Chapter 6
“T-tonight? What’s happening tonight?”
Brody doesn’t answer right away. He reaches into my pack, grabs a protein bar, tears it open with his teeth. Takes a bite, chews slowly, still looking out at the endless green below us. The wind ruffles his short dark hair.
“Brody. What do you mean, tonight? I don’t get it.”
“Yeah, you do.” He takes another bite, swallows. “You get it just fine.”
“Get what?” My heart starts that frantic thumping again.
“The sounds you were making, Tate. I’ve been thinking about them all day.”
All the blood drains from my face. “You… you remember?”
He turns to look at me, and his eyes are like fire in the bright sunlight. The playful grin is gone. He looks at me with an intensity I’ve never seen before.
“Of course I remember,” he says. “How could I not?”
The wind howls across the rock. I open my mouth, but nothing comes out. He wasn’t asleep. He wasn’t dreaming. He felt everything I felt.
“You’re not… mad?” I finally manage.
“Mad? Why would I be mad?”
“Because… we’re… you know.”
“Bros?”
“Yeah.”
“Yeah, we are. You know me better than anyone, Tate. We’ve shared everything. Except… well. Except that.”
“Why did you act like you didn’t remember?”
“I needed to think,” he says. “Woke up this morning and my brain was just… fried. Went for a swim, did some push-ups, tried to get my head right. And the whole time, all I could think about was the way you pushed back against me. How needy you sounded.” He swallows.
“I’ve been hard all day, Tate. Hiking up this mountain with a semi, thinking about your ass. ”
“Fuck,” I breathe, the word stolen by the wind.
“I’ve always been a ladies’ man. You know that. I love women. So I had to ask myself… what the hell is this? Am I gay?” He shrugs. “But I’ve never felt this way about another guy. Never even thought about it. But you… you’re not just another guy. You’re Tate. You’re my Tate. If any—”
I don’t let him finish. I launch forward, hands gripping the hard muscle of his shoulders, and crush my mouth against his. He doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t pull back. He meets me with equal force, one hand grabbing the back of my neck, the other fisting the front of my shirt, dragging me into him.
The instant boner I get when his tongue pushes into my mouth is almost painful.
I’ve never kissed anyone like this. A frantic, desperate mess of teeth and tongue, everything I’ve been holding back pouring out of me at once.
I can taste the bitter coffee on his breath, the salt of his sweat, the sweetness of the protein bar.
I climb into his lap, straddling him, and his cock presses up against mine through the fabric.
He’s just as hard. We grind together, the rough fabric creating a friction that has me moaning into his mouth.
His hands are everywhere—sliding down my back, grabbing my ass, kneading, pulling me harder against him.
He ruts up against me like he’s trying to fuse our bodies.
I keep kissing him through it. Deep, wet, dirty kisses.
Lapping at his tongue, nipping his bottom lip, tasting, exploring, consuming.
I’ve thought about this so many times in the past day, but my imagination was black and white compared to this. This is Technicolor, 3D, IMAX.
“Fuck, Tate,” he gasps, tearing his mouth from mine. His lips are swollen, red, glistening. “When I told you to find the animal…”
“Is this what you had in mind?” I grind my hips down, and we both groan.
“I had no fucking clue.” He rolls us over, my back hitting the warm rock, the sun bright in my eyes. He follows, caging me in with his huge body, hovering over me. “The question is… can you handle the beast in me?”
“Try me.”
With a growl, he grabs the hem of my shirt and rips it over my head.
He balls it up and shoves it under my head as a makeshift pillow.
Then he looks at me, eyes dark, devouring.
He runs a hand down my chest, the rough pad of his thumb circling my nipple.
I shiver. The wind whips around us, raising goosebumps on my skin.
Being on top of this mountain with Brody’s eyes on me—
The next thing I know, I have a cock in my mouth.
Well. A fabric-covered one. He’s straddled my chest, knees on either side of my head, shoving the bulge in his sweats right into my face.
I grab his hips, fingers digging into the hard muscle, and open my mouth, tasting him through the cotton.
He’s thick. So damn thick. Heat radiates off him in waves.
I breathe him in, that same musky scent from the cabin mixed with clean sweat.
“I’m starting to think I created a monster,” he groans, rocking his hips.
“You did. And now you have to feed it.” I reach up and hook my fingers in his waistband, pulling it down. His cock springs free, smacking me in the cheek. It’s heavy and veined, the head flushed a deep, angry red and leaking. I flick my tongue out, catching the salty bead on the tip.
“Tate. Fuck.” His whole body shudders. He braces a hand on the rock beside my head.
I wrap my hand around the base and take him in.
He stretches my lips wide and fills my mouth until my jaw aches.
God, he’s big. I’ve never done this before, but instinct takes over.
I suck him the way I’d want to be sucked, tongue flat against the underside, working the thick vein that pulses against my lips.
His thighs tremble on either side of my head.
I take him deeper, inch by inch, until the head nudges the back of my throat and my eyes water. I gag, pull back, suck in clean mountain air through my nose, and go again. Deeper. His hand finds the back of my head, fingers threading in my hair.
His hips start to rock, feeding me his cock in short, controlled thrusts.
The taste of him floods my mouth, salt and skin and precum, and I moan around his shaft because I can’t help it, because this is better than anything I ever imagined, because I have my best friend’s cock in my mouth on top of a mountain with the entire world spread out below us.
“Christ,” he chokes out. “Your fucking mouth.”
My only response is to hollow my cheeks and suck harder. Deeper. Faster. Gagging and slobbering on him like my life depends on it. The sounds are obscene, wet and sloppy, the slap of his balls against my chin.
Brody picks up the pace. His thrusts go deeper, less controlled, and I relax my throat and let him in. Drool runs down my chin and onto my chest. I don’t wipe it. I let it pool in the hollow of my throat, let it slide down onto the rock.
His cock swells in my mouth, the head going impossibly hard against my tongue. A flood of precum follows, so much I have to swallow. He’s close. His thighs are shaking. His breathing ragged, punched-out gasps between clenched teeth.
“Tate. Tate, stop. Stop.”
He pulls back, his cock sliding from my lips with a wet pop. A string of spit connects us for a second before the wind snaps it away. He’s panting, chest heaving, one hand gripping the base of his cock like he’s holding back an explosion.
“Not yet,” he gasps. “I wanna save it.”
“I want it,” I whimper, my lips already missing the weight of him.
He looks down at me, pupils blown, lips swollen. “And you’ll get it. All of it. You just have to wait.”
“Please.”
He laughs, a rough, breathy sound. “So needy. What happened to the guy who couldn’t even look at a girl in a bar?” He tucks himself back into his sweats, wincing as the fabric drags over his wet, swollen cock. Then he stands and holds out his hand.
“Where are we going?” I ask, letting him pull me to my feet.
He grabs both our shirts and shoves them in his pack along with my water bottle. “Somewhere I can fuck you properly.”