Chapter 33 #2
Tripp is laser-focused, watching my every movement. A huff pushes itself from his nose.
“Montgomery men don’t cry.”
He says it so plainly that I would believe it had been ingrained in him since the day he was born. Not just a simple phrase, but a statement of who ‘Montgomery men’ are expected to be; how they’re expected to see themselves.
“We’re not asking you to cry,” I tell him as my lips meet his shoulder. “We just want you to let go of it for a minute; or let us help you carry some of it.”
His fingers push into my hair, adding force to keep my lips pressed to his skin. No room for conversation – no room for anything more complex than skin on skin; a sin for a sin.
My lips meet his as Tripp’s free hand drops carefully onto my lap, finding my cock as if his palm is a homing missile locked onto its target. A needy hum feeds into my mouth from his as he trails his palm from the head of my cock to its base behind my zipper.
Separating from our kiss, I slide off of the seat of the couch, keeping my hands on Tripp’s waist as I do.
“What are you doing?”
My lips turn up playfully at the corner as my knees hit the ground, and I move to slide open his belt.
“I’m going to make you let go,” I answer him. “Just relax for me and let me make you feel better.”
As my fingers work the button and zipper of his jeans, he shifts to let me slide them to his ankles with his boxer briefs. My lips meet the inside of his knee to trail slow, teasing kisses toward the base of his cock.
A groan slips out of him as I bring my hand to his balls, massaging them against my palm while my lips work the hard length of his shaft. Kissing. Licking.
Worshiping.
As they trail across the ink inlaid in his skin and his wife’s name in bold, gothic print to match the text that crawls across his fingers, the corner of my mouth quirks at the thought of my own name joining it someday. Taking up space on his body. Becoming a part of him.
The space between Tripp’s legs widens as his body melts into the cushion, and I settle in between them on my knees. Using a light touch, I drag my tongue from the base of his thick cock to the head of it, pressing a kiss there before pulling it just past my lips to tease him.
“If you’d let me, I’d get on my knees for you and worship this cock every day,” I tell him. “I would memorize every vein. The way you taste. The way that your breath catches when I do this,” I say as the pad of my thumb gently trails against the sensitive skin behind his shaft.
His body shifts under my touch, his brows stitching together as a quiet whine slips out of him.
My free hand wraps around the base of him, offering slow strokes as I drag my tongue along the shaft, tasting Julia’s name as I do. My mind lends the phantom tingle of her cinnamon lip balm to every taste bud, making the back of my jaw tick in response.
I take my time with Tripp, teasing and stroking his shaft, trailing my finger along the vein which runs up the side of it and teasing his slit with the tip of my tongue. When I finally pull him into my mouth, his head falls backward.
“Fuck,” he groans as his fingers tangle into my hair and his body shifts beneath my touch.
His hips move in time with my mouth while I take him deep into my throat, forcing me to adjust my body to accommodate my own aching dick struggling against the zipper of my jeans.
A glance toward his face shows me his teeth tugging at the jewelry in his lip, his head falling backward once more as his chest heaves.
“Schepp, get up here,” he pleads, tugging at my hair. The pad of my thumb swipes across my lip as his cock leaves my mouth, pulling in a heavy breath. “Take off your clothes. Get naked and get the fuck on my lap.”
As I stand, Tripp pulls his shirt over his head, tossing it aside while I strip off my own. I follow with my pants, kicking them away from me, and I lower myself onto Tripp’s lap.
His bandaged hand rests at my hip, his thumb trailing along the length of the scar there. His free hand wraps around my cock to force a grunt out of me as he teases me with slow, firm strokes.
“If you love my dick so much, show me how you ride it,” He breathes.
I offer him nothing more than a muffled whine in response as I take his mouth with mine, gripping onto the couch cushion behind him as I grind my shaft into his fist.
“Vaseline – at my station, third drawer down,” he tells me. My brow arches in challenge, the corner of my lips ticking up. “It’s either Vaseline, pre, or spit, and I know how you feel about spit; so pick your fucking poison.”
“You’re such a romantic,” I snark, sliding off of his lap to cross the room to his station.
A deep chuckle slides out of him as I dig through the drawer for the jar of jelly.
When I turn toward him again, Tripp’s eyes are on my body, surveying, exploring.
His finger swirls against the head of his leaking cock, his hand wrapping around it to offer it a few strokes; something to tide him over until I get back to him.
His tongue wets his lower lip, his mouth falling open as his fist tightens around the head.
Finding my way back onto his lap, I straddle him, keeping my eyes locked on his as I twist open the jar in my hand.
“Fingers first,” I tell him. “Slow. Work your way up.”
With the same gentle touch that a potter might use to work clay, he scoops a dollop onto the pad of his index finger and brings it to the tight ring behind me. He’s gentle as he massages his way inside, watching me with a laser focus that suggests he thinks I might explode if he isn’t careful.
“You do this every time?”
“Not every time, just most,” I answer with a shake of my head. “You’re just bigger than what I have at home. Another one.”
His focus is on the twitch of my cock as he carefully slides a second finger inside of me to brush against the first.
“Is that a compliment?” He asks. “Or a complaint?”
“I’ll tell you when we get there,” I answer with a lopsided smile.
His bandaged palm rests against my cheek as his lips meet mine, his tongue sliding into my mouth as his fingers massage against my most sensitive spot. My cock twitches again in response to earn a soft laugh against my lips.
Our shared and unspoken nerves make this feel like a game. A casual exchange between two old friends. I understand why Tripp is nervous – but I don’t understand why I am. This is old hat to me.
But he isn’t. He’s Tripp. And he’s about to fuck me.
As a third and final finger slides inside to join the others, I feed a moan into his mouth, my hips rocking against his; and everything that felt like fun and games just moments ago melts under an inescapable heat that floods my veins.
I miss his fingers when he finally withdraws them to coat his cock with a layer of the jelly.
As he notches the head of it behind me, his eyes search mine.
I answer his unasked question with another kiss, cupping his face between my hands with a satisfied groan at how well he fills me up as he slowly and carefully nudges inside of me.
His hands clamp onto my ass, his fingers digging into my skin as he pushes me further onto his cock, letting a low moan crawl from his throat to mine.
Our kiss is unhurried, letting us melt into each other as my hips roll against his. With the moans that spill from his mouth into mine, he feeds me the pain that he won’t allow himself to feel, and I swallow it down for him as he lets go of it.
His lips leave mine to suck the skin at the side of my neck, and my teeth nip at his earlobe in response, tangling my fingers into his hair with a firm and demanding grip.
My cock twitches from its place sandwiched between our bodies as his fingers massage into the flesh of my ass and he spreads me wider.
“You’re gonna take all of it for me, aren’t you?” he whines against my skin as he feeds my body another inch.
Hands explore skin; not greedy, not rushed.
This isn’t a battle between us, there is nothing for either of us to prove. Neither of us care about winning some pointless game of dominance.
Gripping onto the back of the couch, I lift my hips and he slams his own into them to force strangled sounds from my throat.
Every story that I’ve ever told him is reimagined in the way that he uses his body as his hand grips the back of my neck, his lips crashing against me to let his tongue carve a place for itself next to mine.
A sharp breath pulls in through Tripp’s nose, his eyes squeezing tightly shut with a lurch of his chest that tells me more than I think he ever will out loud.
The quiet collapse of four words built around him like a wall and held strong for as long as he’s been alive. Damaged by the cannon fire of the love that he sought and didn’t receive.
Reaching behind him, I tangle my fingers into the back of his hair to press my forehead to his.
“Let go of it, Riptide,” I tell him. “It’s okay to let it go.”
My lips meet his, and as my tongue moves against his, his arms wrap around my body, holding the two of us together in a vise. Pained huffs hit my face, a whine joining as my fingers push through his hair.
A sniff forces its way from his nose, and I move to trail kisses from his jaw to the crook of his neck.
“We can stop if you need to.”
With a firm, fierce grip on my hair, he pulls my head backward. Glass-coated eyes rimmed with red move between mine, his nose flush at the tip.
“If you stop riding my cock, I’ll break your nose again,” he threatens through gritted teeth.
The muscle at the curve of his chin shakes as another harsh breath huffs through his nostrils.
“I don’t want to stop, and I don’t want to talk,” he tells me with a voice that breaks over his words. “I just want to come.”
My hand meets his throat, gently trailing up the length of it until I reach his jaw. His grip on my hair loosens as my thumb trails across the sharp angle of it, my eyes searching his.