Chapter 17 Isaac
ISAAC
To: Isaac.Sullivan@
From: Evan.Lockwood@
Re: Absence
Isaac,
I know I said I’d be back today, and I’m sorry for the no notice, but I’ll be visiting my father this weekend in San Diego. If you need anything at the office, Jan (Jeff’s assistant with the red hair) said she could pitch in.
I plan to be back Monday.
Thanks,
Evan
Jan with the red hair brings me a double shot of espresso and asks if I need anything else. I shake my head and reevaluate whether I want to be here, either. Unfortunately, unless I want to reschedule all my calls and appointments on my own—which I don’t, then I should follow my schedule.
Evan would be pissed if I didn’t, and I don’t want to do anything else to annoy him, although he did say he would be here today, and the fact that he’s not, and therefore not giving me a chance to talk to him face to face is yet another unpleasant development.
I’m not going to bug him in San Diego, but I’m not ruling out finding some way to get to him before he comes in Monday morning.
I know he runs with his dog in Alamo Square before work.
It’s not a small park, but I’ve seen pictures of Apollo, and the dog would definitely stand out. It’s possible I could track him down.
Am I supposed to put my life on hold until then?
I think about last weekend with Deacon, how it was in turns both exciting and so relaxing, I slept better than I have in months.
Years maybe. Not to mention, it was nearly picture perfect.
In fact, the only way it differed from my ideal fantasy weekend was that it was Deacon and not Evan at the other side of the table at brunch.
And he looked great there.
After my lunch meeting with Brad, I text Deacon on my walk back to the office.
Me
I’m trying not to worry that I haven’t heard from you.
Deacon
You were going to if you didn’t ask me to do something this weekend.
Me
You’re free?
Deacon
I hope not.
Me
Let me make you dinner tonight.
Deacon
Only if I can cook.
I grin.
Me
I hope you don’t get distracted easy.
Deacon
I distract very easily.
Me
Can I pick anything up from the store?
Deacon
Condoms
I laugh as I’m walking through the center of the office, and several heads turn my way. Pointing at my phone, I say, “Have you seen the one with the cat? Sorry. Carry on.”
The rest of my workday goes down a lot easier as long as I don’t look at the empty desk outside my door. Whenever I do, my thoughts come to a crashing halt, and I wonder how the fuck I let things get so fucked up. More than that, though, I wonder if I have any chance of fixing them.
Deacon insists I take a shower so he can at least get the food started without me in the kitchen. I was only planning on having a glass of wine and some conversation, but two minutes into that and he was asking me nicely to leave.
He’s making baked pasta, so he just wants to get it in the oven, but I take my time washing up and yes—prepping because that’s something I have to think about now.
It’s given me a new appreciation for all my prior sexual partners, but especially Evan who must do some version of what I’m doing as part of his daily routine. His ass is always pristine.
Fuck, I don’t need to be thinking about that right now. I have an incredible man in my kitchen cooking for me, and I need to be out there distracting him, focusing on him.
I put on sweatpants and a t-shirt before heading back into the kitchen.
Deacon is sliding the casserole dish into the oven, and when he straightens up and grins at me, I get chills.
He looks perfect here. A surge of want—not just for him but for exactly this has me catching myself on the edge of the island.
He walks over to the sink to wash his hands. “Forty-five minutes.”
“How can I help?”
Tossing down the dishtowel, he stalks toward me. When he gets close enough, I notice his dilated pupils, and my mouth goes dry. He touches my waist, and I fucking shiver.
With his other hand, he loosely grabs my wrist, bringing my palm to his crotch where I feel the hard, erect length of him behind his pants. “Is this why I had to take a shower?”
“I probably should have just taken care of it because it’s starting to hurt,” he says.
“Fuck.” I tighten my grip to relieve some of his ache. He licks his lips and finds my mouth with his. His kiss is soft and warm. I’m not sure where this is headed, but I like it, and whatever it is, I fucking want it.
He’s undoing his pants, and my hand follows the opening.
Soon, his thick, hard cock is twitching in my hand, and his tongue is in my mouth.
He’s got his hands up my shirt, his thumbs brushing my nipples, and I don’t know whether to drop to my knees or hop up on the counter and spread my legs.
I’ll be damned if I know how he works me into this state, but I’m not complaining.
His hands slide down my sides, into my pants and he slips them down my legs as his mouth trails down my sternum.
When he licks my abs, I’m not prepared. “Jesus, Deacon,” I whisper as he kneels and slides his lips up the side of my dick.
A drop of precum lands on his cheek as he wraps his mouth around the sensitive head.
He takes one long taste while I grit my teeth and then pulls off to say, “That’s so good. ”
Before I can respond, he’s blowing me. My hands are in his hair, and my hips are rocking. With my head thrown back, groans erupt from my throat. I try to watch and remember, but he’s right. It’s so good.
His mouth is wet around my balls as he jerks my dick, and our eyes meet. He glances at where my shirt is covering my abs, and I lift it for him. He winks and refocuses his gaze on my skin and the line of hair leading down to the cock currently thrusting into his throat.
I tighten my fist in his hair—too close—and back out of his mouth. He grabs my hips and kisses my lower abs, rising from his knees as he turns me toward the counter. “Condoms?” he asks.
“We need to get you tested.”
“Oh, I was. Last Wednesday.”
I have to grab hold of my dick because that might be the best line I’ve ever heard. Such a goddamn turn-on. “And?”
“Negative for everything. Somehow.”
I huff. “I am, too. Or—as of February first.”
“And Evan?” he asks.
“We use condoms.” Heat floods my face, which is a relatively new experience.
Deacon turns me into a mess. The lack of control is borderline addicting.
The forced moments of vulnerability that come out of nowhere and feel more authentic than anything I’ve had in—my life?
I swear he’s altering my cell structure.
His hands rub my ass cheeks, squeezing them, spreading them, generally groping them. “Any reason I have to use a condom?”
I shake my head, searching the counter for anything we could use as lube.
He’s way ahead of me, grabbing an unmarked bottle of what I’m guessing is cooking oil. The next thing I feel is the cool drizzle of it on my ass cheeks, and then his extra hot cock, sliding around in it.
His fingers touch my rim, and I roll up onto my toes, oversensitive. “Not ready for me?” he asks with a light laugh.
“It’s been a few days…”
“I’ll go slow.”
He kisses my shoulder, and I feel his soft, slick crown against my hole. He presses forward, and I blow out a breath, trying to relax. I feel the soft stretch of the pressure he’s applying. “Mmm…I like that.”
He does it again and again. His mouth on my shoulder gets warmer, wetter, and closer to my neck.
God, I love it. My stiff elbows soften, and his crown pushes through my rim.
I groan, and he sucks in a mouthful of skin.
I’m expecting to get fucked now, but he holds still a moment and pulls out again.
“Fuck,” I breathe.
And then he’s in again. Just the tip. I lick my lips, trying to get a hold of myself. He does this a few more times while I’m groaning and adjusting until there’s no more friction, and I’m all stretched out for him. Another drizzle of oil hits my ass, and then he steps into me.
His thighs pull flush with mine, and his thick cock fills my ass. I reach back and grip him by the hamstring.
“Good?” he asks.
I get what he’s asking. I’ve asked the same thing, expecting whoever’s bottoming for me to know what they need to do to make it a pleasurable experience, but I’ve never had to figure it out on my own.
“It’s…uh…You feel very long,” I admit with burning cheeks and a sweaty upper lip.
With one of his hands, he presses my breastbone, lifting me slightly so I’m not quite so bent over the counter.
Everything changes. He slides in at least an inch deeper, and holy fuck, it feels a thousand times better.
Instinctively, I adjust a few more degrees upward, and he gives me an experimental stroke, sliding right over my prostate and stretching me around his base. “There,” I choke out.
“I feel it, too.” His voice is low and raspy as his cock moves slowly back and forth, lighting up every nerve ending in my ass. Who knew there were so many?
Deacon apparently.
Using his height, he meets my mouth with a long, deep kiss as he continues to fuck me.
He keeps his pace slow and languid, really working the angle for everything it’s worth.
My hand finally releases its grip on the counter and drifts down to my own rock solid cock to stroke it.
I don’t go any faster than he is, melting into the slow rhythm and letting my body sing with pleasure.
It’s an edge I’m not sure I want to tip over.
It’s so intense—a buzzing in my blood and bones. “Is this tantric?” I ask stupidly.
“It’s been five minutes. Maybe.”
“How long can you last?”
“Wanna find out?”
I nod. He kisses me again. And we keep going.
Something like an entire minute later, he’s devouring my mouth, and I’m not doing much better, sucking at his tongue and tearing at his lips. His hands remain locked on my hips, but his hips are snapping, our balls slapping.
My hand is jerking my dick like it’s in a race.