Chapter 77 Stuart #2
I start laughing again. So does he. We fall all over each other. He pulls his pants and underwear off completely, climbing bare-assed into the backseat and waiting for me to get in and undo my fly.
“There’s lube in the center console,” I say from under a confusion of muscular limbs and sexy boy kisses.
“‘Course there is.”
He preps himself quickly as I take both our dicks in my hand and stroke hard, dropping my head back in pleasure as two velvet-clad rods slide against each other.
Steel sheathed in soft skin. I work us both up until we’re panting and moaning.
Snapping at each other’s mouths. Rushed.
Breaking our kisses now and again to glance around to make sure the coast is clear.
Knowing we could get caught. Knowing we shouldn’t be doing this.
Knowing it’s madness—and not giving a single solitary fuck between us.
My fingers dig into his flesh. Hips. Ass.
Pinching hard. Pulling him down onto me.
Thrusting deep as soon as I feel the smooth hot embrace of his ass clamped around my dick.
He cries out from each thrust, the back of his head thudding solidly into the roof as he rides me, hands scrabbling at the headrests for something to hold on to.
I reach up with one hand, cupping his head, taking the impact so he doesn’t have to.
We’re both frantic. Feral. So feral, we come fast. Loud and messy.
Clenching and groaning into the other’s mouth.
He sprays into my hands. Filling them as I stroke him, wringing every ounce of his pleasure out of him.
Not stopping until he’s shaking and whimpering.
I catch as much as I can, but I can’t catch it all.
His seed overflows, spilling between my fingers as I flood his ass.
“There are wipes in the center console,” I pant as we come apart.
He gives me a devilish grin. “What else’ve you got in there? A first aid kit? A balanced meal?”
“No, just sunscreen and a bottle of water. I mean yeah, there are a couple of protein bars, you know, in case we get stuck somewhere, and you get hungry.” He bursts out laughing, flopping onto me and kissing me all over my face even though I have no idea what I’ve done to deserve it.
“The first aid kit is in the trunk,” I tell him.
It’s best to be prepared. You just never know when you might need something like that.
He kisses me more and then seems to remember he’s pantless in a public garage and sets about righting that.
“Come on, let’s get going,” I say when he’s dressed and I’m something resembling decent. “We’re stopping at Able’s to get burgers on the way home.” They had dinky little snacks and finger food upstairs, and that’s nowhere near enough for a sturdy boy like Elliot.
“Really? Able’s? I love that place.”
“I know.” I straighten his shirt as best I can and pat his tussled hair down. “You need a square meal after such a late night out.”
“Thank you, Daddy.” He bats his lashes hopefully. “Am I getting fries and a milkshake too?”
I sigh and smile in acceptance. I know when I’m beaten. “You’re getting whatever you goddamn want.”
I reach for him, dry-mouthed and bleary-eyed, only to find I’m alone in my bed.
The sheets are still warm where he slept.
It was one of those nights that ended up involving so little sleep I feel almost hungover this morning.
I rub my eyes, which does nothing but worsen their focus and makes me see black floaty spots.
There’s a cacophony of pots and plates clanking downstairs, so I stagger out of bed to see what Elliot’s up to.
I find him in the kitchen. The coffee maker is spluttering, imbuing the kitchen with a rich, earthy scent and the sun is streaming into the room.
Long shards of light bounce off tiny dust particles, giving the scene an idyllic look.
Elliot is wearing a long-sleeved white T-shirt and a pair of the socks I gave him.
His boxer briefs are brief. The generous globes of his ass are this-close to escaping their confines.
I watch for a while as he washes up. As always, he puts his back into it.
His ass too. His scrubbing is resolute and determined.
It has the whole of him jiggling in a way that’s more than a little captivating.
I find it especially hard not to look at his ass, given his pastel-pink shorts are liberally covered in cupcakes.
Cute little cupcakes that seem to be sticking their tongues out at me.
From here, I make out strawberry shortcake, vanilla with sprinkles, chocolate, and possibly red velvet.
My mouth waters.
“Morning,” I say.
He spins around with a look of surprise that instantly turns into delight. His eyes light up. Chocolate goes gooey, and I turn to mush.
Suddenly, everything is clear. Crystal clear. The fog has lifted. My focus is true. I see it all.
I’m glad Damien left. I’m glad I felt what I did when he left.
I’m glad he hurt me. I’m glad he made a huge hole in my heart.
I’m glad he broke me. If he hadn’t, I wouldn’t feel like this now.
Whole. I wouldn’t have a boy who fixed me.
I wouldn’t recognize him as hard as I do.
I wouldn’t know that even though he’s not what I was looking for, he’s what I want.
What I need. He’s what I’ve always wanted and needed.
“Elliot,” I say, taking my time, letting his name settle between us.
He blinks and searches my face, unsure of my tone as it’s one he hasn’t heard before. It doesn’t matter that it’s new. He smiles at it. He welcomes it because it comes from me. Because he’s mine. Because he’s meant to be mine. Because he was made for me, and I was made for him.
He sets down the plate he was washing and turns to face me fully, still waiting. Still content in the moment. A beautiful boy in ridiculous shorts and a pair of marigold gloves.
“Elliot,” I say again, hoarse, helpless this time, “Daddy loves you.”
He’s still for a second, and then he flies to me, flinging one glove on the floor and crashing into me with the other still on.
I catch him and lift him easily, guiding his legs around my waist and crushing him to me, kissing his forehead, his cheeks, and finally, his lips.
My heart explodes into millions of pieces as he cries, “I love you too, Daddy. I love you too.”