Chapter 8 #5
Tell it I died doing what I loved: staring.
He bends forward slightly.
If this is what hell looks like, baby, burn me alive. God, look at that arch. Look at those thighs. Look at that perfect fucking ass just waiting to be eaten.
I wanna live between those ass cheeks. Die there.
Come back and do it all over again. I spread him open. I start at the base, and drag my tongue all the way up between those two fucking melons like I’m swiping a goddamn credit card.
I let out the filthiest moan and bury my face deeper. This is the moment. People talk about finding their calling, this is mine. Right here. Rava Weston’s ass.
I’m smiling. I lick again, slower this time.
Then I go back in.
I start making out with it. No other way to say it. My tongue moves like it’s in love. I’m sucking gently, then harder, then softer again.
My hands are squeezing his thighs, and I go harder. But it’s never enough. How the hell do you pour all your passion into a single act and still feel like it’s not even scratching the surface?
"This is mine," I want to say.
But instead I moan against his skin. That’s close enough.
Because when you’re down bad?
When you’re Gio Fontana, face-deep in Rava Weston?
Even worship feels inadequate.
I press in deeper, licking and sucking. Oxygen doesn’t matter unless it passes through Rava Weston’s ass first.
And all the while? My hands don’t stop moving.
I want to touch everywhere. Worship everything.
Be everywhere at once.
Because how do you choose?
His back is art.
His waist is a fucking handle made for my grip.
His ass? I’ve said enough.
This is so wrong. This is deliciously wrong. I’ve got his ass in my face, and all I can think is Charles telling him not to even look at me.
Sure, Charles. No eye contact. Got it.
That’s the rule, right? Don’t look at each other.
Well guess what, sir. We’re not making eye contact. I’m too busy tonguing his soul out through his ass.
Not missionary, don’t worry.
Wouldn’t wanna violate anything.
Because God forbid we do anything respectful, right?
God forbid I kiss his mouth instead of his ass. I’m gonna keep him against this wall. Gonna eat him out until he forgets his name.
You think you’ve won just ‘cause you kept us apart in public? This right here? This is revenge.
This is me satisfying your son so dirty, so deep, so intimately, no priest on earth could undo it.
I lick him again.
He gasps and my dick twitches. I grip his thighs. Grounding myself because I’m two seconds from floating the fuck away. They’re thick. I don’t rush it.
I drag my hands up slowly. From the back of his knees, over every inch of those dripping thighs, all the way to his waist.
How the fuck has no one touched him like this before?
How the fuck did every man he’s ever met not drop to their knees on sight? How did they miss this?
He flinches under my palms.
He’s obviously not used to being wanted like this.
And it kills me. The world’s been sleeping on him.
Ignoring the masterpiece he is.
I’m making up for every second he wasn’t touched right.
Every second he wasn’t devoured. I grab his cheeks again with both hands, and pull them apart even more.
I dive back in like I’ve been starved for weeks.
He’s gonna think I haven’t eaten in years.
Because this level of hunger? This desperation in my grip? It’s not normal. I pull back and my hands slide up his waist again. Then down. Then twist. I turn him around, and he stumbles a little. I wipe my mouth with the back of my hand, still breathing heavy.
I look him right in the eyes. "You like that?"
He doesn’t speak. Just stares.
Then nods. Multiple times. His whole body says yes. Even if his voice bailed on him.
Good. I take his dick in my mouth. Deep.
He chokes on a gasp, and I moan around him.
Shameless.
Because this isn’t just about sucking his dick. This is about owning the aftermath. About tasting the wreckage I caused. About letting him feel it in every nerve.
His hips twitch. His thighs tremble. And I don’t stop. I just keep going.
Sucking slow. Then fast. Then slow again.
Eyes locked on his. Smirk in my stare, cause I know exactly what I’m doing to him.
"You gonna cum for me, pretty boy?" I rasp, pulling back just enough to breathe.
He nods, frantic. "Fuck, Gio, don’t stop, please."
I don’t. I suck more.
His whole body tenses, his head thrown back against the wall. His moan turns into something raw. I feel that first rush of heat spilling against my tongue and I smile.
Finally. Finally, his cum’s in my mouth.
My fingers grip his ass tighter. He’s about to slap his hand over his mouth. He wants to swallow those pretty little sounds he’s making.
No the fuck you’re not.
I snatch his wrist and push it down, pin it to his thigh.
I wanna hear you fall apart, Weston. He slumps back against the wall, dazed.
I crawl up his body, kissing his hip, his chest, his throat.
I’m gonna miss this.
48) We’ve Got Company
Rava
Who would’ve told me this is how I’d end up?
In a hotel bed in a different country, with Fontana on me, and me playing with his hair. His head is resting on my stomach, and I’m just twisting little strands of his hair around my fingers, slowly, over and over, watching them spring back, watching him relax more every time I do it.
It’s weirdly quiet. If someone from my old life could see me right now, they’d think I got replaced by an alien.
But I’m not panicking.
I’m not panicking.
I stop. My hand stills in his hair, because I realize what I’m doing. Not the touching.
The way I’m doing it.
I’m being soft and careful, like I’m scared to break him, like I care too much.
He pulls back just a little. "You okay?"
I nod. Lie. "Yeah. Just…" I shift under him slightly. "I don’t know. I spaced out."
He watches me closely, and then he does exactly what I was scared he’d do. He shifts higher on me.
His head leaves my stomach and ends up on my chest. Now he’s almost fully on top of me.
He kisses my neck. "You’re allowed to think, you know. Even with me on top of you."
I manage a smile. "Dangerous thought."
He raises an eyebrow. "Why?"
I don’t answer right away. He’s making it so fucking hard. One second he’s calling me desperate, and the next he’s sucking me off like he’s the desperate one.
One second he’s mocking my tattoo, then staring at it like he wants to lick the ink right off my skin. He says I’m annoying, and then rubs slow circles on my thumb to calm me down.
And the way he ate me out in the shower?
That wasn’t casual. That was him doing me the way I do him.
And I already know I like him.
"We’re getting good at this," I murmur. "You and me."
His mouth curls. "Yeah. Practice makes perfect."
"But it wasn’t supposed to feel… easy."
"It’s not easy," he says softly.
Our eyes meet. There it is. That thing we’re not naming.
I look at him too long, and he looks back just as long. I love it and I absolutely hate it at the same time. I don’t pull away, and he doesn’t either.
I should kiss him again, but I don’t. "Do you think about what happens when I leave?"
Yeah, I know. Killed the vibe.
But we already crossed the damn line, someone had to say it. We shouldn’t act like this question wasn’t coming.
He knew it was.
He just didn’t want to hear it out loud.
"What?"
I don’t back down. "I mean," I say, quietly, carefully, "we don’t really talk about it. But we both know it’s coming."
He looks down.
"I’m not trying to ruin anything," I add quickly. "I’m not trying to end it, I just… I need to know what this is. What we’re pretending it isn’t. I know I’m not staying, and you’re definitely not coming with me. So what are we even doing?"
He’s not happy. I can see it. And for some reason it makes me feel like maybe I matter more than he wants to admit.
It also makes me want to throw up, because what the hell do we even do with that now?
It’s selfish, I know, but a part of me wants him to miss me so bad it hurts, the same way I’m already hurting.
"For now?" he says finally. "I guess we’re just… in it. That’s all."
We’re in it. That’s all this is. Just in it.
Do I want to cry? Yeah. Badly.
Because I want more. But of course I know better.
I know this can’t be anything else. Just two hungry bodies.
I search his face. "Right. Just physical."
He nods. "No thinking. No planning. Just this. This summer."
"And when it ends?"
His jaw tightens. "Then it ends."
I bite the inside of my cheek. "It’s not supposed to last, Rava. We weren’t made for that. You have a life. A whole damn country waiting for you."
I look at him. "And you?"
He shrugs. "I’m not part of the future. I never was. I don’t even pretend."
"So we’re just… fucking our way through the calendar?"
He gives me a small, crooked smile. "Don’t make it sound ugly."
I smile back. It is ugly. Really fucking ugly.
But I’ll get over it. I guess it’s easier to survive something you never fully had in the first place. He pulls back just enough to look at me. "Okay. So let’s make a deal."
"A deal?"
He nods. "Yeah. Two months. That’s what we’ve got, right?"
I nod slowly. "So we stay in it. We enjoy it. No pressure, no… delusions."
I study his face.
He keeps going. "We don’t fall in love. We don’t say it. We don’t let it get to that point."
"And if it does?" I ask. I don’t even know if I want to hear the answer.
He laughs. "Damn. From hating me down to the bone to not being able not to fall for me? That’s a hell of a jump."
I know, Fontana. Don’t make it worse.
I shove him. "I didn’t say I did. I’m just asking. Just in case. You might fall for me. Not the other way around."
He lets out this bitter little laugh. His fingers play with the drawstring of my sweatpants, then let go.
"Alright. Since you’re asking, jokes aside…"
He meets my eyes. There’s no smile now. "If one of us starts to feel something real, we walk."
I go quiet. The ceiling spins just a little. Or maybe it’s me.
Yeah. Probably just me. "Just like that?" I ask.
He nods. "Just… like that." He’s not touching me anymore, and it hurts.