Chapter Thirty-Two #2
“I love watching you fuck me,” I say, because I do. I could watch this for the rest of my life. “Does it feel good to you, baby?” I lift one of my hands to stroke his face. “Tell me it feels good to you.”
He closes his eyes and for a second a pained flinch twists his features. But then he recovers. “Yeah, it feels good. So good.”
That’s when he starts to speed up. He slides up and down me at a pace I know would have my legs shaking, and yet aside from a light sheen of sweat on his forehead and his abs, Giles seems completely in his element.
Maybe this is why he trains so hard? So he can fuck with superhuman strength.
As if to prove my hypothesis, he stops suddenly and rearranges his legs. In a second, he’s got his feet flat on the bed and he leans forward a little, in a squatting position, my dick still deep inside me. And then he fucks me like that.
“Oh, merda. Cazzu diaulu. Shit,” I grit out.
Giles’ only response is a soft hum. His face is full of concentration, just like it is the very few times I’ve seen him push himself in the gym.
His hard dick slaps against my stomach and I have a moment wondering how tragic it would have been if I’d lived my life without this.
Because it’s beautiful. It’s so fucking hot.
But it’s not what I want right now. It’s not how I want to come.
I let him continue until I’m close, but then I grab hold of him around his waist and throw us onto our side.
He looks startled for a second but then his concern melts away as I push up on top of him and settle between his open legs.
I push myself deep inside him again and then I stay like that for a second.
His ocean eyes search mine, waiting for my next move.
It's clear when I lower my face to his that he doesn’t expect me to kiss him, but it’s what I do.
We kiss slowly, lazily, luxuriously, until it deepens and our bodies start to move. I fuck him gently. I reach a hand back and wrap his legs around me. I grunt in his ear and tell him again how good he feels.
“Marcello, I—” he says and I have the gut feeling he wants to say something important but I am having a rare moment when I don’t want words. I just want… this. Our bodies connected, our breaths mingling, our sweat making us slide over each other.
“Later.” I kiss the tips of his nose. “We’ll talk later. Right now I just want to make you feel good.”
“You are. You do. Please don’t stop,” he pleads and I apply a bit more force to my thrusts.
We rock like that together for many long, never-ending minutes. The only sounds in the room are the bedsheets rustling beneath us, our gasps and groans and grunts, and small perfect words like ‘please’ and ‘fuck’ and ‘yes’.
I don’t tell Giles when I’m about to come. I have this sense he knows already and I decide to have faith in it. Besides, I’ve already decided how he’s going to come if he doesn’t already.
I bury my face in his shoulder and rut into him until I explode, bringing a kaleidoscope of light and colour and shapes into the darkness I find between him and the bed.
I swear in English, in Sardo, in Italian and in other languages that don’t exist. I tremble and I press into him as deeply as I can, never wanting to leave.
But I do move. When I don’t feel wet between us and his hands start to stroke my back, not grip my buttcheeks like they were a minute a go, I disentangle myself from his hold, pull out and keep one hand on the top of the condom so it doesn’t come off.
I then slide down his body and take his dick in my mouth. It’s not as hard as I expect, or my ego wants, but in seconds that changes and it’s filling my mouth and stretching my lips.
Giles’ fingers come to my hair and he moans as I flick the underside of his head with the tip of my tongue.
“Fuck my mouth, baby,” I tell him, lifting my eyes to his.
He looks down at me and I see doubt, then worry, then excitement flash across his face.
He grips both sides of my jaw and lifts me ever so slightly. “Ready?”
“Fuck, yeah,” I say and then I open my mouth for him.
He thrusts up, the many muscles on his stomach flexing.
He groans and then does it again. Again and again and again and I can feel him do exactly what I just did a moment ago.
He’s surrendering. There’s no need to count or to clean or to keep all that bottled up inside him, locked away from me, from the rest of the world.
He’s just feeling and fucking and finding some release in a world that he thinks he needs to stay all buttoned up and strong in.
But not now. Not with me.
His moan is long and gravelly and the most perfect sound as he thrusts into my mouth one last time and I feel him spurting cum against the back of my throat.
I swallow, surprised again by the bitterness of the taste, and again by just how much there is, but I’m not shocked this time.
I suck and swallow until he stops, his body shaking as he lifts my face off him.
“Fuck me,” he says when our eyes meet.
“Yeah, that was…” I don’t have the right words. Or rather I don’t have words that I think he wants to hear.
“Yeah.” He nods. “That was.” He confirms both my hopes and my doubts with that and I’ve never been so confused, but also clear-minded. I am terrified but I am so ready to say what I want to say to Giles. To tell him the truth.
“I should clean up and get us some water.” Giles starts to roll away.
“No, let me.” I hold him back. I want him to stay in bed. I want him to be comfortable as I tell him what I need to tell him. “I’ll get us some water. I also have something to give you.”
“Oh yes, that box. I’m curious.”
“Don’t get too excited. It’s just a small something.”
I pull the condom off, tie it up and then get out of bed and pull on my boxers. “Need anything else?”
“Oh, can you grab my phone?”
“Sure.” I smile at him before leaving the bedroom.
I walk into the kitchen and dispose of the condom without an issue but once I’m there I stand paralysed for a few moments, knowing what I have to do – get Giles’ phone, two glasses of water, a wet cloth, and the present I got for him – but not knowing where to start or how I can carry everything back to Giles’ bedroom.
I freeze for a few more seconds, and then move, going for Giles’ phone which I can tuck in the waistband of my boxers if I have to.
As I pick it up, my finger nudges the button on the side of the device and the screen lights up.
I’m not intentionally looking but it’s right there in my hand and my eyes see it before I can pull them away.
It’s a name. The last name I expect to see on a message notification on Giles’ phone.
Tony.
It’s Tony’s name next to an unfinished sentence that I struggle to read at first. But then the words fall into place.