Chapter 21 #2
The room itself is tiny, with a single double-sized bed in the center.
There’s a nightstand on each side of the bed with beige-tinted lampshades from the eighties.
The comforter is printed with dark flowers on a brown backing.
The decorations on the wall are sparse with only a mirror and a single portrait of one of the many mountains in the region.
The bulbs in the ceiling fan above are dull and covered in a thin veneer of dust.
But hey, at least the heat works.
The soft light of the evening filters through the faded mustard curtains, painting Tucker in an ominous glow.
His nose wriggles. “It smells like ancient smoke and dirty sex.”
“Welcome to how ninety percent of the world lives.”
Tucker moves from the door by about a foot. Just far enough away to peel the curtains to the side to peek out at the big new world. “Shouldn’t we be out looking for Bash?”
“We’re waiting for him to come back.” I sit on the edge of the bed, the worn-out mattress crying beneath my reasonable weight. It’s been a long day. Driving the entire way with an iron grip on the wheel drained me dry. “But I don’t want to talk about my cousin right now.”
Tucker leaves the window and steps my way. Each step is weighted more than the last, as if he’s trudging through quicksand. “I don’t want to be out here any longer than we have to be.”
“Right now, the best thing we can do is wait to see if he comes back. If we wake up in the morning and the truck is still there, we’ll expand the search. This is a good lead, though. It’s a good start.” I pat the bed beside me. “Come.”
He turns in a slow circle and squats down in the most robotic manner possible, doing his best to avoid touching anything he doesn’t have to. I’ve seen less caution during the covid outbreak of 2020. My body leans to the side as his weight suppresses the other side of the mattress.
“What is that?” he points at the microwave, but without the same inquisitive tone I’ve grown used to. Instead, his lips hitch into a mischievous grin at the corner.
I smack him in the chest with the back of my hand.
His grin widens, and I swear I’ve never seen him smile like this. A gorgeous—albeit slightly uneven—smile that strips away all the darkness he wears like a heavy cologne. He’s different like this, unshackled by the shadows of The Wilds. “I seriously don’t know what that box thing is.”
I lean my head against his shoulder and wrap one arm around his. The muscles in his arm relax beneath my touch, and I can hear his heart beat slow through his chest. “It’s hot in here.”
“I’ll turn off the heat.”
I loosen my grip as he climbs to his feet and walks to the heating unit beneath the window.
I figure it’ll take him at least a minute or two to figure out how it works, and that’s plenty of time to strip down to nothing but a black string thong.
He smacks the heater repeatedly, blissfully unaware of what’s waiting for him.
I make a scene of clearing my throat. “I’m not hot anymore.”
He cocks his head over his shoulder, his mouth dropping agape. His lips part, and then close, swallowing a heavy gulp in his throat. He rises to stand with his hands on his knees for support. “What is that?”
I drop my gaze to the thong, pull the string on the side and let it slap back into place.
He approaches slowly, but his eyes are ready to run, filled with unsated hunger. “Turn around.”
I cup my hands to either side of me and give him a quick spin. When I glance over my shoulder, he’s dragging his palm over his mouth. “Take off your clothes.”
He doesn’t hesitate ripping his shirt over his head.
His impressive abs are hidden behind a small bit of bloating from traveling all day.
Somehow, I think he looks even hotter like this.
More real. He makes quick work of his belt buckle and jeans, popping them open and pushing them to the floor where he steps out of them.
His cock hardens with each step he takes. When he reaches me, when he thinks he’s going to have his way with me, I shove him onto the bed with both hands. He lands on his back with his feet kicked over the edge.
I straddle his lap as he sits up, wrapping his arms around my back and holding me in place with strong, calloused hands that set my skin on fire.
He’s uncertain like this though, with heavy eyes that blink just a little too much.
Like it’s a dream he doesn’t want to wake up from.
We’ve done this tango before, but out here in the real world, it hits differently.
My heart skips a beat seeing him like this. Patient and waiting. His cock stands rigid as I buck slowly back and forth. The head of my cock peeks out the top of my thong, leaking pre-cum as it rubs against Tucker’s.
“I got you a present,” I whisper into his ear.
He lets out a sound torn between a groan and a moan. “Another poisoned bottle of water?”
“Not quite.” I stretch my arm past him and fumble through the brown paper bag. When I pull back, I have a small bottle of silicone lube in my hand. “Trust me, you’re going to love this.”
I tear the plastic wrapping with my teeth, uncap the bottle, and squeeze a generous dollop into my hand.
He jerks his head back and frowns.
It’s a no from him.
I lower my hand to his cock, wetting his head with my palm.
“I don’t know what that is, but you’ve lost your damn mind if you think you’re putting that on my dick. I mean seriousl—”
He chokes on a moan as his mouth falls open, the pleasure of a greasy hand stroking the length of his sizable dick.
His eyes flash open and then close, the muscles in his chest pulling taut.
His grip on my back loosens every time I swirl my palm over his head.
And then he tightens his hold whenever I pump my fist over his cock.
I give him a quick reprieve as I push the front of my underwear down to cup my balls. Then, I take both of our dicks in my hand and pump them in unison.
“Fuck,” he cries, his hips bucking upwards.
There’s something absolutely breathtaking about frotting. Pure bliss and the imagery is unmatched—two cocks bleeding pre-cum and mixing into one slippery mess.
“This is what rundown motels are for.” I drop my head to his shoulder. “They’re made for dirty boys like you and me.”
He reaches into the narrow space between our bodies and grabs my wrist, halting what I’m doing to the both of us. “Can that slippery stuff go in your ass?”
A chuckle lands against the side of his neck. I reach behind myself, grab his cock with my hand, and line it up to my hole. “Does this answer your question?”
His fingernails scrape the skin of my hips as I lower myself onto him.
And then his fingers tangle in the strings of the thong on both sides, tightening the fabric like a corkscrew.
He’s so much easier to take with lube, but I could have him either way.
He’s thicker than most, longer too, but he fits perfectly every time.
When I reach the hilt, he tilts his head upward.
Dark, steely, needy eyes.
He’s never been shy about what he needs from me, but I’ve never been sure I’m able to give it to him. I still don’t, but I’m working on it.
“You’re my whole world,” his breath is ragged and broken. “It never made sense without you in it.”
I steady one hand against his chest, and he glides onto his back, the mattress groaning beneath the sudden movement. I grab both of his hands and fold them over his head.
His chest glistens with sweat underneath a light layer of dark hair, his chest rising and falling to the rhythm of my thrusts.
Probably should have turned down the heat, but I’m not about to allow an intermission.
Not when he feels this good inside of me.
I arch forward, riding the length of his cock and then buck back, filling myself completely.
Over and over again, slow and steady, dragging it out for as long as possible.
He digs his hands underneath the headboard and takes hold with an iron grip.
When I close my eyes, I see the visage of a tree trunk tearing through me, the ridged edges threatening to pull me inside out. And when I open my eyes, I see Tucker more submissive than he’s ever been. Like this, he’s an animal tamed.
There are two sides to a clock—the arms dancing between the extremes of light and dark. There is every bit as much light in him as there is dark. And the dark always comes after the light.
He juts upwards in bed and tosses me onto my back, his thick cock slipping from my hole with a plop.
He finagles his way between my legs, pushes them upwards, and wastes no time slamming right back in until he’s buried all the way, his balls clapping against my ass.
He cradles the back of my head with one hand, holds my leg with the other, and fucks me with pure animalistic greed.
He wrecks me in the best way possible, my cock leaking like a river on my stomach as he repeatedly pounds my prostate.
“Tuck,” I plead. “Slow.”
The tempo changes instantly. Slow, careful thrusts. Each stroke is deliberate, gliding through me with a patience that makes my heart flutter, and when the head of his cock brushes my prostate, I cry out his name.
“Tuck… Fuck…“
His shoulders, arms, and pecs redden as he steadies himself on one hand, rocking back and forth. Sweat drips from his hair, the saltiness landing on my lips. I know it’s killing him to fuck me like this, but I’m closer than ever before and he can’t stop.
He pushes himself back, takes hold of my thighs and thrusts a little faster.
A little harder. Then one hand is on my cock, pumping to the same beat.
Release comes fast, my chest spasming as he pumps a load out of my aching cock.
Cum splatters on my chin, chest, and then drizzles into a puddle in my belly button.