24. Brendan
Brendan
Adrian and Mofongo were back in six minutes, not that I was counting. I’d settled onto his couch and begun reading the only book on his coffee table, a pictorial of famous sites in Puerto Rico.
The moment he stepped back through the door, I could tell that something had shifted. There was a different light in his eyes that I couldn’t quite name.
He unclipped his pup, hung his leash on the hook by the door, then turned and stalked toward me.
Yes, he stalked.
I say that, because he looked like a leopard in the wild, creeping toward its prey, readying to pounce with all its might. Only, there was nothing predatory in his gaze.
Hunger? Yes.
Desire? Hell yes.
A decision made? Shit, that scared me.
The moment he entered my space, I felt the room tilt.
He didn’t kiss me. He didn’t grab my arms or lift me up and lead me into his bedroom. He simply reached down and began to unbutton my shirt, revealing my thick mane of black curls.
“Mmm,” he crooned. “Have I told you how much I love your hair?”
“Not lately,” I said, determined to maintain some semblance of control.
Three buttons.
Four.
His hand slid inside my shirt, teasing my hair, rubbing my chest.
“I really, really love your hair,” he said.
I was about to say something witty, but his mouth stopped me in my smart-ass tracks.
“Is this shirt important to you?” he asked.
“My shirt? Uh, no, it’s old and—”
Strong hands gripped my shirt and ripped it free, tearing the last of the buttons from their moorings and sending them flying somewhere only Mofongo would ever find.
“You. Naked. Now.”
“Uh, okay,” I said, already reaching for my own waistband to help, because there was nothing in me that wanted to be anywhere else. “God, yes.”
With those words, he unbuttoned my shorts, slipped his hands inside, and slid them down, taking my tighty-whities with them.
He was on his knees before I could think.
My cock, quickly coming to life, somehow found his mouth. Or his mouth found it. I don’t know.
My flip-flops went flying, then my pants found the couch.
Still, Adrian sucked as though my cock were the only popsicle on the playground.
I was so distracted by the dick sucking that I completely missed him stripping out of his own shirt. Then he stood, kicked off his own flip-flops, then stepped out of his shorts, sending them across the den.
Jesus, he’s beautiful, was all my mind could muster.
He shoved me onto the couch, lifted my legs, and leaned over so his entire form hovered above me. I could feel his cock against my balls, pulsing and sliding and grinding. His gaze never left mine.
Our lips crashed together.
My hands gripped his triceps.
His fingers dug into my scalp.
Our cocks slammed together as his weight pinned me down.
I ground against him.
He ground against me.
I leaked.
He leaked more.
The slickness made us grind harder and faster.
Our kisses grew hungrier, deeper, so ravenous I could barely think.
Then he slid his body down.
I felt his cock slip between my cheeks.
I spread my legs, willing him in, granting him access.
His slickness teased my hole.
“I fucking want you, Adrian,” I growled.
He pressed against me, his head almost poking inside but stopping.
I could feel him pulsing, begging for entry.
Still, he didn’t move.
“Bedroom, now,” he said as he stood and extended a hand.
Like giddy teens, we practically ran into his bedroom. I barely noticed the maroon wall or the lava lamp in the corner or the tapestry covering one wall. The moment I made it into his room, he slammed his door shut, turned, and tossed me onto the bed.
Then he was on me again.
Kissing.
Thrusting.
Rubbing.
Gripping.
“Adrian, damn it, get inside me.”
I heard ripping, then he sat up enough for me to watch him dribble lube onto his condom-covered cock. He squirted some lube into his palm and slid that between my legs.
“Oh, shit, that’s cold.”
He chuckled and slipped a finger inside me.
“AH!”
“Tight boy,” he said, wriggling his finger. “I like it.”
He worked back and forth, in and out, until I relaxed for his second finger. All the while, he leaned forward and kissed me, first my legs, then my arm, then anywhere he could reach.
I thought I might melt and never reform thoughts again. This man, God, this beautiful man.
Then his fingers slid out, and I felt him press against me again.
“Push out for me,” he said.
I cocked my head. I wasn’t a baby gay. I knew the drill.
“Just push out. Trust me,” he said.
So I did.
As he pressed forward, he whispered, “Now let go.”
As I released and he slid inside—and damn if that wasn’t the easiest—
“Oh, God!”
He’d slid all the way in. And he just sat there. Inside me. Deep inside me.
And stared down.
“If you don’t kiss me right now, I’m going to squeeze so hard your dick cuts off.”
He nearly doubled over at that.
“Okay, stop laughing! I think you stabbed a lung.”
Of course, he laughed harder.
Asshole.
Then he shook his head, leaned down, and kissed me.
That damn bedroom tilted again.
He began thrusting, slowly, as his kisses grew needy once more.
All the way out.
All the way in.
Deeper.
Slower.
Then he lifted my legs and braced them on his shoulders.
His cock found its way even deeper inside me.
“Oh, right there. Adrian. Damn it. Fuck me. Right there. Please.”
His thrusts grew even stronger than his kisses as he slammed into me, hitting that spot over and over and over. I felt like I was on the downward end of a roller coaster, my stomach lurching into my throat as adrenaline spiked through every corner of my body.
He hefted me higher, shifting our weight, granting him better leverage and an even better angle.
And damn, if his dancer’s legs weren’t strong.
In.
Out.
Deeper.
Faster.
Sweat rolled down his delicious chest.
I reached up and squeezed, needing to feel his muscular form as he pushed and pressed.
His hand, slick with lube and sweat, wrapped around my cock.
He shoved inside me.
He stroked.
And stroked.
And shoved.
And thrust.
And stroked.
“ADRIAN!”
“I’m getting close, too!”
“Fuck! Shit. Faster! Right there! Fucking fill me, Adrian. I want you. Damn it, I want all of you.”
He shoved harder.
Faster.
His grip tightened.
My balls ached.
“I’m—”
He slammed into me and shouted, “Brendan, I’m coming!”
But I didn’t hear him.
My own ecstasy was already flowing, rope after rope, coating his chest and my stomach as I felt his warmth fill the condom inside me.