Chapter 18 #2
I cupped his cheek and kissed him softly. “I lean toward bottom, but I’m verse, so we can try whatever you want.”
Casey quirked a grin and captured my lips as he reached between us and took both our cocks in his big hand.
With the sun streaming into the room, and tiny dust motes dancing in the sunbeams, a completely mesmerized Casey watched as he fisted our cocks, thumbing through the pre-cum leaking from our slits.
I had to admit it was a gorgeous sight.
Casey stroked harder and took my mouth in a hungry kiss.
“Get on your back,” he demanded, pressing my shoulder to the mattress.
His warm weight spread over me, and I opened my legs for him.
“This okay?” he asked.
I nodded and ran my fingers down his back to grip his ass.
Pulling Casey’s hips into me, I threw my head back in a moan as our hot cocks rubbed together.
His hot lips against my neck sent electricity zinging through me, and the smooth glide of our dicks pressed together had my body begging for another release.
What I really wanted was to find the lube, prep myself, and plead with Casey to just fuck me into the mattress right then and there. But I was the one trying to convince him we had all the time in the world, so I needed to take my own advice.
We found an absolutely perfect rhythm of rocking hips and thrusting cocks, work-roughened hands digging into strong, broad shoulders, and unintelligible words whispering gruffly into the stillness of the room.
“Fuck,” Casey bit out. “Fuckin’ hell. I didn’t know.” He buried his head in my neck with a groan—a mix of pleasure and frustration—and thrust his hips harder. “Fuck. Wish I’d known.”
With only a brief moment to worry regret would hold Casey Joe back from living the life he was meant to live—whether that was with me as a friend or something more…and I truly wanted to believe I meant that—I dug my fingers into his ass and held tight as an orgasm ripped through me.
The moment I let loose, Casey tumbled right over the edge after me with a long, low moan. We made another mess on my stomach, but the resulting press of his sticky belly to mine was a price I was willing to pay just to have Casey in my arms.
“You good?” I asked. Respect and genuine concern meant I had to ask my friend if he was okay after his first—okay, technically, second—sexual experience with a man. Life lessons, selfishness, and abject fear of losing someone I’d grown to care about meant I was terrified of what he might answer.
Casey huffed a warm breath into my sweaty neck. “So. Good.”
Relief and joy tumbled through me like kittens in a field of wildflowers.
Part of me warned endorphins were likely keeping Casey from any sort of freak out. But it also seemed more and more likely he was handling these new experiences okay with each passing moment and every additional interaction we had.
“Sex with a guy or not, I know how crusty dried cum can get,” Casey murmured against my shoulder. “Fuckin’ bitch to get out of pubes. We should shower.”
Who could argue?
So, we ended up sharing a shower. When Casey climbed out and dried off, I told him to make us something to eat while I finished up. By the time I took a brief moment to myself and exited the bathroom in just a towel, Casey had a little picnic feast arranged on a tray I’d never actually used.
“This looks good,” I said as I surveyed the spread.
“Looks like a damn rabbit buffet,” he grumbled. “But it’ll do.”
I chuckled. “Rabbit buffet? The bunnies should be so lucky.”
We settled onto his bed, propped up on pillows, and demolished the snacks he’d put together.
Casey popped a dried peach slice in his mouth. “Before my stupid heart attack and you came along, I would have filled this tray with chips, donuts, some cold pizza, and beer.” He chomped into an apple slice. “Now I’m sittin’ here eatin’ like a damn health nut.”
I snagged a carrot and dipped it into the little bowl of garden pesto dip. “No one is forcing you to give up the unhealthy snacks,” I said.
Casey snorted.
“What? You disagree?”
He was quiet for a bit while he chewed on a grape.
“No. I miss the shitty snacks, but they just don’t hold the same appeal.
I know this food is better for my body. I feel better without all the chemicals.
Plus, if I’m gonna put in the work with the exercise, it feels dumb to shovel all the shit into my mouth.
” He swiped a carrot through the pesto dip and crunched down on it loudly.
“The snacks were probably the easiest because it wasn’t too hard to replace them with healthier foods that tasted good. ”
We ate silently for a bit.
“The smokes and the beer were harder.” He took a deep breath, and for a moment, I thought he’d elaborate. But he popped another dried peach in his mouth and kept quiet.
I knew Casey still struggled with addiction—especially with alcohol.
I was so damn proud of all the changes he’d made for his long-term health, but it was no secret addiction could be a lifelong battle, and the struggles that came with recovery ebbed and flowed.
The unhealthy food had been more of a bad habit to break—much like me with the dopamine highs I found myself constantly seeking on social media.
The cigarettes were a nasty, unhealthy habit Casey pushed through until he figured out replacement activities for when he was feeling stressed.
Exercise had become his number one outlet for times when he would have reached for a pack of cigarettes in the past.
But alcohol was a different beast.
And I wasn’t one hundred percent sure where Casey was in regard to his recovery journey. He spoke of his therapist. He acknowledged he was an addict. He’d insinuated he was well-aware addiction was a lifelong challenge.
Would he fight tooth and nail through relapses for the rest of his life?
Would the tiniest stressor send him back to the bottle?
Would he be the type who could drink socially without falling back into the desperate cycle of burying his pain with alcohol?
No matter what, I was prepared to stand by Casey’s side.
I just hoped he wanted me there.