Chapter Thirty
Jackson
“I can’t, hmm... I can’t believe you did that,” I mutter, trying to get the words out while, at the same time, trying to suck Phoenix’s tongue into my mouth. “Mmm. Sitting in a restaurant, eating lunch...nearly naked.”
“Not...not nearly naked. Ngh . Only...only half naked.”
Phoenix seems to be having the same trouble as I am in being able to speak. Namely, that neither one of us wants to detach our mouths from each other long enough to actually hold a conversation. We’re going to have to separate at some point, though. We’ll have to in order to get our clothes off, and I know we both want that. Makes me almost wish that Phoenix hadn’t retrieved his clothing after we were done eating our lunch.
As a side note, he was right. The whole time we were in the restaurant, nobody said boo to a goose about his lack of clothing. Although, I suppose, technically he was adhering to the universal dress code of most businesses. It’s always “No shoes, no shirt, no service.” Never mentions anything about not wearing any pants.
I didn’t get the joy of seeing how his driver would react to his pantlessness. Between the time Phoenix called him to swing by and pick us up and when he got there to do so, Phoenix was back to wearing pants and had redonned his coat.
As promised, Phoenix had the driver take us to his house. But I honestly haven’t taken in much about it, other than it’s big and… Actually, that’s about all I’ve noticed. I couldn’t tell you a single thing about it, otherwise. As soon as we tumbled, one after the other, out of the town car Phoenix had us going around in today, it was a race to get in the house and a race to get our hands and mouths on each other as soon as humanly possible.
“Hmph. Whatever. Shut up.” Nipping at Phoenix’s succulent bottom lip, I ask—more like demand—" Where’s your bedroom?”
“Stairs. Up the stairs.”
Phoenix tries to gesture—I’m guessing in the direction of wherever the stairs are that’ll get us to the promised land of his bedroom—but his hands are firmly clenched in the few hanks of my newly shorn hair that are long enough to grip. So, all he manages to do is pull my hair, causing my mouth to pop away from his and making me moan. The moan is both in disappointment that he’s interrupted our mutual lip devouring and in pleasure because…fuck, it’s hot when Phoenix takes control. When he does whatever he wants with my body.
I don’t know how I get up the stairs without killing myself. Shit, I don’t even remember going up the stairs. One minute I’m wrapped around Phoenix, somewhere just inside his front door, and the next, we’re in his bedroom and he’s pushing me down onto a huge bed that may as well be the twin of the one at his parents’ house.
“Get naked. Now,” Phoenix orders. And I am more than on board with that directive.
I scramble to pull my sweater off. Needing it off because what once kept me barely tolerably warm now has me sweaty and overheated. Once that’s off, I internally swear when I realize that I still have on the t-shirt that was under the sweater. I should’ve pulled both of them off at the same time so that I’m closer to obeying Phoenix’s order faster.
Pulling that off, I chuck it to the floor to join the sweater I discarded. I see a blur of black as Phoenix’s sweater also lands somewhere in the general vicinity of mine, and I absently hope that the articles of clothing find happiness together, there on the floor of Phoenix’s bedroom.
It looks like it’s going to be a tie as to which of us get our lower halves naked first. But then, my hands unbuttoning and unzipping my borrowed jeans, I make a discovery that halts all of my progress, giving Phoenix the win in the getting naked race.
I’m hard. My dick is hard.
For the first time since… Long before I kissed Phoenix. Long before his cum first painted my skin. Long before he got me out of that box. Before I even left Tennessee and ended up in a box. Before I’d even heard the name Phoenix Wilding spoken through a telephone by a man I hadn’t met yet.
My dick is hard for the first time since…I can’t even remember. So long. Too long, perhaps.
Or, perhaps not.
Because, really, none of those other times my dick has been hard has even mattered. Not a whit. None of those other times were for Phoenix. None of those other people—those girls—were Phoenix.
And Phoenix is all that matters. From now until…ever.
I’ve no idea what plans Phoenix has for the bottle of lube he snags out of his bedside table—something fun, no doubt. Something we’d both enjoy, for sure. But whatever his intent is, I’m fairly sure I’ve a better idea in mind.
“Fuck me,” I order, my hands still clasped around the loosened waistband of my jeans. So, so near to the hard dick I can feel pulsing, throbbing, ready , just below the denim. “I want you to fuck me.”
Phoenix bobbles the bottle of lube, nearly dropping it, and only just catching it between his arm and his stomach.
“What? You…what?”
Have his eyes ever been so dark? Deep, mysterious pools of near-black.
“Fuck me,” I repeat. My heart is thump-thump-thumping in my chest, but my voice is calm and clear as I tell him, “I want you to fuck me. I need you to fuck me.” Begging’s worked for me in the past, so I’ve no hesitation in doing it again. “Please, Phee. I’ve thought about it. Before today, that is. And I want you to.”
Phoenix’s lips part, but I don’t want to hear any arguments from him. No doubts. No questions about if I’m sure or if this is really what I want. So, I do the thing that I’m 99% sure will win me any argument he wants to launch—I shove my pants and underwear down, letting my hard dick jut into the air. A totem of my want.
“Fuck, fuck, fuck me.”
His eyes are glued to my dick, avidly logging every detail, reveling—rejoicing?—in this first between us.
“No. Fuck me ," I state. “That’s what I want, Phee. For you to fuck me. Please?”
“Jesus, babe, I want…” His lips gleam, the light of the lamps in the room reflecting off of them after he licks them hungrily. Needfully. “Are you… Are you sure?” Dark eyes flick up to meet mine, before irresistibly drifting back down to gaze at my dick.
“More than I’ve ever been about anything.”
One knee settles on the mattress, then two. He’s moving tentatively, cautiously, waiting for me to change my mind or take it back. Clearly hoping that I don’t. The faint tremor in his hands only endears him to me more.
Phoenix lays the bottle of lube on the side of the bed. His hand reaches toward my dick, hovers over it, then slowly, gently, strokes across the sensitive head.
“We’ll go slow. I promise, babe. Step by step, little by little…slow.” He drags his hand down the length of my dick, down to the root. It’s loving, it’s worshipful, it’s savoring, it’s…
It’s not enough. “Jesus. Not too slow,” I pant.
“But I want to make it good for you,” Phoenix says. “Want you to enjoy this.” His words are almost innocent. Definitely sweet. But, oh, that smile. That smile is evil. Deliciously, delightfully evil. He knows what he’s doing. He says that he wants me to enjoy what he’s doing, but his smile says he’s the one doing the enjoying in this moment.
“I will, I will. Ungh . More, give me more," I plead. His hand is still slowly, lightly, torturously stroking my dick.
Pre-cum oozes from my slit, a dampness that does nothing to quench the thirst of my need. Phoenix licks his lips when he notices. Then he leans down and licks the fluid away, leaving a different wetness behind.
I choke on my yell, instead letting out a garbled, warbling whine of demand. Wordlessly asking, begging, for him to do it again.
His dark eyes promise torture, but my Phoenix grants me mercy, bending back over to tease and lick and suckle up and down the length of my needy dick. Those lips, those full, lush lips that I love to nip and suckle, crush and adoringly worship with my own…I’ll reluctantly sacrifice kissing him, if it means Phoenix’s perfect lips are wrapped around my dick.
I don’t want—except that, I do. I do want to be a needy bastard who grabs hold of Phoenix’s head and shoves his mouth further down my dick until he devours it all. I’m so hard in his mouth, a column of solid titanium gliding over and along the velvety, wet heat of his tongue. I can’t remember ever being this hard. It’s almost enough to be concerned about; it can’t possibly be healthy to be so hard, so throbbing, so aching…so fit to explode at any one of my next thunderous heartbeats, at any one of Phoenix’s devilishly perfect, fiendishly glorious sucks.
My hands make their way into Phoenix’s hair. While the barber cut off great heaping chunks of mine, Phoenix only had the length of his neatened up. So there’s still plenty of long, silky strands for me to grab hold of.
I try to be gentle. I try to be subtle. I try to be merely encouraging and requesting.
I don’t know if I succeed.
The head of my cock hits the back of Phoenix’s throat. Then, somehow, he’s taking me even further down into his throat. And I don’t know if it’s me forcing him to, or if he’s being just as demanding and needy as I am and doing it all of his own desire.
It feels so good, so consuming, so mind blowing, that I don’t at all notice a wetness, a foreign stickiness, somewhere further down below my balls, until there’s a pulling stretch, a wrong-direction push, in a location that no one’s ever presumed to go before.
Phoenix’s mouth leaves my dick with a gasp. The sudden draft of cool air on my spit-wettened, lust-fevered, sensitive skin brings a chill. But his words, his “fuck, fuck, feel so good, gonna be so good squeezing around my cock” …those heat me right back up.
“God, you’re taking my fingers so good, babe.”
“Fingers?” I gasp. “As in…more than one?”
“Mmhmm.” Phoenix nuzzles his face against my balls while he tells me, “I’ve got two fingers buried in your ass. The first one slid in so nice and easy, and now a second one, too… It’s like your ass is hungry for me. Such a tight little hole, eager to let me in. So needy, so ready to be filled.”
I am. I am. I am so needy. I need Phoenix. I need him. Any part of him, every part of him. I need him to be a part of me, inside me, until I feel like we’ll never truly be two separate people again.
“Is that what you are, babe? So needy for me to get my cock in you?”
It’s like Phoenix can hear all the desperate pleas tumbling around in my brain. “Yes,” I moan, relieved that he knows what I want, without me even needing to say the words.
Restlessly, I shift beneath him. I feel full with his fingers plunging in and out of me, but not full enough. The drag of his tongue—against my balls, my cock, the space between my balls and my hole, my inner thighs—feels so very good, but it’s not enough. The weight of his body, settled between my splayed legs, feels heavy and grounding, but it’s not enough. I need more. I need, I need…
“Please,” I whimper, begging Phoenix to stop this slow torture he seems set on and to get on with what I need—his dick inside me, merging us and filling me up with him.
End it does, but not in the way I need. He pulls his fingers from my ass, but instead of immediately filling my empty, waiting hole with his dick like I want him to, Phoenix shifts his weight like he’s about to get up and leave.
No, no, no. Where is he going? He can’t just leave me here. Can he?
He only gets a few inches between us, before I wrap my arms and legs around him and drag his body back down on top of mine. “Nooo… Where’re you going? Want you inside me. Need you inside me.” I rain fevered, urgent kisses on any bit of his skin I can, mumbled, fragmented, begging demands seasoning the taste of Phoenix’s sweat against my lips. “Take me. Make me yours. Use me. You promised.”
Phoenix strains against the constricting hold of my limbs. “Babe…” A ragged chuckle roughens the edges of the endearment. “I need to grab a condom before we go any further. You’ve got to let me up. Just for a little while,” he says.
“No.” It’s instinctive, my refusal. There’s no thought behind it, just a pure, instant, and complete negation.
“Jackson, sweetheart—"
“No,” I repeat, still just as sure and absolute the second time I say it.
It’s not something I’d considered before this moment, but now that we’re here… I can’t imagine anything coming between Phoenix and me. I want us to be completely one, a single thing, no longer Jackson and Phoenix. I want us to be, need for us to be, JacksonandPhoenix . Where you can’t tell where one of us ends and the other begins. I don’t want a single barrier between us, not even one as inconsequential as a thin layer of latex.
“I’m clean,” I tell him, my words coming out in a rush. “I haven’t been with anyone else in…years. It’s been years.”
Perhaps I should be embarrassed to admit such a thing. What sort of man in his mid-twenties goes so long without having sex? It should particularly be mortifying that the reason comes down to it being that long since anyone expressed an interest in having sex with me, along with my own lack of desire to put forth the effort to persuade anyone to develop an interest.
It should be, but it’s not. I’m not embarrassed by my long dry spell. Nope, I’m grateful for it. It gives me solid ground to stand upon as I lay my argument for not needing anything between us when Phoenix makes me his.
A rumbling sound, near to what I’d call a growl, rises up through Phoenix. He rubs his nose, his mouth, his cheek against the underside of my chin, as if he’s marking me with his scent. Or as if he’s trying to fill all of his senses with me.
“I’m all clear, too.” I absorb the soft words into my skin. “I’ve been tested…you know I was tested…”
I do know. I know it was part of the workup he went through before his surgery. And I’m sure Phoenix would’ve told me if anything serious had turned up during those tests. Nonetheless… “I don’t care,” I tell him. “You could tell me you shoot instantly fatal, deadly venom from your dick, and I still wouldn’t want anything between us. I want you, only you, filling me…marking me…claiming me as yours.”
We’re roughly the same height, Phoenix and me, but suddenly, as his mouth takes mine in a bruising, consuming kiss, he feels bigger. Blanketing me, surrounding me, blocking out anything that isn’t him. He’s all I can sense—a large, overpowering weight of security and control.
“You are mine.” My lips are parted, awaiting more kisses. Above me, Phoenix’s dark eyes are a magic pool that will take me to a new world. I want to dive in. Swim down to the depths, following his silent, siren song, to find a new home hidden within his soul. “Every time I’ve touched you, I’ve claimed you as mine,” he says. “But if we do this… If I fuck you, and fuck you raw, filling you with my cum… Mine is how you’ll stay. I won’t let you go. You can beg, you can run…but you’ll always be mine. I won’t let you go.”
“Please. Please ." The aching, agonized cry that leaps out of my mouth isn’t because I don’t want everything that Phoenix is threatening. It’s because I do. More than my next breath. More than anything. “Do it. Take me.”
Hands on my thighs, pulling, pressing, sweetly shoving my legs up. My knees are being introduced to my shoulders, as Phoenix wedges his body between my splayed legs and drags my ass to him with bruising fingers dug into my hips.
The head of his dick greets the entrance to my hole with a wet, hot kiss. Time suspends, a moment stretching out into eternity—waiting, waiting—dangling over the precipice of the future we desire.
Phoenix takes a deep breath. Hearing it, feeling it, I know I should breathe, too. I should breathe. I should. But my breath is stopped, caught in my lungs, as Phoenix presses forward. Time also stops.
Then time, and air, crash into me, my lungs heave for breath while my mouth opens in a silent yell, as pain burns and seers and rips through my senses.
Perhaps I shouldn’t have pushed Phoenix to abandon his stated intent to go slowly. I felt so full, so ready, speared with two of his fingers. I thought I was prepared for more. I was wrong.
Ocean-waves of sound crash and break around me. It takes a bit—a longer than I’d like bit—for the pain in my ass to recede enough for me to make out the words in all that ebbing and flowing tide of noise.
“Jesus, babe. You’re okay? Tell me you’re okay. Fuck, you feel good. Amazing. So good. Too good. Jackson? Sweetheart? Say something. Please say something. Need to move, but I need you to tell me you’re okay.”
Intentions of never lying to Phoenix again fall to the wayside as I murmur, “I’m okay.”
Although, it only half feels like a lie. The overwhelming physical intrusion, of part of him into a part of me, is less than pleasant. But even that is fading with each pounding thrum of my heart. Of greater importance, though, is the knowledge of what my pain and discomfort signify. Phoenix is inside me. A part of him is inside me. His body is merged with mine.
We’ve become one.
Against that, pain is insignificant.
“Babe?”
“I’m good. Really,” I tell him again. Because, I am. This is what I wanted. I want Phoenix to use my body. I want him in me, taking me, claiming me. His pleasure is my pleasure. So, I really am fine.
This time, my words serve as a key to unlock the chains of his restraint. With a mighty groan, Phoenix’s hips pull back, then knock forward again. Back and forth, a two-step dance of give and take, his dick forges a home inside my ass.
“So good. Feels so good. Thank you. Thank you. Thank you.”
Each sobbing groan of gratitude re-awakens the dormant beast of lust inside of me. My miraculously hard dick had returned to its softened state due to the pain of Phoenix’s entry, but it roars back to life, hard and wanting, from knowing that I’m giving Phoenix what he needs.
His body is a machine of beautiful, moving muscle and sinew beneath my clutching hands. Each flexing roll of his hips, each rippling bunch of his back, each trembling crunch of his stomach…a symphony of strength, taking pleasure in what is his.
“Sorry, so sorry. Not going to last long.” Phoenix’s hips punch forward, a jolting emphasis to his apology. “You feel too good. My perfect, perfect sweetheart.”
His words—his straining, needful words—spark fire in my veins. A fire that flares brighter and hotter with each repeated thrust of his dick.
There’s no space between us. We’re a solid, unbroken mass, chest to chest, hips lined up with hips, groin meeting groin. But my hand finds the space between us that doesn’t exist and I wrap my fingers around my hard length.
I stroke, or perhaps Phoenix’s body forces my hand to move, up and down, whimpers of agony, of relief, of need falling from my mouth.
“Yes, yes, that’s it. Make yourself come,” Phoenix orders. “Want you to come. You’re going to come with me, this time.” His tone leaves no room for disagreeing; he will be heard and obeyed. “C’mon, babe. I’m so close. Almost there.”
My hand feels good on my dick; it’s been so long since I’ve reached a release. It’s been so long since I’ve wanted to feel that pleasure. But, again, it’s the words Phoenix says that serve to be the catalyst in sending me over that edge. Cum spurts in arching splashes onto my stomach and chest, my balls drawing tight and my body tingling with satisfaction.
“Yes. Fuck yes." Phoenix buries his face in my neck, groaning through his own climax.
Warmth floods my core. From Phoenix’s cum, obviously. But also, pride. Pride that I pleased my Phoenix. Pride that I’m the one whose body gave him what he wanted. Pride that I didn’t let inexperience, and more discomfort than I anticipated, stand in the way of giving him what I wanted—me.
There’s some more discomfort as Phoenix slowly pulls his dick from my ass. But it’s worth it—it was all worth it—for the connection I feel to him. Even as Phoenix rolls away from me, settling on his back, next to me on the mattress, and our physical contact becomes minimal, I still feel connected to him. I feel claimed. I feel marked—eternally marked—as Phoenix’s.
Warm fingers curl around my wrist. Four gentle fingertips—and one lightly scratchy fingertip, the end wrapped with medical-grade cotton—brush random swirls over the fluttering pulse.
“Are you okay? Was that…was that okay?” The commanding, controlling, wantonly taking Phoenix retreats in favor of the sweet, caring, nurturing Phoenix.
Wanting to give him an honest answer—a truly, truly honest answer—I give myself a moment to think and take stock of how I’m feeling.
Details of the bedroom around me trickle into my consciousness while I’m taking that moment to assess. The walls and ceiling are painted a stark white, but wooden beams stretching across the ceiling soften the look and make it feel clean and inviting rather than sterile. Situated on the corner of the house, windows stretch along vast areas of two of the room’s walls. Reaching nearly floor to ceiling, the windows let in vast quantities of natural daylight and open up the room to stunning views of the ocean. Phoenix’s house looks like it might be even closer to the ocean than his parents—there’s less lawn separating the back of his house from the untidy edge of the long stretch of sandy beach.
Overall, his bedroom is calm, welcoming, warm, comfortable, stylish and luxurious…fully reflecting its owner. It’s a nice room. I can see myself belonging in it. Making it my home.
“That was more than okay,” I finally answer. “When can we do it again?”