40. Adrian
FORTY
ADRIAN
I don’t know what the fuck I’m doing.
This is wrong.
It’s so wrong.
The beard that covers his jaw, the hard body against mine, the way his hands grip my hair so hard it’s close to hurting just a bit too much. His smell and his taste and the low groans that escapes his throat—it’s all wrong.
It’s wrong, but it also somehow doesn’t feel wrong.
Unfamiliar, yes.
Scary? Also yes.
Good?
Yes.
My breath is stuck in my lungs, and my whole body is rigid with tension.
It’s like a tornado has been unleashed, and I’m directly in its path, so I get a full hit. It’s overwhelming in a way nothing ever has been before.
There’s an intensity to Dylan’s kiss that I didn’t know existed until right now. It’s something wild and desperate inside him that seems to search for freedom, and I’m in over my head. I’ve been in over my head since his lips landed on mine. Maybe even before that.
I should put an end to this. One of us has to.
I feel so fucking alive, though.
Not scared-out-of-my-mind-every-second-of-every-fucking-day-because-this-place-is-trying-to-kill-us alive. Alive in a way that makes me feel like life is worth living. Where excitement zips through my insides because I’m alive.
And there’s relief.
A deep ache is being soothed with this kiss.
It’s like I can finally inhale after years of holding my breath.
I open my mouth wider. Fuck if I know what I mean to do. I’m not in the driver’s seat anymore.
If I mean to say something, the words are stopped by Dylan’s tongue pushing into my mouth over and over again, licking and laving, and I dig my fingers into Dylan’s biceps because otherwise I wouldn’t stay upright.
Everything about this kiss is unfamiliar and wrong, so I can’t even begin to explain why I’m harder than I’ve ever been in my life. Why I’m so fucking turned on I can’t think straight.
He fucks my mouth with his tongue like there’s no tomorrow.
Somebody moans, and it takes a moment before I realize it was me.
My balls are painfully tight, and we’re hurtling toward the point of no return with nobody to put a stop to it and say enough is enough.
I should, but I’m not in charge.
I just accept it.
Just like that.
The strangest fucking thing is that giving all the responsibility to Dylan turns me on even more. I’m fucking free. Bad idea or not, right now, this isn’t my call.
I let go.
I lose my balance and topple onto my back, and Dylan’s straddling me, breathing harshly.
My heart goes haywire because… I’m scared he’ll stop. I’m just as scared he’ll stop as I am that he’ll continue.
Dylan’s eyes are hooded in the light of the fire, and my chest rises and falls with each panting, ragged breath I take.
We stare at each other.
What now?
Dylan looks down, his gaze moving over my chest, down to my lap where he’s straddling me.
He lifts his hand, but before he can touch me, he squeezes both hands into fists. It looks like breathing is a struggle as he drags in breath after breath.
He drops his head back and stares at the sky.
He’s going to stop.
One of us has to.
A thumb moves over his abdomen, just above his waistband, and with a shock, I realize it’s me doing that.
He’s on me in a flash.
For a second, we just breathe the same air.
Then he’s kissing me again, tongues brushing, teeth clashing, hands in my hair, dicks trapped between our bodies.
The night air fills with moans and harsh, panting breaths.
For the first time in years, I’m not in charge of anything.
I stop thinking altogether and just let myself feel.
My head drops back in the sand, and Dylan is kissing my neck, sucking on it while he’s rutting against me. My hips push up, his gyrate down.
The pressure on my cock is heaven and hell. It’s good but not good enough. It’s a tease.
“Fuck!” Dylan says with audible desperation, and then he’s wrestling off the sling. My shoulder burns, but I don’t give a fuck because then he’s on me again, his bare chest against mine, hot and sticky with sweat.
I push my hips upward with an increasing need that’s bordering on unhinged.
Need to come.
I only have the one thought.
I need to come.
It’s been so fucking long.
My heart thunders in my ears, and I grip Dylan’s hips, my muscles clenching with desire. My hands shake, and I’m drunk with lust when I mindlessly tug him closer.
There’s an air of violence to what we’re doing. To the urgency, and the more, more, more that’s pounding in my ears and my bloodstream.
He’s kissing me again, sucking on my tongue while we rut against each other.
It doesn’t take long.
My head cranes back into the sand, and the pleasure is a liquid wave of heat, so overwhelming and sudden that I don’t have time to prepare myself for what it all means.
We’re both moaning, hips moving. Everything is sharp and harsh and bordering on painful.
Somehow, it still works.
My back arches, and I come in a searing flash of heat. My stomach clenches, and I shout into the night when the pressure releases.
My dick pulses inside my shorts. Semen, sticky and wet and hot coats the fabric.
Dylan falls on top of me with a long, low groan of release.
When all is said and done, it gets very quiet.
Dylan is slumped on top of me, his breath whispering in my ear. Both our hearts are beating equally loudly.
Reality slowly starts to make itself known again.
What the fuck did we just do?