’m able to pick up the pace.
It’s hard to tell how anyone else is doing, because I’m afraid to let my eyes veer off course.
In my periphery, though, I notice as we pull ahead of some people.
And maybe I get too confident.
Because the next thing I know, I’m sort of toppling over Brenden as his legs swing in a wild arc through the air and he winds up on his back with me half on top of him.
A whoosh of air leaves my lungs as I land.
“Shit! Are you okay?” I ask, rolling off him.
When he doesn’t move, I panic, but then I realize he’s actually shaking with silent laughter.
“I’m so sorry,” I tell him.
“It was my fault, my hand slipped,” he says.
“But hurry up, get me back into position! We can still finish.”
I eye him critically, but he quickly pushes himself onto all fours and insists, “Come on, come on!”
Ignoring the slight ache in my knees as I stand, I hoist his legs up in the air again.
Those teams we’ve pulled ahead of have all passed us now, but Brenden’s clearly not a quitter, and I guess I’m not either.
As we start moving again, I’m cautiously building up speed, and then I see May with her hands on the ground, coming up beside Brenden.
She and Elise must be going a little crooked, but at least they’re still going.
May sticks her tongue out at her dad when she’s beside him, and Brenden laughs.
I keep pace with Elise, not fighting too hard to beat them.
I don’t want to fall again, plus I wouldn’t mind watching May gloat to Brenden if they finish before us.
But Brenden yells at me, “Go, go! Faster!” and my body just obeys him as we edge them out.
I’m winded when we cross the finish line, but relieved we’re in one piece.
While we don’t come in last, and we’re apparently not the only ones who fell, we’ve got to be in the bottom half of the rankings.
And I immediately feel guilty for letting Brenden down.
Even though he said it was his fault that his hand slipped, I feel like the blame is on me for going too fast for him to keep up.
That’s why I’m determined to win the next event, even if I groan when I hear it’s a three-legged race.
Fuck these races.
I enjoy running, but certainly not like this.
A volunteer comes over to us and ties my right leg to Brenden’s left one, from knee to ankle.
I feel ridiculous, and this seems even more dangerous than the wheelbarrow race.
But I can’t say I mind being tied to him like this.
He slips his arm around my waist and gazes up at me with his painfully lovely blue eyes.
“Thank you again for doing this. I know you hate it.”
It must be the eyes that get to me and have the words, “Anything for you,” slipping out of my mouth without my permission.
He sucks in a small breath, and I want to kiss the surprise off his face.
But I also kind of want to find a hole to bury myself in, because what the fuck.
That was closer to confessing my feelings for him than I’m comfortable with.
Before I can do anything, though, Roddy shouts, “Places!” and we sort of hobble our way over to the starting line.
I mirror Brenden by wrapping my arm tightly around his waist so we can support each other.
Then the race begins, and I do my best to call out directions so we can move together, but it’s confusing, and we stumble a bit too much.
It seems a lot of teams are struggling.
Some fall behind, but no one really pulls ahead.
Brenden and I manage to keep up with the top of the pack, despite our lack of coordination.
The closer we get to the finish line, the more determined I become, squeezing him to me tighter as I propel us forward.
When I see the O’Brien twins pulling out in front of us, I know we can’t afford to let them win after they came in second to us in the egg toss.
So I push myself to go faster and end up practically carrying Brenden over the line, where we collapse together in a heap.
We’re both huffing for breath, but we won.
“Oh my god!” Brenden pants.
“That was awesome! You were awesome!”
“You deserve to win,” I tell him plainly.
He stares at me for a moment.
Then his eyes drift down toward my mouth, and he starts to lean in closer.
I tense instinctually, which makes him freeze.
“Sorry,” he whispers.
I don’t know what to say.
It seems like I’m the one who should be sorry.
Because I want to kiss him too, but I can’t.
Not in public.
He knew from the start this is how things have to be.
Yet that doesn’t stop me from feeling guilty or wishing it could be different.
Wishing I could give him everything.
Reaching between us for his hand, I give it a long squeeze.
And I hope maybe that tells him some of the things I can’t.
I thought the first three events were ridiculous, but I wasn’t prepared for this.
As someone ties a blindfold around my eyes, I question my sanity.
I’m a grown ass man being blindfolded, and it’s not for any kinky sex thing.
Nope.
I’m about to run through an obstacle course, relying on Brenden to call out directions and keep me from dying.
Okay, maybe death is dramatic.
It’s a simple course.
But still.
What the fuck.
I’d much rather be the one leading while Brenden makes a fool of himself, but he shot that down real fast.
He told me I’m not the best communicator, and I couldn’t argue with that.
“You can’t just grunt and expect me to understand you,” he said.
The thing is, I feel like he understands me better than anyone else, despite my shitty communication skills.
But he’s right.
I know he’ll do a better job at leading me through this than I would've done for him, but I’m still annoyed about it.
As our time starts and he instructs me to walk and turn and duck and climb, I do my best to follow what he says. It’s not the easiest thing though, and after knocking into a few objects, I grow more and more frustrated. Though I still don’t want to let him down. So I go faster, against my better judgement, and just sort of barrel my way through the course with no regard for my own safety.
I whack my head pretty good on something, but it seems like I finish fairly quickly. Since it’s an individually timed event though, we won’t find out our placement until every team has gone.
Brenden stands close to me while we wait, reaching up a couple times to rub softly at my sore temple. “You did good,” he says.
I shrug. I’m not about to spout off another cheesy line about how much I’d be willing to do for him.
When the results are in, we come in fourth, which isn’t bad. Then Roddy announces a ten-minute break before the final event, the popsicle contest.
Turning back to Brenden, I ask warily, “Popsicle contest?”
“We get a short amount of time to eat as many popsicles as possible and build a house with the sticks.”
The only thing I can think to say is, “Please tell me you’re joking.”
He grins. “Nope. But don’t worry. I’m an excellent popsicle sucker.”
The absurd, suggestive look he gives me makes me laugh, despite myself.
“At least this is the last thing we have to do, and then this circus will be over,” I say.
He pokes me in the side playfully. “You’ve complained all day, but I think you’ve had fun.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Right,” he says. “I must be mistaken.”
“Must be,” I reply, the hint of a smile tugging at my lips.
When we take our seats at a plastic fold-out table, he sets his hand on my knee. “For the record, I’ve had a lot of fun with you today.”
Those words hit me right in the chest, causing a warmth to spread through my body.
People like me well enough around town, I guess. But I’m not known as the fun guy. That’s never been me.
Brenden pushes me to do things sometimes, but he accepts my personality for what it is. He’s never really tried to change me. And it’s nice to know he actually enjoys spending time with me. I kind of already figured that he did, but to hear him say it out loud...
It makes me wonder if maybe we could be more than a fake-boyfriends-with-benefits-situation.
Because I’d rather spend time with him than anyone else. I’d rather do nothing but sit around with him—or even do something as crazy as this competition with him—than do any of my favorite activities with somebody else. Not that I have many favorite activities.
I’m struggling with how to respond to him without revealing all these truths, when I hear a squawk and spot Delilah. She’s strutting over to us on her creepy, thin chicken legs, with Mitch right behind her.
He tugs a tiny bit on her leash so that she stops right in front of our table. With a chuckle, he says to me, “You’re lucky you’ve got Brenden on your team for this one. He’s got some practice at sucking down popsicles, am I right?”
Brenden laughs loudly, which is what stops me from jumping up and punching Mitch in the mouth. I also know he doesn’t mean anything negative by his joke. He’s not the slightest bit homophobic—just a pain in the ass. And yeah, Brenden made basically the same joke. But still, it’s a harsh reminder of how comfortable people in this town are with getting up in other people’s private business.
And no, I don’t think I’m ready for that.
Mitch leaves us alone after our boxes of popsicles are brought over in a cooler full of ice and Roddy gives everyone a one-minute warning. I’m not a fan of popsicles, but building a house out of the sticks should be easy enough. So Brenden and I agree that we’ll both eat a bunch at first, and then once we’ve got some sticks to work with, I’ll focus on building, while he keeps eating as fast as he can.
When Roddy starts the timer, we dive in. Brenden rips open the first box, and we both take a popsicle and tear off the wrappers. Mine is purple and sickeningly sweet, but I keep sucking, ignoring the tiny pains in my teeth when I bite into it. Brenden’s is green, and he finishes first, setting the stick aside and immediately tearing open a new one.
I try to keep up with him, but he’s definitely contributing more sticks to our pile than I am. After a few minutes, he motions to the sticks for me to start building. He doesn’t even pause his eating to use words.
Quickly, I build a base for our house, using the small bottle of instant-dry super glue they provided us with. I work as efficiently as possible, while being careful not to glue my skin to anything.
At one point Brenden opens a popsicle and holds it in front of my face. So I bite off as much as I can, and then he shoves the rest into his mouth beside the other one he’s already working on. I would laugh at how ridiculous he looks with two popsicle sticks hanging out of his mouth and his cheeks bulging, but if I do, I’ll choke on the frozen sugar I’m now sucking on.
I’m proud of the job I’m doing on building our house. Brenden must be feeling confident about it too, because he finally slows down to breathe a little more. Or maybe he has brain freeze.
I do my best to stay focused on my task, but I have a hard time tearing my eyes away from him as he places a new popsicle in his mouth. Holding my eye contact, he starts sensually sliding the treat in and out of his mouth, making sure I catch peeks at his tongue getting in on the action too. And then on one slide into his mouth, he just keeps going, taking it into his throat until his lips close around the base of it.
My eyes widen and I choke forcefully on air. The irony of me being the one to choke while he’s the one with his throat stuffed isn’t lost on me. He looks all too pleased with himself as he pats me on the back with one hand. Then he opens his mouth to show me all that’s left of the popsicle is the stick.
I manage not to start choking again, but my jeans have tightened. Which is all sorts of wrong, considering there are kids around, as well as Brenden’s family.
He grins at me for a moment before his face turns serious, and he tosses the stick on the table. “Okay, no more fooling around, keep going!” he demands.
I open my mouth to remind him that I’m not the one who was fooling around, but then snap it shut, deciding to just get back to work. My mind is distracted after that raunchy display, so it’s a good thing I can basically do this job on autopilot. I just keep building as quickly as I can until Roddy calls time.
It takes a while for the judges to come around and look at everyone’s structures. When they award me and Brenden first place for the event, he screams, leaping out of his seat. I stand too, only with less enthusiasm.
A handful of amused and disbelieving stares are pointed my way, which makes me slightly uneasy. But it’s hard to care too much with Brenden beaming at me and bumping his hip into mine.
I’m freaking proud of us. We won three out of the five events and did really good in another. I think we actually have a good shot at winning this entire thing. I know how happy that would make him. And that, of course, would make me happy.
As everyone stands around waiting for the final rankings, Brenden and I chat with May and her grandparents. Most of the conversation is Brenden and May animatedly recounting how they did in each of the events, since most of the time, they weren’t able to watch each other.
I notice Elise managed to do all of this and stay clean, which makes me wonder how much effort she put in. But regardless, I’m impressed with her for even participating. She doesn’t seem as uptight as Brenden thinks she is. The jury’s still out on Grant though.
Finally, Roddy says he’s ready to announce the winner. He begins with announcing the team in last place and moving up from there. It seems mean to call out the worst placing teams like that, but it’s clear by everyone’s laughter and clapping that no one is too upset about losing.
May and Elise come in sixth place, so I guess Elise did give a good effort. Brenden high-fives his daughter, then spins toward Elise with his hand still raised. An awkward look crosses his face, and he starts to lower his arm, but she smiles and slaps him with a high-five too.
When he reaches third place, Roddy leads everyone in slapping their thighs for some sort of makeshift drumroll. I abstain from this, obviously. But despite myself, I’m getting amped up with excitement and nerves, because me and Brenden are somewhere in the top three.
Roddy announces a young local couple for third place, and then it’s just between me and Brenden and the O’Brien twins.
Brenden and I turn to each other. “Holy shit,” he whispers, reaching for my hand.
“In second place,” Roddy calls out, after another corny drumroll, “we have Jimmy and Tommy O’Brien!”
I vaguely register one of the twins cursing as Brenden flings himself against me in a hug.
“And that means,” Roddy yells over the crowd’s cheering, “that our official winners of this year’s Mayweather May Games are Brenden Sanderson and Travis Reed!”
“We did it!” Brenden squeals in my ear.
We’ve both got some grass and dirt on us, and his T-shirt is covered in egg yolk and streaks of popsicle juice, but I hug him tighter anyway.
“I’m so proud of you,” I tell him.
“I’m proud of us! I knew we’d make a great team.”
I’m aware all eyes are on us, but that doesn’t stop me from cradling the back of his head and turning my face slightly to bury my nose in his hair. Even after all we’ve done, it still smells great. Like peaches and sunshine and happiness.
That smell is beginning to feel like home to me.
I finally force myself to pull away before people start getting the wrong idea. Or the right one. “So what did we win?”
Brenden laughs right as Roddy walks over to present us with an obnoxiously large blue ribbon. It says you’re the best . Like some freaking children’s prize for winning the elementary school science fair.
I look from the ribbon to Brenden when he proudly accepts it, then raise my eyebrows. “Are you serious? We did all that for this cheap thing?”
His grin is almost blinding. “We did it because it’s fun! Plus we get our picture framed on a plaque that they’ll hang up in the grocery store.”
Groaning, I recall that there are indeed pictures of the winners going back a bunch of years displayed on a wall at the store. I’m so used to ignoring them that I almost forgot. Although I’ll admit, I have checked out each of Brenden and May’s winning photos.
“I don’t want my damn picture hanging up there,” I grumble.
But Roddy points a camera at us anyway and yells, “Say cheese!”
Brenden tugs me closer, holding up the ribbon in front of us both, and it’s clear I have no choice in the matter. So I sling my arm over his shoulders and do my best to smile, even though I hate this.
Then he presses himself more firmly against me, and that’s all it takes for my smile to become a lot more genuine. My participation in this nonsense is going to be memorialized on a fucking plaque, but Brenden’s pure joy and happiness in this moment might just make it worth it.
When we get back to his house, Brenden’s still beaming and bouncing around full of energy. His happiness is apparently contagious, because I’m still smiling too. I want to wrap him in my arms again, but I’d feel bad constraining him when he’s this excited, so I just watch him appreciatively.
He’s dirty and clutching that stupid ribbon, but his cheeks are flushed in a way that makes me think dirty thoughts. My mind flashes on the image of him fellating that fucking popsicle, and it’s game over.
I reach for him and pull him in toward me, catching him by surprise. He gazes up at me with intrigue, lips slightly parted, and I want to devour him. “We should get cleaned up,” I say. I’m aware of how rough my voice comes out, but hopefully no one else heard.
“Clean?” he asks. There’s amusement mixed with desire dancing in his eyes now, so he’s definitely caught on to my intentions.
“Clean,” I repeat. Then, like a cave man, I practically drag him up the stairs, ignoring the keen look May gives us as we pass her. The last thing I want to consider right now is his daughter possibly knowing what we’re about to do.
It’s true that I want to clean him.
And then I want to get him dirty again.
We barely make it into the bedroom before my hands are all over him. Grabbing, feeling, groping, squeezing. He gasps into my mouth as I slam my lips to his. I tug at his messy hair, and he lets out a whine that goes straight to my dick.
“Shower,” I say, pushing him backward toward the ensuite.
He nods frantically and helps me lead him there. We’re still kissing, and I’m still groping, exploring his body like I’m on some kind of treasure hunt, leaving no inch unchecked. Once we step into the bathroom, I hurry to strip off his dirty clothes. I might combust if we’re not naked and rubbing up against each other extremely soon.
“What’s gotten into you?” he asks breathlessly, though he doesn’t look upset about my urgency.
“Want you,” is all I manage to say.
And it must be the right answer, because he becomes even more alive under my hands. He steps out of his briefs as he helps me undo my jeans. I yank my shirt over my head and toss it. Pretty sure it lands half in the toilet, but I couldn’t care less.
When I step over to turn the shower on, I refuse to let go of him, holding him to me with my other arm. His cock is as hard as mine, poking the outside of my thigh. Turning back to him, I wrap my fingers around it while we wait for the water to warm up.
“Seriously, I’m not complaining,” he tells me, in between sharp panting breaths, “but I’ve never seen you like this.”
A growl escapes me, and I lean in to suck harshly on the side of his neck. Then I ease up, leaving a few gentle kisses over the same spot. With my nose still pressed to his skin, I inhale his scent and say, “You and those freaking popsicles.”
He laughs, a beautiful, delightful sound, and then brings his hand down to cover mine where I’m still languidly stroking him. “Let’s get in the shower. This will be even better when we’re wet.”
I couldn’t agree more, so I practically push him in there, following right behind him. He goes for his body wash, but I wrap my arm around his torso, tugging his ass backward against my front. Then I reach around him and take the bottle off the shelf. As I wash him, I kiss his shoulders, his back, anywhere I can reach. And the way his body relaxes and leans into me even more fills me with a rush of pride.
It's obvious that he feels good and safe in my arms, and that’s everything to me.
I’m reluctant to stop washing him, even though there’s no place left on his body that I haven’t cleaned.
Then he turns and begins returning the favor.
As he lathers his luxurious body wash over my abs, he tilts his chin up for a kiss.
Somehow, despite how turned on I am—and can only assume that he is too—we manage to keep it soft, slow, and sweet.
Pulling back, he quirks his lip up.
“So you like my popsicle skills, huh?” The smirk grows as my eyes glaze over with lust.
“Can I show them to you again?”
My reactions are slow because of the spell he’s cast over me, but I do stop him before he can lower to his knees.
“Later. I have plans for you first.”
“What kind of plans?” he asks in a flirty tone.
Eyeing him hungrily, I say, “Turn around and brace your hands on the wall, and you’ll find out.”
I swear I see him gulp before he spins around, slamming his palms against the shower tile.
For a few moments, I just admire the view.
Water droplets drip down his naked back and land on the round, perfect ass that’s slightly pushed out toward me.
He grows impatient, whining high in his throat and blatantly pushing his ass out farther.
But he doesn’t take his hands off the wall.
I reach out, cupping his soft cheeks in each of my hands, and he goes quiet.
Until I squeeze, which makes him exhale loudly.
Unable to wait any longer to have him, I drop to my knees.
Carefully, because, well, I am in my thirties.
And then I spread his cheeks, holding them open to give me access to his hole.
He lets out a delighted little noise as he presses back some more.
I give his cheeks another squeeze before moving in and licking a stripe from his taint up to his hole, getting my first taste of him.
And let me tell you, that one taste is enough to make me go feral.
I dive in, licking with the flat of my tongue, prodding at his hole with the tip of it, sucking on his rim.
All the noises he’s making above me are music to my ears, urging me to ramp up the intensity even more.
When I hear his hands slipping off the tile, I pull my face out of his cheeks long enough to order, “Hold yourself open for me.”
He lets out a high squeak but follows my instruction.
Now I’m free to use my hands for other things.
I run one palm up his leg, from the back of his knee all the way to the bottom curve of his ass.
Then my short nails scrape a light path as I travel back down.
With my other hand, I reach between his legs and tug gently on his balls, wishing I could swallow the moan he gives me.
There’s an ache building in my knees, but it’s got nothing on my hard, aching cock.
And I don’t care about either of those problems as I continue feasting on him.
His legs are starting to tremble violently though, and I still have enough sense to know I should let him come before he falls.
With one hand firmly gripping the back of his thigh, I do my best to support him, then use my other hand to reach around his hip and grab his cock.
I stroke and twist him while keeping my mouth on his hole.
He’s loose and relaxed for me now, which allows me to slide my tongue in as deeply as it will go.
I lick at him from the inside, and his weight falls against me a bit more until he’s practically sitting on my face.
It only takes one more expert twist of my hand, my thumb brushing over his crown, before he lets out a guttural cry and shoots his release all over my hand and the shower wall.
His legs are still shaky, but he takes his weight off me, bracing himself against the wall as he turns to face me.
He looks wrecked, which fans the fire of pride in my chest.
Slowly, I stand up, caging him in with one of my hands on the tile beside his head.
“That was...” he starts, trailing off into nothing.
He takes a deep breath, then all but collapses at my feet, batting my hands away when I attempt to keep him up.
I rub his shoulder and run my fingers through his hair while he works to catch his breath.
He nuzzles his head into my leg, and we stay like this for a few long moments.
My cock is a steel pipe, and I’m ready to hastily rub one out.
But he seems to get some energy back as he turns his head, bringing his mouth only inches from my tip.
When he goes in for it, he doesn’t hesitate, sliding most of me into his mouth in one shot.
I brace my shoulders against the tiles and widen my stance for balance as I gaze down at him.
I’m not going to last long, the need to come is building rapidly, burning me up like an inferno.
And then his fingers slowly roam behind my balls, edging toward my hole, and I become so desperate to have a part of him inside me.
He’s watching me cautiously, as if waiting for me to tell him to stop.
Expecting me to.
But I can’t.
I won’t.
“Please,” I beg, barely recognizing my own voice.
“Please. I want to feel you.”
He looks surprised for a moment, before his eyes light up like I’ve offered him a much greater gift than my ass.
And then his finger is there.
Teasing lightly around my hole before pushing in, ever so slowly.
We’re both wet, which helps, and I’m also turned on beyond reason, so I bear down and let him slip in a little farther.
Still, he keeps it shallow, simply exploring a bit as he sucks my cock down his throat like his life depends on it.
After only a minute of this delicious torture, he flicks his tongue over that hot spot under my head, at the same time hooking the tip of his finger around my rim and tugging lightly.
I make some sort of animalistic noise as I shoot into his mouth.
I expect him to spit it out since we’re in the shower, but no.
He swallows it down and continues to suck me gently, with tiny licks over my head, until I become too sensitive and have to push him off.
He remains on his knees, smiling up at me like an angel of orgasms.
And when I reach down, tracing my thumb across his lips, he chases it, biting down on the tip like a devil.
Releasing me, he says, “That was a much better prize than the ribbon.”
I laugh loudly.
“But they can’t hang this picture of us in the grocery store.”
He laughs too, and as we stay in the shower long enough for the water to turn chilly, I think about how I want nothing more than to hear the sound of his laughter every day for the rest of my damn life.