17. Reid #2
This time, he eased off the clutch slower. Gave it just enough gas. The truck jerked forward with a shudder, but didn’t die—just rocked into motion like it was testing him back. Gravel crunched beneath the tires.
And Ari—grinning now, wild with disbelief—looked like he could’ve flown straight into the damn sky.
“Knew you could do it,” I said, voice low and warm.
We kept going. Around the lot’s edge, past the rusting barrels and back again.
He stalled once on a gear change—cursed under his breath, cheeks red—but got it on the second try.
Then again. And again. Each lap smoother.
By the first time he shifted clean without a stutter, his posture had changed.
Shoulders back, hands surer on the wheel.
“That’s it,” I said, watching him. “You’re in control now, baby.”
He turned a pretty pink instantly. His pride rolled off him in waves, straight down his neck and beneath the collar of his shirt.
“Alright,” I murmured. “Ease off now. Bring her to a stop.”
Ari followed my instructions without a word. He did everything right—smooth, careful, deliberate. When the truck settled, he let his hands fall into his lap. He didn’t look at me right away. Didn’t move.
Midday light filtered through the windshield, soft and gold. The air inside the cab clung warm to our skin. We sat there, breathing. Nothing else between us.
He finally turned, lips parted, chest rising and falling like he hadn’t yet come down from whatever high he’d found behind the wheel.
“You gonna kiss me now?”
I didn’t answer. Just reached over, cupped his jaw, and kissed him. Nothing slow. Nothing sweet. Just all that heat I’d been holding back since the second he got behind the wheel.
Ari made a sound low in his throat, something between a gasp and a groan, a sound I’d been hearing in my head since our first kiss.
Then he was climbing across the console, over the stick shift, mouth still on mine.
His thighs straddled mine, grinding down, hips shifting like his body remembered exactly where we’d left off.
I broke the kiss just long enough to murmur, “Let’s take this somewhere better, sweetheart. I want you spread out for me.”
His breath caught. A flush crept up his neck, and he slipped out of the truck without a word.
I followed, heart hammering, cock aching, the taste of him on my tongue.
Before climbing into the bed, I pulled my jacket from the back of the cab and laid it flat across the truck bed. It wasn’t much, but it would take the edge off the warm metal.
The truck bed was shaded now, low light slanting through the trees and painting everything in gold. The lot behind the fire training grounds was deserted, tucked between rusted barrels and the husk of an old trailer. Quiet. Private. Just enough risk to get my pulse racing.
Ari climbed into the bed first, legs swinging over the side, his shirt already rumpled from where I’d tugged on it. I followed, the sun catching in his curls as I hauled myself up and dropped onto the warm metal floor, back against the cab.
He straddled my thighs without hesitation, his hands settling on my shoulders, steadying himself like he’d done it a thousand times. Like this was his place.
“You’re trouble,” I murmured, hands finding his waist.
His grin was sharp and smug. “You like trouble.”
God help me, I did.
I pushed his shirt up, then off, letting my mouth follow. Kisses dragged down his chest, slow and reverent. His skin was hot beneath my tongue, his nipples already tight. I tongued one, then the other, loving the way he gasped and arched into me—so responsive, so quick to offer himself up.
I slid my hands down his back, fingers tracing the soft curve of his spine, and dipped just beneath the waistband of his joggers. That’s when I felt it.
Lace.
I stilled.
Not cotton. Not mesh. Not some novelty joke from the back of a drawer.
Lace.
I caught his hips, holding him still.
“You wore this,” I said, voice low, “without even knowing I was coming by for you?”
His smirk wavered—just a fraction. “I like how it feels.”
Jesus Christ.
“I need to see you,” I murmured.
He lifted himself without argument, rising to his knees. I slid out from under him, gently guiding him down onto his back across my jacket.
Ari let me move him—legs bent, one arm tucked beneath his head like a makeshift pillow, the other trailing down his stomach like he was presenting himself to be worshipped.
And God, I would.
I knelt beside him, and for a moment I just looked.
The joggers hung low on his hips, the lace peeking over the edge—black, delicate, barely there. When I eased the waistband down, my breath caught.
Lace in front, soft and sheer, clinging to him in the most sinful way. And the back?
Goddammit.
Curving perfectly between his cheeks, the fabric disappearing where I wanted to bury my mouth.
“You’re trying to kill me,” I whispered.
His lashes fluttered. “You gonna just stare or?—”
I hooked a finger into the waistband and peeled it down, slow. His cock sprang free—flushed, thick, already wet at the tip. My mouth watered.
“You like it?” he asked, quieter now. A hint of nerves beneath the tease.
“Like it?” I leaned in, brushed my lips over his hip bone, then lower, dragging in the scent of him—clean sweat, salt, that faint trace of sweetness I was starting to associate only with him. “You’re a fucking masterpiece.”
My own cock throbbed hard against my zipper, insistent and aching.
It’d been that way since he climbed into my lap.
Since he straddled me in lace like a goddamn fever dream.
I shifted my hips subtly, trying to relieve the pressure.
Didn’t help. Nothing would until I was inside him—or at least got my hands on myself—but this? This was about him.
Ari sucked in a breath as I mouthed along the length of him—teasing first, dragging my tongue up his shaft through the sheen of arousal. He twitched, gasped, his hands gripping the edge of the bed.
“Daddy Reid—” My name hit the air like a broken plea. “Please...”
That voice. That fucking voice. I could just come from that.
I looked at him—flushed, spread out beneath me in lace with the sky going gold—and felt my chest go tight with something fierce. He was so much. Too much. Everything.
“You’re so perfect like this,” I murmured. “Spread out. Blushing. Begging.”
He squirmed, and I pinned his hips gently, holding him still.
“Good boy,” I breathed. “I knew you’d be perfect like this. Knew it.”
I didn’t rush. I kissed the inside of his thigh, right where it was soft. His skin quivered under my lips. His cock twitched. He let out a high, shivery sound.
My own cock kicked again, trapped and throbbing behind denim. God, I was hard—so hard I was shaking. But I wouldn’t touch myself. Not when I had him here, undone and gorgeous.
I let my breath trail over him. Watched his cock twitch. Watched his hands curl tight in the sheet of metal beneath us, white-knuckled and trembling.
Then I licked him.
Slow. Deliberate. From base to tip, savoring the taste of him, the weight and heat and salt. His hips jerked.
“Fuuuuck,” he whispered.
I sucked the head into my mouth, one hand braced beside his hip, the other stroking along his thigh—slow, firm, grounding, even as my own pulse raced.
His back arched. He made this half-whimper, half-growl sound and threw one arm over his face like he couldn’t bear to be seen.
“Don’t hide from me,” I murmured around him. “I want to see all of it. All of you.”
His arm dropped. His pretty dove-gray eyes wide now. Lips parted, cheeks flushed. His whole body buzzing under my touch.
I took him deeper.
His knees bent up, heels pressing into the bed as his breath hitched—high and frantic. He was trembling now, one hand sliding into my hair, not pushing, just holding on like he needed the anchor.
I was so hard it hurt. Every soft sound he made, every twitch of his hips had me right on the edge of breaking. But I wanted this. Needed this. To feel him fall apart because of me.
I hollowed my cheeks and sucked harder, dragging my tongue up the underside of his cock. I teased the head. Swirled. Pressed open-mouthed kisses to the length of him, then licked him again—slow, base to tip—just to hear him gasp.
“You taste so good, baby,” I whispered between kisses. “Could live on this.”
Ari shivered—helpless now, too far gone to brat, too needy to pretend he wasn’t coming undone.
His thighs started to tremble.
His hips lifted.
His body asked before his mouth could.
And I gave him everything.
Took him deep again. Hand cupping his hip, guiding the rhythm. My other hand splayed across his stomach, feeling every stutter of breath, every tense quiver as I worked him with my mouth.
Ari sobbed out something—it might’ve been my name, it might’ve been nonsense—and his body locked up tight.
I didn’t stop.
I didn’t let go.
He came with a broken sound, thighs clenching around me, his whole body arching like he was unraveling from the inside out.
I swallowed every drop of his cum.
Only when his body went slack and his breathing slowed did I ease off, licking him clean with slow, reverent care.
And fuck, I was still hard as stone.
But right then? I didn’t need to come.
I just needed to hold him.
I crawled up beside him and pressed a kiss to the corner of his mouth. He blinked at me, wrecked and dazed and perfect.
“Holy shit,” he whispered. “I’m never recovering from that.”
I grinned. “Yeah?”
He reached for me. “I want to?—”
I caught his wrist.
“This was about you,” I said, voice low and warm. “Next time, you can get on your knees for Daddy.” Then I tucked him close, rock-hard and aching, but content to just hold him.
Ari went still for half a heartbeat.
A smile curled slow and satisfied across his mouth.
“Okay,” he said. “Next time.”
And just like that, I was already aching for it.
For him.