Chapter 20
Ryan
Bathroom's still a sauna, so my new briefs stick to my damp skin as I pull them on. I bought them last week for Connor.
For myself.
Maybe I can stop being so fucking broken if I try hard enough.
I shake my head, gripping the counter.
Connor’s been patient. Accepting. Works with me instead of running. Even after I told him about what happened.
But I don’t want to be like this.
Still can’t believe I let him in. Or that I fell asleep on him a few days ago. I woke when he moved to get up. Wanted to pull him back, but the way he struggled to swallow . . . he was still in pain.
So, I let him leave.
His father needs to be in jail.
The mirror is still fogged, but I can see enough. These briefs barely count as underwear. Light pink, thin material, and a string for sides. My cock's already half-hard just thinking about Connor seeing me in them.
I want him to see what he does to me. Want him to touch me . . . without freaking out. Without the shitty flashbacks.
Maybe I should stop by the counseling center.
Once I got to Crestwood last year, all the progress I had made vanished. Didn’t see the point of talking to someone new just to get me through college? What would happen after?
But maybe it’s worth a shot to try again.
I turn on the faucet and splash cold water on my face. Five things I can see. Hotel towels. My reflection. The steam—Fuck it. I'm fine.
After drying off, I take a deep breath and release it slowly. Time to see if Connor likes his surprise.
I open the door and step into the room.
My husband’s stretched out on his bed, laptop on his chest, brows scrunched.
Probably still pissed we lost to Quinnipiac.
I played well. Coach Harper even pulled me aside to say my positioning had been solid.
Team just hasn’t clicked yet since we have lots of new players this year.
Hopefully, we win against Boston College in the morning.
Connor looks at me and sucks in an audible breath. My skin heats, nipples tightening, cock swelling as his gaze roams over every minuscule inch of my body. His eyes lock onto my crotch and he groans. Loudly.
I look down. Oh, fuck. The light pink briefs are already soaked through at the tip.
My whole face burns as my cock swells even more, stretching the fabric so it’s practically see-through.
He closes the laptop, pushing it off to the side, and sits upright, swinging his legs off the bed. “Get over here.”
I chew my bottom lip, each step slow, fingers clenching and unclenching. I breathe in through my nose, out through my mouth. Connor widens his legs as I approach, and I step between them.
He growls low, then reaches into his pants, chest heaving with each breath. “Need to touch you.”
“Please.”
He looks up, eyes locked on mine. “Please?”
I groan, eyes fluttering. “Touch it. Touch my cock. Please.”
His fingers brush over my length, and a shiver runs along my skin. Not in a bad way. But the light touch, the teasing . . . I’m fucking aching.
He finally grips me, stroking one time, and my knees almost buckle. “Why do you own these?”
“I . . . I got them for . . . for you.”
“Fuck.” Connor’s thumb brushes over my tip, the slit visible through the stretched material. His tongue swipes over his lips as I push into his palm. “I want you in my mouth.”
Oh, fuck.
I’m breathing too hard, too fast, that it’s making me a bit lightheaded.
“Ryan?”
“Yes. Fuck. Suck it. Suck me. God, suck me, Connor. Pleeease.”
I shift my left leg away when he lifts his other hand.
He looks up, his hazel eyes meeting mine as he carefully reaches into my briefs, then fucking rips the front apart.
My cock springs out, bobbing in front of his face.
His tongue pokes out, swiping at my precum as his eyes remain locked with mine.
A shiver runs through me, and I moan, loud and low.
Connor reaches into his pants, stroking himself as his tongue swirls around my swollen head.
Not fair. I want to see him too. “Take it out. Take your cock out.”
He smirks, pushing his joggers and boxer briefs all the way off, kicking them to the side, then he pulls his T-shirt off and throws it onto the ground.
Holy fuck.
I’ll never get over the sight of him naked. His six-pack. Those defined shoulders. Veiny forearms.
And his swollen cock.
My hole flutters as I stare at it.
“Ryan.”
“Yeah.”
“Ready?”
I nod.
Connor leans forward, wrapping his lips around my crown, and I snake my fingers through his hair, needing something to hold onto. He huffs out a laugh and takes me deeper, then pulls back. He starts to bob, slicking up my length with his saliva, but only takes half of me before he sputters.
The sounds. Oh, God. They’re so fucking hot.
My fingers drift to the back of his head and pull him forward as I thrust into his mouth. It’s so fucking wet.
I thrust harder, eyes fluttering closed as I grunt, pushing deeper. He sputters again and coughs, but I don’t stop. Can’t stop. His mouth feels too good, too perfect.
“Oh, fuck. Connor. Oh, God. Suck me. Suck me dry.” I fuck into his mouth, my balls slapping against his chin.
He gags and starts slapping my forearms. I let go, and he pulls off me. Tears run from his eyes, staining his cheeks, while saliva coats his chin.
I whimper from the loss. And the sight of him. But then he flinches as he tries to swallow.
“Oh, shit. Your throat. Fuck. I’m sorry.”
I’m such an idiot.
“Stop. It’s fine.”
“No, I should’ve been more careful.” Biting my lip, I drop to my knees, wanting to taste him, to make him come. “Your turn?”
Please say yes.
Connor doesn’t move right away, then takes a deep breath and scoots back onto the bed. He rests on his elbows, widening his legs. A strand of precum drips from his tip to his stomach.
I settle between his legs, then grip the base of his cock and run my tongue along the vein underneath.
“Fuck. Me.”
My tongue flicks under the crown, then swirls over the head, my hips bucking into the mattress at the taste of him on my tongue. He arches, moaning loudly as I work his length with my mouth.
Never done this before but can’t get enough. I exhale through my nose, trying to relax as I take him deeper.
He slaps the mattress. “Oh, fuuuck.”
Saliva drips down his cock and over his balls as I bob up and down. He’s writhing, fisting the sheets.
“Ryan. Ryan, I’m gonna . . . Fuck, I’m . . .”
I pull off not wanting him to finish.
He lifts onto his elbows, eyes searching mine. “Are you okay? Is it too much?”
I huff a laugh. “I suck you off a lot in my head. So, I'm not ready for it to be over now that I’m really doing it.”
“Yeah, well, I want your dick back in my mouth. Now. Want your cum on my tongue.”
Electricity jolts down my spine as precum drips from my slit onto the mattress.
“Give me that dick, Ryan.”
I bite my bottom lip, ears on fire. “Same time.”
He lets out a small groan, hips giving a little thrust.
I shake my head when he moves to lie down. “No. You’re on top. Easier for me to be careful.”
“Fuck you. Don’t pull that shit.”
Ignoring him, I get on the mattress, lying on my back. He huffs, rolling his eyes, but shifts to his knees. His eyes track over my body, cock twitching, then he carefully swings one leg over my head to the other side. He places his right palm on the mattress a little above my hip, not near my legs.
My heart thumps extra hard.
Fuck, I hate this. Hate that he has to think about where to put his hands.
He leans forward, settling into position, and his ass is right there. Right in my fucking face.
I can’t stop staring. The hard muscles, the way I can see them flex as he moves to get into place. I reach up, palming each cheek, then spread them.
His little pink hole flutters.
I groan, loud and desperate, my grip on his ass tightening without meaning to.
“Ryan?” His voice is raspy and deep.
“Can I . . . Can I lick it?”
No response.
I crane my neck to look at him. He’s staring at me over his shoulder, but I can’t see his mouth. Just his eyes.
What’s he thinking?
We’ve never explored anything anal before. Never talked about it either. Maybe he’s not ready. Maybe he isn’t even into it.
“We don’t have to.”
He turns his head forward, so now I can’t see his face. Can’t see his expression. But then he arches, pushing back. “Do it.”
“Connor, if you don’t want—”
“Ryan, lick my fucking asshole.”
A low growl leaves my throat as I swipe my tongue up the crease. Fuck he tastes like heaven. Tangy. Heady.
Connor hisses out a breath.
I pull away a little and look at him, at the way his hole clenches and unclenches. So goddamn sexy.
I press my mouth to him once again, and his hole puckers against my tongue.
“Fuck, Ry.”
My tongue swirls and flicks against him, the tip of my nose brushing between his crease. Can’t get enough. I pull him down more, but he resists. “Connor, sit.”
He snorts but doesn’t move.
“Connor. Sit on my face.” I pull him again, and he adjusts, placing his hands on his thighs and obeys.
I groan, something inside me snapping. I eat him like a man starved, like I can’t get enough, devouring his ass like it's my last meal.
“Fuck. Fuck. Ryan. Fuck.” He grinds against my tongue, riding my face. “I . . . I . . . Oh, shit. I’m coming.”
A second later, his cum hits my chest. Fuck no. I want to taste all of him.
I push up on his glutes, lifting him. He scrambles, both palms slapping the mattress to keep from toppling over, his cock still erupting. I take him into my mouth, sucking until I pull every last drop from him.
Then I feel it.
His hot, wet mouth on me.
My hips thrust up, fast and hard. I pant around his length, moaning and grunting as I race toward my own orgasm. His hand wraps around my cock, pumping me while sucking. Every muscle in my body tenses, then I explode.
Connor continues to work me until nothing comes out, then he flops over onto the mattress, just our elbows touching as we try to catch our breaths.
After a minute, I turn to look at him. “Was it okay?”
He nods, eyes still closed.
I take in the sight of him. Cum and saliva cover his chin. His lips are swollen, cheeks flushed.
My heart thumps a little harder and I smile widely. My husband is fucking wrecked. And so goddamn hot.
Oh, no.
Shit. Shit. Shit.
I . . . I like him. A lot. More than a lot.
Time to clean up, and to stop those thoughts dead in their tracks because this isn’t a real marriage. It’s to protect Connor from his father. Nothing more.
I get off the bed and head to the bathroom. A groan sounds behind me. Connor’s up and following. I grab a clean washcloth and run it under the warm water, then wring it out and hand it to him.
He takes it and is about to clean himself when I grab his wrist. He might be my temporary husband, but everything we’ve done . . . maybe . . .
Five things I see. Towels. A bar of soap. My toothbrush. Body lotion. Connor.
“Ryan?”
Taking a deep breath, I bring his hand and the washcloth to my chest, wiping some of his cum. My eyes close as I exhale for a count of five. “Clean me. Just . . . just my chest.”
“Just your chest.” He goes slow, each swipe like static on my skin—not bad, just there.
But the static gets stronger, becomes too much. And he's being so fucking careful I want to scream. Then the washcloth—and his touch—are gone.
I open my eyes, letting out a breath I didn’t realize I was holding. His eyes search my face, a small crease between his brows.
Why?
Why do I have to be like this? Why can’t I just enjoy Connor’s hands on my body?
My eyes grow wet, a tear falling down my cheek. I wipe it away with the back of my hand.
Connor tosses the washcloth onto the counter, then raises up on his tiptoes, kissing me softly. “It’s okay. You’re okay.”
But I don't want to just be okay anymore.
“I’m going to take a shower first, then when you’re done, we can read. Okay?”
I nod, grab the washcloth, then finish cleaning myself, rubbing harder than necessary, while he steps into the shower.
When we get back to campus, I'm calling the counseling center.
Not for him. But for myself.
Because I'm tired of my body winning, tired of those fuckers from the group home still having power over me.
I want to stop freezing when my husband touches me. Want to stop letting my past dictate my life.
And most of all . . . I want to stop being afraid of wanting.