Chapter 21 #3
He pulls his swollen cock from my hole, collects my seed with his hand, and slicks himself with it. And then he’s back inside, slamming against me with a thunderous applause. His pelvis smacks my ass with every thrust, barreling towards release of his own.
“You don’t need… agh… uh… to come in… fuck… me.”
“I…” He exhales a storm of hot air, his face turning the same cherry red as his chest. “I need you to know you’re mine.”
He’s always worried about the other shoe dropping. He’s too afraid to lose something he doesn’t even know he really has.
I reach up and caress his stubbled cheek. “I will never leave you again.”
He stops where he is, buried all the way, his cock head throbbing against my prostate. Breathless, he asks, “Promise?”
“Never again.” Whatever this feeling inside of me is, I can’t lose it. I can’t go back to the loneliness. He swears this is who we used to be, and I swear he’s wrong. But at this point, what difference does it make? “I love you, Tuck.”
And still, it surprises me when it slips past my lips. I’ve never once considered the possibility. There’s been this magnet between us, this indescribable force that’s pulled me into his orbit and hasn’t let me escape. But love… I’ve never loved, never been loved.
The way my heart seems to stop waiting for him to say anything at all tells me all I need to know. I know love now.
“I know,” he whispers. “I’ve known all along.”
Now that’s out of the way, I spit out what I was trying to say before. “I want you to come on my face.”
His mouth twists, confused. “Really?”
I nod, and he rips his cock free from me. He can’t shuffle over my body fast enough, steadying a knee on either side of my shoulders. He pumps his swollen, reddened with a fury I’d expect from the wildest Wilde of the Wilds. The grunts thrown from the back of his throat brings my cock back to life.
I reach for my cock and stroke it with a pace that can’t quite match Tucker’s.
With my free hand, I grab him by the balls and lap my tongue against the valley that separates the two.
He yelps in ecstasy, his body desperately trying to escape my tongue.
I mouth at them, sucking the one that hangs the lowest into my mouth.
He tastes like home, woodsy and musky.
“Fuck, baby bird,” he cries.
Baby bird?
The newfound nickname is enough to send me over the edge. A small load of cum dribbles onto the dried stains of my previous release. Tucker breaks right after, the muscles in his throat pulling taut like roots painted on his throat.
“Fuckkkk,” his scream is guttural as he breaks.
His slit convulses, painting my face in hot cum. Rope after rope of warm release lands on my face, each shot landing slightly further from my lips as his entire body contracts over and over again. I raise my head, take his cock in my mouth, and swallow what’s left.
He braces his arms on the headboard and peeks down between them, his eyes softened and glistening. The smallest evidence of tears materializes, pooling at the corners of his eyes. But he’s far too stubborn in his manhood to ever let me know for sure.
His cock softens and falls from my mouth.
I plant a soft kiss on the head before he rolls onto his side.
I join him there, turning to face him. He runs his palm over my cum-slicked face, caressing me.
Then he’s back to the old Tucker again. Dementedly horny.
He licks the cum from my face, every last drop.
And then, he drags his tongue over my lip, collecting the release, and then kissing it back into my mouth.
He smiles, again. Another new record is set.
“What’s this about?” He brushes the side of my neck and repeats the words inked there, “Love kills.”
I have to take a moment to gather my thoughts. I settle on a lie, “It’s just a tattoo.
"Is it?” he whispers. “You have your mom’s initials on your back.
You have tattoos of a compass and a clock, the crown on your head.
Birds in quite a few places.” He twists my arm to get a better view of the sleeve tattoo of the forest. “This looks like home. It feels like home. I think every single one means something, so tell me why are those words written on your neck?”
He’s a watcher. Always has been. Nothing seems to get past him.
I force a smile. “Because the world is so cruel. I always thought love would be the one thing to kill me after everything I survived.”
“Poetic.” He bows his head against mine and kisses my forehead softly. “I don’t think love kills at all. I waited for years for you to come back, and I survived.”
I wish we could stay like this forever, but post-nut clarity is a powerful entity. I retreat from his kiss and climb off the side of the bed. He watches me with careful eyes as I stuff my cock back into the pouch of my underwear and pull my jeans over my legs.
He leans over the opposite side of the bed, grabs a bottle of water, and twists the cap off.
My turn to glare at him as he takes a long gulp. When he’s finished, he exhales. “Damn, that’s good.”
“Now we’re both poisoned,” I joke. “I’m going to go get some ice.”
He sits up on the bed, hands dangling between his naked legs. “I trust you to come back.”
I put on my shirt and fur coat. “I’ll be right back.”
Guilt is a powerful force that has lurked over my shoulder my entire life. It never goes away. Instead, it bides its time in the shadows, waiting to strike. If money and sex are currencies, guilt is just another form. The difference being that it’s a debt to be repaid, and it always collects.
I sigh a breath of relief when I step outside the motel room.
The winter storm has turned to a blizzard with white-out conditions.
I can barely see what’s right in front of me.
I reach into my jacket, grab a cigarette, and angle my face against the exterior of the motel to shield it from the furious wind as I light the cigarette with my Zippo.
The cherry burns at the end with a soft red glow. I shake the Zippo closed, my gaze wandering to the words etched into the side—Can’t go back.
I make my way to the corner of the motel where the ice machine sits underneath a narrow archway that doesn’t do a great job at shielding the area from the storm. The machine is broken, just as the woman with the baby said earlier. Truth be told, I didn’t come for ice. I came for the quiet.
Tucker was right. I’m indecisive. It’s been a day back in the real world and it’s like a veil is being lifted.
It doesn’t help that I’ve seen this other side of Tucker.
This side that is as loving as it is protective.
That is as gentle as it is violent. That is as warm as it is cold.
Over the course of the past months, the Wilds have become a safe haven for me.
So then why does it suddenly feel like a prison?
None of it matters, I suppose. I can’t do that to Tucker. I can’t leave. Not again.
I take a long drag of the cigarette, inhaling the smoke into my lungs. I notice a flyer taped to the wall beside the machine. It’s for a missing person. The cigarette falls from my hand, extinguishing itself in the snow below. I lean in to get a better look.
Missing Since May 14th: Fred Wolfe, Age 52.
The problem is that he looks exactly like my father.
I rip the flyer off the wall and race back to my room. As I push the door open, I feel the presence of a shadow lingering over me. I jump in a circle, prepared to fight.
I’m met by two deputies. One of them offers a view of his badge. “Is that your van?”
“Y… Yeah,” I stammer, immediately regretting not lying. “Is there something I can help you with?”
One deputy reaches behind his back to retrieve a pair of handcuffs. The other takes out his gun and aims it at my head. I raise my hands above my head and say a silent prayer that Tucker doesn’t do something stupid.