Chapter 26
Twenty-Six
Victor
Dinner is a lot lighter than the last few meals. We toast the happy couple on the eve of their nuptials, and Kelsey and Adrienne blush and giggle at the innuendos made.
Jason has this small half-smile on his face the whole evening and the stress lines between his brows have smoothed out. It’s good to see.
I notice—because I guess I notice everything about him now—that he only has one glass of wine with dinner and skips his usual post-dinner whiskey.
I’m taking it a little easier tonight, too, since I think it was me who drank the lion’s share of our three bottles of wine last night.
Don’t really need a repeat of this morning’s hangover while I’m performing my ministerial duties during the wedding tomorrow.
Not that I’ve never performed a marriage ceremony hungover before. There was this epic party week on Fire Island right after same-sex marriage became legal in New York and I performed marriage ceremonies for any couple who wanted to get married right then and there.
Jason distracts me from the memory of being thrilled by participating in such an historic event while also feeling like an icepick was jammed over my left eye. He stands, gives one more toast to our daughter and soon-to-be daughter-in-law, then announces, “I’m hitting the hay.”
He kisses the tops of Kelsey’s and Adrienne’s heads, and salutes Logan and Silas across the table. As he passes me, he lifts an eyebrow and flicks his eyes toward the restaurant’s exit, a wordless invitation to follow him.
As if I needed an invitation.
I linger for a couple more minutes, so it’s not grossly obvious what we’re up to, then say my own goodnights. The girls and their friends are fizzing with rum-infused pre-wedding excitement, so they barely notice me leaving.
I quicken my pace along the path to our casita.
The curtains across the big window through which Silas saw us—was that really a few days ago?
—are drawn, and there’s a soft yellow glow of lamplight behind the thin fabric.
When I open the door to our casita, there’s one small lamp lit on a table near the door, but the rest of the living area is quiet and dim.
Jason’s left the curtains to the balcony open, though, and I can see the lights from houses in the valley twinkling below.
A fat, round, nearly-full moon hangs in the dark sky.
I’ve left my shoes outside the casita and cross the living area, the smooth wood planks of the floor cool under my bare feet. On my way, I unbutton my shirt. It’s presumptuous, maybe, but I’m expecting, hoping, really, that Jason is in the bedroom, naked.
He’s standing at the side of the bed, looking down at it, his thumb tapping his bottom lip. He looks like he’s about to make the pillows sit up and bark. My dick stiffens in anticipation.
“Do you travel with condoms and lubricant?” His voice carries this low, quiet authority, the prelude to making demands of me, I hope.
“I do,” I answer. “Never know when you might need ‘em.”
“Get them,” he says.
“Yes, sir,” I say smartly. It’s a joke, or at least I say it in a joking way, but it kind of does something to me when the words fall from my mouth.
Jason looks over his shoulder at me, a smirk on his face. “That’s not necessary,” he says. “But I don’t hate it.”
I…don’t hate it, either.
I fetch a small bottle of lube and a condom from my kit in the bathroom and return to Jason.
“I’ve never done this before, so I’m going to need you to direct me.” He sounds completely confident, like it’s no sweat for him to admit that he doesn’t know something. It’s a huge turn-on, that confidence of his.
And then I realize the trap he’s laid for me. I’m going to have to tell him what I want him to do to me.
With words. Again.
But first, Jason sets the condom and lube bottle on the nightstand, then steps in front of me and slides his hands under my open shirt. When I lift my arms to put them around him, he steps back, shaking his head.
“No. I’d like you to stay as still as you can, please.”
“You’re going to have your way with me while I keep still?” I recall the other night when he asked me if I’d submit to him like that.
“I am. Unless you have an objection.”
I’m not sure there’s anything I’d object to, if Jason is the one doing it. “No objections.”
Jason trails the backs of his fingernails up my stomach and chest. When he gets to my collarbones, he spreads his hands wide and glides them across my chest to my shoulders.
He pushes my shirt off my shoulders and it drops down to my wrists.
Jason catches my wrists in his two hands, then repositions the fabric and my arms so my shirt essentially ties my arms in place at my sides.
“Okay?” Jason asks.
“Yeah.” It comes out a whisper. I lick my lips. We haven’t even done anything yet and I’m already as turned on as I’ve ever been.
Jason brings his hands to the waistband of my slacks.
He takes his sweet time unbuttoning them, pulling the zipper down, sliding his hands under the fabric to slip it down.
The pants pool at my feet and Jason leaves them there, trapping me in place.
He ignores my underwear and instead puts his hands back on my shoulders.
He strokes both hands firmly down my arms, up my sides, down my chest, and up again. Like he’s learning by touch what makes me tense, what makes me sigh, and what makes me shiver. He strokes me over and over, until my eyes fall closed, and I sway on my feet a little.
It’s hypnotizing, what he’s doing to me. The whole world falls away and all that’s left is the feel of Jason’s hands on my body, the sound of his steady breathing in my ears, the smell of his shampoo wafting under my nose.
He steps around me, dragging his fingertips along my side waist, and then repeats the whole stroking thing. My shoulders, my back, my arms. There’s not a spot on my skin he hasn’t caressed, stroked, or squeezed.
Above my waist, that is.
“Jason, please.”
He’s doing this to make me beg, I’m pretty sure. And I’m equally sure I will beg, but it’s a little unseemly to start so soon.
“Please, what, Victor?” He’s behind me, mapping my shoulder blades with the spread of his hands.
“I thought you were going to fuck me, and I’d really like you to.”
“Oh, I will fuck you,” he promises. He steps closer and I can feel the warm length of his body pressed against mine.
An even warmer, hard length nudges the fabric stretched over the cleft of my ass.
“But I have other things I want to do to you first, so I’m afraid you’ll have to have some patience. ”
I’m not very good at having patience. I’m more of a “have it all, have it now” kinda guy.
Though I suppose I have waited fifteen years for Jason to fuck me. Maybe I can wait another fifteen minutes.
He kisses that spot behind my ear that he knows I like, maybe as a reward.
And then kisses and licks and nibbles all along the back of my neck, my shoulders, the top of my spine.
All the while, his hands never stop moving.
He slides them around my waist to my chest and strokes up and down, long, sweeping caresses, before his hands return to my pecs.
His fingers pluck at my nipples, igniting a line of sparks from my chest to my dick. My hands are still trapped by my shirt sleeves, my legs constrained by my pant legs, and Jason’s arms hold me upright and steady against his body.
I let my head fall back onto his shoulder. He kisses the side of my neck, wet, open-mouthed kisses, while pinching and squeezing my nipples. I’ve never come from just nipple play before and I don’t think I’m going to now, but my balls tighten and I can feel my leaking cock dampening my underwear.
Jason slides one hand down my chest and over my stomach. He stops right at the waistband of my boxer briefs, though, and teasingly drags the very tips of his fingers back and forth, just under the waistband.
“You’re being so nice and patient, babe,” he murmurs into my ear. “Just a little longer.”
I legit whimper when he stops playing with my nipples and uses both hands to peel my underwear down, without actually touching my dick, of course. He drags the briefs down to my ankles and leaves them there. I feel like I’m teetering on the edge of a cliff, seconds from tipping over into free fall.
Jason’s warm hands clasp around my ankles, steadying me, but the sensation only increases when he trails his fingers up my shins, circles around my kneecaps, then strokes up my thighs to my hips.
He squeezes my hips and kneads my glute muscles, then traces a finger from the base of my spine down my crack. My legs quiver and my hands shake.
“Jason,” I groan. “I can’t stand any more.” I mean it literally. I’m swaying on my feet and my knees are about to buckle.
“Oh, I have faith in you, Victor.” His voice is muffled because he’s planting kisses just above the swell of my ass in between each word.
His hands grip my hips and I tighten my quads and draw up the tops of my knees, the way I do to stabilize myself in adho mukha svanasana when I’m on the yoga mat.
“Please, Jason.” I’m begging now. I’m desperate for him to touch me, fill me, press his weight on me, to keep me from falling over, or flying away.
“All right, babe.” He gets to his feet, untwists my shirt from my wrists and lets it fall to the floor. Then he helps me step out of my slacks and underwear. I stagger to the bed and flop face-first onto it, but turn over immediately because I want to see his face when he fucks me.
I grab a pillow and wedge it under myself, then plant my feet wide apart. I gesture to the lube on the nightstand. “Do you want me to prep myself or do you want to do it?”
Jason’s reply is swift. “I’ll do it.” He grabs the lube bottle and flips the lid open. “Put your arms over your head and hold on to the headboard.”
Conveniently, the headboard has vertical rails I can thread my hands through and grasp.
Jason waits until I’ve done so and then knees up on the bed in between my legs.
“I’d kind of like to blindfold you but I don’t feel like trying to find something to use right now.
Can I trust you to keep your eyes closed? ”
I promptly shut my eyes. “Yeah.” I’ll do anything he wants, any way he wants me to.
“Tell me how you want me to start.” There’s a cool, wet nudge against my hole and I take a deep breath in, then breathe out slowly to relax.
“Start with one finger or your thumb and I’ll tell you when I’m ready for more.”
“Got it.” Jason elects to use his thumb. I can tell because his fingers unfold over my balls, cupping them in his warm palm. God, that already feels amazing. He rubs the pad of his thumb against my hole and it’s slick and perfect.