Chapter 16 #2
Fallon’s uncertainty slices deep into my gut. I didn’t do a good enough job of letting him know how I feel, so it’s time to do that now.
The room we’re in has a distinct man-cave vibe. A leather sofa takes up most of one wall, blackout shades are pulled across the window, and the main piece of furniture is a giant console with a flat-screen mounted in the center. A battered desk sits off to one side under the window.
“Wait. Where’s Bruiser?” I’m only now realizing Fallon’s no longer holding a puppy.
“Gina carried him off to introduce him to her boss’s chiweenie, whatever that is. Don’t worry, she’ll take good care of him. Probably spoil him rotten, but he’ll be in good hands.”
“Good. ’Cause I want you to be in my hands.” I thread my fingers into his hair and tug, pulling his face down to mine.
He shaved before we came, but I can still feel the slightest hint of roughness against my face. Not to mention, holy fuck does he smell good. Whatever aftershave he’s wearing, I want to fucking bathe in it.
I kiss him like I need him, which I’m pretty sure I do. There’s been a persistent sort of pain in my chest ever since I came upon Fallon looking at that photo in the hallway. Not that I begrudge him the happiness in his life before he met me, but part of me worries he’ll never truly be mine.
Because he still loves Marina. Because she had him first. I picture that hand of hers on his arm. Is the ghost of her still trying to cling on?
Guess I’ll have to keep showing him who he belongs to. Until he understands. Until he knows.
“What are we doing right now?” he murmurs against my mouth.
“Isn’t it obvious, baby? I’m going to bend you over the arm of your brother’s shiny, spotless sofa and make you beg until you remember you’re mine now.”
“PJ—”
I cut him off with another kiss before turning around to lock the door. Don’t want someone barging in and getting a shot of my pale full moon.
Fallon raises an eyebrow. “You know, Wes has a key to that door.”
“Then we’d better hurry. You want to get naked, or should I just shove your pants down around your ankles?”
We stand there for a few seconds, my fingers teasing at the hem of Fallon’s shirt, sliding underneath to touch his skin.
I finger the button of his khakis, dying to pull them off, but waiting.
The idea that maybe Wes might walk in here only turns me on more.
It’d serve him right for trying to get me away from Fallon.
Just as I’m starting to worry I’ve pushed things too far, Fallon undoes his fly and shoves his pants to the ground. Then he turns around and braces himself on the arm of Wes’s couch.
Halle-fucking-lujah.
“Your ass is so pretty.” Even though we’re pressed for time, I can’t help but take a moment to slide my palm over his smooth skin.
He’s darker than I am, kind of an olive complexion, where I could pass for a freckled vampire, but I like the way my fingers stand out on his skin.
Even better when I bring my hand back to slap his ass, and the redness of my handprint remains.
Fallon releases a quiet grunt. Not sure if it’s pain or pleasure. Is it fucked if I like the sound either way?
“Fuck yes. Looks even better with a handprint. Did you like that, baby?”
He squeezes his eyes shut and nods. “You know I do.”
I loosen my zipper and slide my pants down, rubbing along his crease until I can tell he’s good and worked up.
Then I push my hand between his shoulder blades, forcing his chest against the arm of the sofa and his ass even higher.
After the last time, I realized the way he’s almost presenting himself to me makes me the good kind of crazy.
“You look so good like that. I want to stare at you until it’s burned into my brain. You know what else I like, baby?”
A loud, wet swallow meets my ears. “What do you like, PJ?”
“I liked it when you called me Keeper. Especially while we were fucking. Turns me on like nothing else. I want you to call me your Keeper all the time. And I want you to tell me exactly what you like when I do it to you.”
He nods again. “Okay.”
“Okay, what?”
“Okay, Keeper. I’ll tell you what I like.”
How does that sound so fucking good?
“Good, baby.” I land another slap on his ass because I love the way it looks so much.
Then I look down at my precious fucking Fallon, who’s got his ass offered up to me and spread open. I’m aching to slide inside him.
An awful thought hits me. “I don’t have any lube.”
“The desk,” Fallon breathes. “Over there, under the window. I’m pretty sure Wes, uh, watches porn in here.”
Thank fuck for Wes being a perv. I spend a moment digging through drawers until I find it alongside a Fleshlight, which I definitely will NOT be picturing Wes using, and then I get to work lubing up my fingers.
What I want is to slide my hands all over Fallon’s body, tease his sensitive spots, and make it so I would be able to pick him out of a lineup blindfolded.
But we’re in a hurry, so I lube up my fingers and get to work.
I mean, I let myself enjoy the sight of Fallon’s hole swallowing one finger and then two, because who wouldn’t? But I try not to linger too long.
“You like that, baby?”
“I love it, Keeper.”
“Tell me what else you love.”
He takes a deep breath. “I love the feeling of your fingers inside me. I love when you put your mouth on me. I love how much you frighten me.”
One hundred percent, I need to ask him about that last part later. But… “We don’t have condoms, baby.”
Most of the guys are on PrEP, but I never saw the need.
“I’ve been meaning to tell you. I got tested. We don’t need them. Unless you…”
“Gonna stop you right there, baby. No sex with anybody but you since my ex, I promise. I got tested after her too.”
“Good. Thank God.” His hair moves when he nods, showing me the long, sexy-ass column of his neck.
I slide my fingers out and line myself up, making sure his hole and my cock are well lubed. I slide into him, slow but steady. “You know what I love?”
His harsh pants fill the room. “What do you love, Keeper?”
You. I’m pretty sure I’m falling in love with you.
No, I know I am.
But I can’t say that. Not now. Anything said in the middle of sex, he’d only dismiss as heat-of-the-moment stuff like he did before. That’s not what I want.
When I say it, he needs to see how much I mean it. So, I push myself into him until my body is flush with his and he’s groaning at the fullness.
“What I love,” I tell him in a strange growl I don’t think I’ve heard out of my mouth, “what I love is how fucking perfect you are. I love how you feel around me and against me. I love that your hair is long enough for me to tangle my hands up in it.”
I illustrate by doing exactly that, pulling his head back to expose his throat, which I wrap my fingers around. “I love how much you trust me. I love touching every single part of you. I love knowing that you’re mine.”
His moan is strained and strangled and fucking perfect.
I slide in and out of him a few times. Far too slow for his liking, if his frustrated sounds are anything to go by. I know we need to hurry. I’m probably tempting fate, tempting Wes to walk in here and find us. So I speed up.
As much as I would delight in the horror on Fallon’s brother’s face, the sight of his head exploding over me fucking his brother on his precious leather couch, I want to be able to finish without getting interrupted.
I shift my angle until I’ve found that perfect place where I can hit Fallon’s prostate every time.
Where I can pull the sounds from him that I love.
Where I can see him grit his teeth and flex his jaw and tighten himself around me in a desperate attempt for more.
Then I get an idea. I push myself in, reveling in the way I seem to push a breathy groan out of him.
With a bruising grip, I pull him back against me until I’m as far inside him as I can be, and I stay there. I fucking love it when his passage clenches around me like this.
“Oh my God,” Fallon breathes. “What are you doing? Why aren’t you moving? It feels like I’ve got a baseball bat lodged in my ass.”
I can’t help but grin. “I’ll take that as a compliment, I think. Do you love it? Do you love feeling like you’re being split open by my cock?”
“I do. I do love it.”
“I thought you would.” I thrust forward a little more, enough to make him moan. “Think you can get yourself off like this?”
“While you’re inside me like this?”
“Exactly like this.”
It’s hell not to move. I want to fuck him hard and fast. I want to pound him until he can’t see straight, until the force of it has his face shoved right into the leather and he can barely breathe. I’m so hyped up I don’t know how many strokes it’ll even take.
First and foremost, I want Fallon to get off.
He reaches down and takes hold of himself. Strong, fast strokes that call out the same desperation I’m feeling. I punctuate each of his thrusts by pushing that last little bit inside him, by removing even the smallest bit of air between our bodies.
With each pulse of his hips, he groans louder and rougher, until finally, he’s clenching around me and failing miserably at coming quietly.
I can’t say I mind, but Wes might. Something tells me the classic rock playing out in the backyard wasn’t enough to cover those sounds. I don’t fucking care. I want every person here to know Fallon is mine.
For a while, all I can do is drape myself over his body, feeling the shudders and shockwaves go through him.
I kiss his back and stroke his hips, and then I slide myself out and push in again.
I wrap my hand around his, pulling every last drop of pleasure out of him until his moans turn into hisses of overstimulation.
With a handful of quick, hard thrusts, I’m emptying myself inside him.
Before Fallon, I’d never fucked without a condom, but I like it. I love it.
I love him.
Call it endorphins or whatever, but as I soften and slide out, it’s an effort to take my hands off his body, to let go of the connection I feel when he’s pressing his back to my front. I want to lie here all day with my ear against this muscular back and listen to him breathe.
“I’m not letting you go,” I murmur. “Not for anything.” I don’t know if he hears me. His breathing has entered that sort of meditative place he seems to go to after he’s come really hard. His eyes are open, but I can tell he’s buzzing on good feelings.
Good. I like giving him good feelings. I want to be the one who always gives them to him.
We pull apart and dress, cleaning ourselves with a box of tissues found on Wes’s desk. I leave the lube by his keyboard. I’m sure he’ll appreciate that.
Light filtering around the edge of the window shade catches Fallon’s face, bathing his skin, his tattoos, his amber eyes, and even his hint of stubble in a golden glow. My stomach swirls with a mix of feelings.
Wes isn’t completely wrong about me and Fallon. I’m a broke college student who dates men for money. Who works at the university for free tuition. Who is thirteen years Fallon’s junior, and who’s never had a relationship lasting longer than six months.
Fallon’s a widower, he’s well off, and he’s goddamn gorgeous. He submits so beautifully, and for someone who’d only previously played around with some rough sex, I didn’t realize until now that he’s everything I want and need.
He’s like a beautiful, rare species of bird found out in the wild. I don’t deserve to keep him locked up. He’s too good. I’m also convinced it’s the only way he’ll be safe. Once I decide it’s my job to keep someone safe, I’ll do whatever it takes.
Nobody’s ever wanted to keep me before, but there’s no option this time. I’ll make sure I’m worthy of him. I’ll make sure he knows nobody can give him what I can.
I open my mouth to tell him so, to tell him how I’m falling for him, but there’s a knock on the door.
“If you two are finished destroying my office, the fucking burgers are ready, you fucking perverts.” Wes’s anger comes through the door full force.
Good. Fuck him.
Fallon blushes but doesn’t say anything. I throw the door open, making a point of not pulling up my zipper until I’ve had the opportunity to see Wes’s angry face (worth it).
“Sorry, Wes. Guess we got carried away.”
Then I zip my pants and throw him a wink, because I know it’ll make him choke on his spit. I am not disappointed.
I glance back at Fallon. “Come on, babe, let’s get you some water and something to eat. You need to hydrate after all that activity.”