Chapter 11
Chapter
Eleven
Malcolm was not prepared for the way Iggy engulfed him with the kiss. Not their first kiss, certainly not their last, but somehow, it was their most meaningful.
Too many emotions to name became embroiled in the press and chase of lips and tongues, in the tangling of fingers and hands, in the desperation of wriggling torsos and clinching legs. It became almost a battle, and Malcolm was very, very willing to lose.
He’d been hard since the moment he swung up onto the bull behind Iggy, and now his erection pulsed with need, with desperation for the man who’d hauled him to the ground and was attacking from above. An uncoordinated, messy attack born of desire and long-suppressed feelings.
Malcolm submitted to everything, loving the way Iggy’s tongue licked inside his mouth, as if his very life depended on exploring every nook and corner.
When Iggy’s hands pulled at the buttons on his shirt, Malcolm ripped the panels apart, because they were snaps that looked like buttons.
Warm hands caressed Malcolm’s exposed pecs and abdomen, and he was already dizzy from lack of oxygen, because that kiss did not relent.
Iggy ground his hips down, his thick cock rubbing against Malcolm’s, so hot despite multiple layers of clothing. Or maybe he imagined the heat, and did it matter? When this was happening in the last place Malcolm had expected?
Iggy relented the onslaught against his mouth and licked his way down Malcolm’s chin to his throat.
Laved a path to his clavicles and nibbled there, earning a sharp bark of laughter from Malcolm.
His collarbones were weirdly ticklish, and Iggy hadn’t forgotten.
But he didn’t torture Malcolm long. He scooted all the way down until he knelt over Malcolm’s knees—when had Malcolm gone flat on his back?
—and yanked at his belt. His fly. Malcolm lifted is hips so Iggy could pull his jeans down, letting Iggy run this show, allowing him to determine their current existence.
Malcolm was on board with whatever his love wanted right now.
“Anything,” Malcolm whispered.
Iggy looked at him up the length of Malcolm’s supine body, eyes bright, cheeks red, so debauched Malcolm wanted to explode.
And they’d barely done anything yet. Iggy twisted around and got Malcolm’s shoes off so he could pull his jeans the rest of the way down.
Malcolm got his shirt the rest of the way off, leaving him in just his briefs while Iggy was still fully dressed, looming over him like Adonis come to life.
Ichabod Donohue had never looked more beautiful.
And when Iggy pulled Malcolm’s underwear down, releasing his straining cock so Iggy could suck the head right into his mouth, Malcolm’s entire being exploded.
Adult Iggy going down on him was almost more than his brain could take, and Malcolm devolved into a panting ball of need.
Every sense homed in on the heat and pressure around his cock, and on the gorgeous man giving him so much pleasure.
Dragging him toward orgasm way too damned fast, because holy fuck!
“Oh fuck, oh God, Iggs.” Nonsense. Pure, blissful nonsense dripped from Malcolm’s lips, and he wasn’t going to last long like this. Too intense, too perfect.
Then Iggy sucked on his balls, and Malcolm saw stars. Younger Iggy had been too cautious to try this, too worried of accidentally injuring such a delicate part of Malcolm’s body, especially after Malcolm had described one of his father’s favorite ways to punish Malcolm for jerking off.
Iggy was gentle, almost reverent now, as he explored this new-to-him part of Malcolm.
He yanked Malcolm’s underwear the rest of the way off, then tilted his hips upward to lick his taint.
Malcolm nearly choked on spit, unable to get a good breath.
Would Iggy lick him there? Where only his fingers had gone before?
Did Iggy want to fuck him? Malcolm didn’t have any condoms on him, but by God, if Iggy swore he’d been tested recently…
They were in a restaurant; they could find something to use for lube.
“Fuck, yeah, feels so fucking good,” Malcolm babbled, hoping he was encouraging Iggy to keep going. He reached up to grasp his own legs behind the knees, opening him for Iggy. Offering.
Iggy bent his head and licked across Malcolm’s hole.
The single swipe seemed to flip a switch in Iggy.
A kind of confidence or hunger, Malcolm wasn’t sure, but Iggy released a soft growl before he attacked.
He put each of Malcolm’s legs over a shoulder, used one hand to hold his aching cock and balls out of the way, and then proceeded to murder Malcolm’s higher thought processes via his asshole.
Iggy hadn’t planned this, hadn’t expected them to have sex when he’d unlocked the saloon less than an hour ago. And goddamn, he was happy to have forgone all planning, to have accepted Malcolm’s face-your-fears challenge, and to just exist.
Existing had led him to this new, astonishing moment of burrowing his tongue as deeply inside Malcolm’s body as he could. To exploring this new thing—the sensations and tastes and textures of eating Malcolm out for the first time. And savoring the delectable noises Malcolm made while he did so.
It was the new most beautiful sound on earth.
Iggy played Malcolm’s body with lips and tongue and even added a finger, sliding deep into that tight heat, and then Malcolm convulsed around him, above him, all over them.
Iggy finger-fucked him through the orgasm, watching as semen landed in ropes across Malcolm’s quivering abs and heaving chest. Malcolm clawed at his own hair while he it rode out, like he was exhausting an unbroken bronc. Until he was spent.
“Ohmyfuckinggod,” poured from Malcolm’s lips, over and over. Iggy carefully put Malcolm’s legs down, pride over this delirium swelling behind his breastbone. Naked, covered in sweat and come, panting for sweet air, Malcolm had never been more beautiful. Or more vulnerable.
Iggy was also slipping out of merely existing, and higher thought began sneaking in to jab at him with tiny fears. “Are you okay?” he asked.
“More than okay, damn.” He reached for him. Iggy stretched out beside him so he didn’t get come all over his clothes. Malcolm kissed him so gently, so reverently, that the kiss felt more like a prayer. “Wanna get you off, too, sweetheart.”
Now that the heat of the moment was passing, Iggy became more aware of their surroundings. This was so beyond inappropriate, and a breach of Uncle Howie’s trust. How could he ever stand in this place and look his uncle in the face again without—
“Hey.” Malcolm gently took his chin in a light grasp. “I’m the one who usually overthinks things. This happened, it was amazing, and I have no regrets. Well.” He eyeballed Iggy’s groin. “One we can take care of. Tell me what you need.”
“I’m not sure.” His erection was flagging. “I’m so happy we just did that, shared that, but…”
“It’s getting a little too real? Where we are?”
“Yes. I’m not an exhibitionist. I don’t do stuff like this.”
“It’s okay, Iggs.” Malcolm rubbed his nose against Iggy’s. “First step. How about I go get cleaned up and dressed, and we go back to the trailer?”
“Yes, okay. I’ll, um, tidy up out here.”
“Okay.”
After another sensual kiss, Malcolm gathered up his clothes and shoes.
Watching him pad across the dining room to the bathrooms, buck naked, was a sight Iggy would never forget.
He found some cleaning supplies and wiped down the mats where they’d gotten busy, and then the bull’s saddle, just because.
It wasn’t until he and Malcom were back inside the trailer, kissing in the unmade sofa bed, that Iggy remembered the token he’d never used. Didn’t matter, he’d get it back into the register or the bull somehow. Later.
“Time is it?” Iggy tried asking between kisses. “Brunch?”
“Never mind, gotta suck you first.”
Oh, hell yes.
Nothing mattered more than getting Iggy’s jeans and boxer-briefs off, and Malcolm’s mouth around his cock.
It was everything he remembered and better, because of time and experience and longing.
Malcolm took his time, as if determined to reacquaint himself with every inch of Iggy’s crotch.
Nosing at his pubes, nibbling around the root, rubbing his taint, with alternating licks up and down the shaft.
Iggy lost himself in the steady ocean of pleasure, his only anchor to reality the eager, joyful groans and gasps from Malcolm as he feasted on Iggy’s cock and balls.
Heat and wet and pressure like nothing he’d ever experienced, and it was all because of Malcolm.
Malcolm and time and maturity, and of all the things still left unsaid between them.
Love rose on the tide of hope; hope that no matter what else they had left to say to each other, the love would remain.
The love would prevail.
He crashed to shore with no warning, and Malcolm choked once, then did his best to swallow the rest. The constant stimulation of his dick fuzzed out his brain a little bit, and Iggy pushed him away.
Too much and exactly right. Malcolm scooted up, and Iggy dragged him down, desperate to taste himself in Malcolm’s mouth.
To share that bitter flavor with him, mixed with Malcolm’s own essence.
Perfection.
As they kissed, Malcolm rested a hand on Iggy’s bare hip, the thumb rubbing hard against his lower belly in a possessive way he adored. They kissed until Iggy was breathless and spent, and he collapsed in Malcolm’s strong, possessive arms.
“Fuck, love the sounds you make,” Malcolm said. “Not quite as buttoned-up as you used to be.”
Iggy nuzzled the side of Malcolm’s neck. “That’s because I don’t give a shit anymore who might overhear me enjoying myself. I mean, the saloon was a little public and it echoed way too much, but in the privacy of my own home?” He released an exaggerated moan of contentment. “Don’t care.”
“Good. Fuck, I never wanna get up. Let’s just stay here.”