61. Silas
61
SILAS
I ’m twitching, sweat dripping, dick milked to emptiness in Graham’s ass when he taps my hip and holds up his cock for me to mount. I gather the cum leaking from his hole and spread it over his dick before shifting forward, bracing my hands on the pillow beneath his head and sinking onto him. He manages a few rough, uncoordinated thrusts, and then he’s filling me while I squeeze him with my entire posterior chain.
“Jesus,” he groans, stiff as hell as he comes with his head thrown back.
I bend to kiss his neck, wishing I could mark him up and claim every inch of his skin.
But he’s not mine. I mean he is, but not really. Not in any way that matters. It’s hard to want someone the way I want him—to know I have his whole heart, but I can’t have the rest. I mean what the fuck am I supposed to do with that?
“Let’s go again,” I say because what else is there?
“Give me five minutes,” he says, still panting.
We’re on round three, heading into round four. We’re out of alcohol, but at two a.m., I consider the night young .
“We should shower.” I roll off him to lie at his side.
“That’s not gonna make the bed cleaner.”
“It’ll make your cock cleaner for when I try and suck out whatever you’ve got left in those balls.”
“Then I might need fifteen minutes.”
I smile, my lips curling against his upper arm, my hand running over his abs, fingertips scraping through the crisp, dark hairs of his happy trail. He’s not as soft here as he used to be, and a pang of missing him so badly vibrates my bones.
We’re quiet for a few minutes until he asks a question I didn’t see coming. “What changed your mind about seeing me again?”
“That’s a loaded one,” I say, stalling to figure out how to answer him.
“Is it?”
“Yeah.”
“I’ve got time,” he says softly.
“And you’re sure you want the truth?”
He sighs. “My sister thinks this whole thing between us could be fixed with a conversation. I guess I’m trying to prove her wrong.”
“I could call her and tell her how wrong she is. Wanna give me your phone?”
“No. I want you to answer my question.”
“What changed my mind?” I decide to go with the whole truth. “All right, fine. I love you, and this is the only way you’ll let me have you. In secret. Catching you in a weak moment. And like I told you before, once I move, it’s done.”
“Why done?” he asks. “You think I don’t know how to get to Florida?”
“I need to start over Graham. I need to let you and this go.”
“Oh.”
“You said you wanted an answer,” I remind him.
“Yeah, I guess I did.”
“Also, you’re not invited to Florida unless you’re ready to… ”
When I go quiet, he shifts beside me. “Ready to what?”
I shake my head. “It’s pointless.” And stupid . I could use that shower.
“No. I’m asking. Ready to what?”
“Be with me,” I say with a deep breath. “Not like a secret—not like a thing you have to lie about and hide. From anyone.”
“I didn’t think… I’m surprised you’d want that.”
“Why?” I ask. I think I’ve made it beyond obvious that he’s got me by the balls.
“With my politics?—”
“ Your politics?” I laugh at how ridiculous that sounds coming from him. “ Really ?”
The question seems to pull him up short. He blinks rapidly, and his brows pinch. “What does that mean?”
“I genuinely wonder if you’ve ever stopped to consider where you actually stand on all these issues you’re always ranting about on TV. Like do you really think more policemen at malls is gonna stop homeless kids from being seduced into going home with someone who promises them food and shelter and safety in exchange for going to a few parties with a bunch of rich people who’ll feed them drugs and alcohol to have sex with them? Because that’s trafficking.”
He shakes his head. “The cartels?—”
“Don’t start with me about the cartels, Graham. I swear to God.”
He scrubs at his face, a low growl rumbling from his throat. “Okay, fine. You’re right. But how would you suggest I offer up a bill that punishes the richest party donors?”
“I guess you can’t. But you know what you can do? Dust off that fancy Harvard Law degree and run for attorney general somewhere. Hold some people accountable. Use that pretty face of yours to go on the news and talk about how other AGs can be doing the same thing in their districts. This isn’t rocket science. ”
He stares at me, open-mouthed, for a few seconds before he switches back into gear. “I have three years left in the senate.”
“Yeah, I know. Whatever. Are we done talking? The shower’s calling.”
“No,” he says, holding my arm against the mattress. “Is that what you wanted me to do originally? That night after…”
I know which night he’s talking about. Of course I do. The night he gave me a sliver of hope and then yanked it out from under me a few weeks later. “It was an option,” I say.
“I didn’t see it, Silas. It felt impossible.”
“How does it feel now?”
Graham shakes his head but keeps his eyes on mine. “Massive. Less impossible. You know rejection is like—a phobia I have.”
Where’d that come from? I frown at him. “What rejection?”
“The idea of losing everyone—everything at the same time because of who I am—who I love—” He swallows so hard, I hear it. “It didn’t feel like a choice. I thought maybe it would blow over and we could be together again, but when the video came out…it felt like the door to you closed forever.”
Then I must not have been very convincing that night. Was there something more I could have done? Could I do it now? Would it matter? “Now that you know the door’s not locked, do you see your choices more clearly, or are you just trying to fuck me again?”
“Little of both.”
I shake my head. “Well, you see how good I am at rejecting you.”
“Your game is slipping a little.”
“That’s what happens when you lose everything.” Jesus, that sounded bleak. I’m not sure I want him to know how bad off I actually am. This was supposed to be a vacation.
“Can I ask you something?” he says.
“Sure. ”
“Would you take me back? Like, actually? If I came out on the senate floor and tanked the bill and told my dad I want to live my truth or whatever—would you have me?”
“I don’t know,” I whisper because that’s the bleakest truth. As much as I love him, as much as I’m desperate to trust him, and all those grand gestures sound like a great start—I don’t know how much damage between two people is too much. If I’ll ever believe he’s all in with me when it was so easy for him to cut me out of his life.
When I’ve watched how seamlessly he lies.
I can understand all of it, even empathize, but how many times do I need to be burned before I learn to stop touching fire?
“ That’s what I’m afraid of,” he says.
“You still love me?” I ask, leaning my head against his.
“Yeah.”
“What would you do if you were me?”
He sighs heavily. “I think you’re being pretty smart—given who you’re dealing with.”
“Well, begging doesn’t work on you, so…”
“Silas…”
“Sorry,” I say.
“Don’t be sorry. I appreciate the conversation.”
“It was kind of a turn off in my opinion.”
His hand moves up my leg. “Let me help get your mind off it.”
I remain still as he turns onto his side and bends his head over my chest. Taking one of my piercings between his teeth, he gives it a gentle but intense tug before licking the erect flesh and sucking it into his mouth.
“Fuck…” These piercings were the best thing I ever did to my body.
He uses his fingers to lightly twist the other one as he continues to kiss and suck the one caught in his lips. The sensations shoot straight to my dick, tingling and hot. He moves slowly, driving me crazy with his tongue and teeth. I don’t know if I can come from this, but it feels so good, I’m not prepared to say I can’t. “Graham…Christ.”
The bar in his mouth turns and recoils, sending a shock through my system. My dick stiffens again, and I wrap my fist around it. He opens his mouth wider, adding more wet heat. The flat of his tongue laps greedily before he sucks the swelling mound into his mouth, releasing it with a pop before going for it again. The spot grows more and more sensitive until it feels raw. Stinging pain is a sharp contrast to the pleasure he’s drawing through me, but it’s got my mind spinning off its own axis, not sure whether it feels bad or good anymore. Before I can warn him, my dick pulses, and my abs contract with a shockingly strong orgasm I never saw coming.
“Shit, shit,” I whisper as my cock keeps jetting cum even after I let go of it, beyond overstimulated. I squirm beneath him, getting away from his wickedly talented mouth. I put my hand on his shoulder to hold him back. “Shit,” I say again.
He turns and looks at my cum-covered abs. Immediately he goes for it.
“Graham, please—” I’m not sure I can take it.
But he’s licking my spend off my stomach and humming with each swallow, his hand gently stroking my cock as if to soothe it back into its resting mode.
I watch all this, wishing I weren’t because I don’t think I’ve ever seen or felt anything so ridiculously erotic. This part I would kill to have recorded. No visual has ever been more worthy of a hallowed spot in a spank bank. I may never recover from this.
Forget sex. Send this man in as my clean-up crew every time I jerk off, and I’ll die a happy man.
Maybe not happy, but hard.
Definitely hard .
When I don’t see a drop left, I grab him by the hair and make him come back to me. I kiss his mouth, tasting myself on his lips again. It’s the best thing ever—the way we taste together. There’s never been anything better.
“If you come out on the senate floor, I’ll reconsider my answer from earlier.”
He smiles and kisses me again. “I will love you for the rest of my life.”
That’s the one thing he can say that I believe without condition because it won’t get him anything he doesn’t already have—my lonely, incomplete heart.
The shower knocks both our horny asses out. It was like a real-life rodeo in there, and when we stumbled back to bed, the combination of afterglow and our warm bodies melded together hit like an anesthetic, dragging us both under. Sunlight wakes me, and the knocking on Graham’s door becomes persistent.
He pulls the sheet over me and tells me to give him a minute.
At the door, Graham has a murmured conversation with another man before crawling back into bed with me.
“Who was that?” I ask.
“Derrick. One of my security guys.”
“What’d you tell him?”
“To go get breakfast because I have some calls to make.”
“How long do we have?” I ask.
“At least an hour.”
“Wanna warm your cock in my ass?” His morning wood isn’t exactly subtle back there.
A little lube, and he’s in, his arms around me and his forehead bent against the nape of my neck. For the moment, he’s being still. I kiss his forearm and close my eyes, letting my head sink into the pillow. He feels fucking perfect. Of course he does.
“How long are you gonna be in DC?” I ask.
“I can come home this weekend.”
“That wasn’t my question.”
“Congress is in session for three weeks.”
“Ah.”
“I’ll be home this weekend,” he says again.
If he insists, I’m not going to talk him out of it. “I’m having dinner with Chris and Gibson tonight.”
“Oh?”
“Yeah. Chris made it very clear that I’m not allowed to ignore his husband for the silly reason of ruining my life. Imagine that.”
“Why are you going, then?” he asks.
“To tell him so long. Let him know if he’s ever in Florida to look me up.”
“I hate this conversation.”
“Do you ever wish we never met?” I ask.
“Yeah.”
“Me, too.”
We both sigh. And then he moves, a slow deep stroke that makes me groan. “God, that feels so good.”
“I know. It’s so fucking good. Silas…baby…please…”
He doesn’t finish that one, now too busy fucking me, and I forget all about what he was saying because I get busy making it even better for both of us. We come at the same time with our mouths attached and his hand wrapped around my cock. I didn’t even need his touch, but I wasn’t about to tell him to let go. I never want him to let go.
This is so wrong. The fact that it feels so right defies all reason.
“I’m gonna think about all this,” he says after a few minutes as his dick goes soft inside me.
“All what? ”
“What we talked about. Options. How I feel about things. Issues. The future.”
My stomach does a pathetically hopeful flip. “Okay.”
“Let me try now. Give me an issue, and I’ll try to say how I really feel about it.”
An issue? “That’s stupid.” Also, I’m not sure I want to know how he really feels about anything that happens in the government.
“No, do it. I’ve heard that sometimes what you really feel is the second thing you think of after you regurgitate what you were taught to feel.”
“Who said that?” I ask.
“I don’t know. Maybe I heard it on a podcast or a TedTalk. Do it. One issue.”
I sigh heavily and say, “Abortion.”
“Okay—that’s a good one. Should be easy for a Catholic, but I’ll open up my mind and give it a try.” With his cock literally lodged in my ass, he takes a minute to think silently before talking it through out loud.
“I would never ask someone to abort a baby. I probably wouldn’t suggest it as an option if someone came to me asking for advice. But I understand why it happens—especially when there are complications. But also I get what it feels like to feel like I can’t take care of someone. Thinking about the women in my life—Theresa or Rowan—the idea of telling them they couldn’t do something seems kind of high-handed coming from a man with no stake in the outcome. I guess I think people should be able to do what they can live with.”
“Weird answer, but technically pro-choice.”
“That was a pretty pro-life answer.”
“They aren’t opposites,” I tell him. “Advocating for life and allowing people the choice to make their own decisions is still pro-choice. Basically, it means you’re not a total asshole.”
He huffs against my neck. “Give me another one. ”
It’s not that I want to play this game with him, but I do want him to understand he’s more than he thinks he is, so I humor him with an easy one. “Gay marriage.”
“Is that a trick question?”
“No.”
“I have no problem whatsoever with gay marriage. I’m gay. Give me a harder one.”
“I don’t want to spend our last twenty minutes talking about this stuff. I’ll text you a tough one later.”
“Really?” he asks, like I’m offering him an award.
“Sure,” I humor him. “I’ll make a list on the ride back to the city.”
He kisses my neck. “Thank you.”
“Don’t thank me yet.”
“Can I call you tonight? After your dinner?”
“Yeah.” I might as well let him. It’s not like fourteen hours of mind-blowing sex and intimate conversations has made me less delusional about us.
I want to trust him. I want to know him again. I don’t know whether it’s possible, but I want him with the same kind of tenacity that had me taking an escort job to keep my mom alive a few years longer.
Maybe I should give up on him. Maybe I should have a long time ago. But I haven’t. And maybe that means I can’t. “Can I take a picture of us?” I ask.
“Right now?”
“Uh-huh.”
“You’ve got worse things on your phone.”
I don’t anymore, but I don’t tell him that. I reach for my phone and turn on the selfie camera, smiling at his messy hair and kiss-bitten lips. I avoid the lovesick look in my own eyes by framing the photo to include only our faces side by side. He smiles softly, the angle of his gaze telling me he’s not looking at himself either. I manage my own vague smile and snap three photos. “I’d send them to you, but…”
“Send them to my other phone. Here, I’ll put the number in.” He grabs my phone and deftly adds a second number under his contact. Then he gives my phone back. He waits while I text the pictures to the new number. Something somewhere beeps.
His cock, still inside me, stiffens again.