Chapter 13 #2
Later, still feeling the high of our impromptu performance, I rest my head against Ever’s chest as his fingers trail lazily over my naked hip.
In the quiet of his bed, with sheets twisted around our intertwined legs, I tell him about my day.
He laughs at the story of Penelope showing up in a dinosaur costume, insisting that if the dinosaurs had learned to play the cello, then maybe they wouldn’t have become extinct.
And I ask a dozen questions about beekeeping, the store, his time in Philadelphia, and how he moved from studying music to bees.
I share my worries about being the sole caretaker for my parents when they get to the age where they need care, and my fears that I’m having a midlife crisis, and how unsure I am about orchestra life.
I tell Ever the basics of what happened with Sebastian and what a blow it was to my ego.
He tells me how much his grandfather’s death affected him, and I kiss away the two tears that trickle down his cheek.
I tell him things I haven’t even said to Zemira.
We talk about everything except for how long I’m staying and what will happen when I leave.
The hours speed by, but our conversation never stalls. Nor does this feeling of contentment, and I wonder how much of it is being away from the worries of my regular life, how much of it is the magic of Maplewood, and how much of it is the man over me making love to my neck with his mouth.
I tip my head back, giving him more access.
In search of friction, my hips rock up. Dueling moans fill the room when our cocks brush against each other.
I spread my legs, giving him more room. He settles his hips down, rocking against my hard cock, and I squeeze his perfect ass to keep him in place.
The feel of flexing muscles beneath my fingers is better than the feel of a violin handcrafted just for me.
We rut against each other like lusty teens.
The friction of his hot skin, the scent of sweat and sex, the smooth silkiness of the sheets beneath me, and the pinch of Ever’s teeth as he nips and licks at my skin overwhelms my senses.
My head swims with possibilities of what life could be, but they flitter away before they can stick.
“You’re so fucking sexy,” he moans between bites and sucks. I’m uncertain if he’s saying it to me or to himself, but the words awaken something primal in me.
Not willing to allow any space between us and wanting more, I squeeze his ass and pump my hips faster, harder. “I’m close.”
He grunts and wraps his hand around our lengths and pumps. I yank his head to mine and shove my tongue into his mouth. The thrill of the dance for dominance is something I can’t get enough of. Every time we kiss, the same thrill tears through me, and goose bumps erupt on my skin.
His movements falter, and he rips his mouth away. The warmth of his breath hits my chin. “Look at me, Dmitri.”
My eyes fly open. Between the heat in his gaze and the force of his grip, I lose it.
Cum shoots onto my belly, spilling over his hand, and a second later he follows.
Ropes of his jizz hit my skin, mixing with mine.
Like the mixing of our DNA on my stomach somehow permanently connects us.
The thought yanks another shutter that originates from my toes, shaking my limbs and torso.
He falls on top of me, and I wrap my arms around his waist, needing to feel him and his weight.
As we catch our breath, he peppers kisses along my shoulder. I’m going to be walking around with goose bumps anytime he’s near. “Stay tonight?”
“Three nights in a row? What will the good people of Maplewood think?” I joke and stroke a sweat-ladened wisp of hair from his forehead.
He folds his hands on my chest and props his chin on them. Eyes shine and the sated smile has my spent cock twitching. “The good people of Maplewood will think I’m the luckiest man in town.”
I sigh theatrically. “Now, I have to stay.”
“Have to?” His right brow lifts and his front teeth bite down on his bottom lip as he fights a smile.
I give him my best posh accent. “It would be rude to leave after you said something so nice.”
His grin is all teeth and playfulness. He’s so gorgeous it makes my chest hurt, but it’s not just his physical beauty, it’s who he is as a person. “Watch out, or I’ll keep saying nice things just to keep you here.”
Instead of telling him the idea of staying in Maplewood is more appealing than I would have imagined.
Or that I’ve extended my stay because leaving him, this town with its quirky residents, and never-ending festivals, gives me far more pause after only a week than leaving Philadelphia did after spending the better part of my adult life there.
Instead of voicing any of those thoughts, because let’s face it, they’re absurd—and probably are an indication that I’m having a midlife crisis—I kiss him.
This trip was, in part, to help me clear my head and figure out my next step. But with the sensory overload that is Ever King, my head is anything but clear. Nor is my future.
But for the first time in almost a year, I’m okay with that.