Chapter Thirty Tom
Chapter Thirty
Tom
Something was wrong with Enzo, and I didn’t know what it was.
He tried to hide it, forever the happy-go-lucky guy, but I could see it in the way his eyes dimmed, and how he absentmindedly chewed on his inner cheek. He was scratching at his arm, too. The same scarred spot he picked at often, like it was the edge of an envelope.
Zeke’s lakefront house was perfect, for all intents and purposes. It was framed by thick woods, miles away from civilization. It had three bedrooms, a gourmet outdoor kitchen, a Jacuzzi, and a fuckload of rustic charm. But as Enzo took all of it in, I could already sense him slipping away from me.
“You all right, kid?” I led us to the largest guest room, unzipping my duffel on the bed.
“Yup. Fine.” He grabbed the hair at the nape of his neck, tugging. “Everything’s peachy.”
I stopped what I was doing and gave him a flat stare.
“Sorry, I’m just…”
I watched him, waiting.
“It just sucks that I—we—will always have to do this.” He gestured toward the house. “Hide. Like little rabbits.”
“You mean mice. Rabbits are known for something else. Hopefully we’ll do that frequently, too.”
His ears pinked, and he gave me an embarrassed shove.
“Wanna talk about it?”
“I think we did enough talking for today.”
With two purposeful strides, he cornered me to the wall using the sheer size of his magnificent body, his lips latching on to mine.
Our tongues met, battling for ground and dominance.
He pressed his hips to mine. I impulsively ran my fingers down his biceps, toward his forearms, tracing every veiny, muscular inch of flesh.
I’d been with men before. Been with some seriously fit ones, too.
I’d never had someone quite as perfect as Enzo, though.
After a slow descent down his corded arms, this time I didn’t stop when I reached his wrists. I touched the jagged, scarred flesh. He whimpered into my mouth, the sound animalistic and pained, but didn’t jerk away. He was twitching, shaking, but not withdrawing.
Progress.
I’d tired of asking him about something he didn’t want to talk about, instead giving him space, and hopefully a safe environment to talk about it when he was ready.
Unhurriedly, I threaded our fingers together, pulling his hands to my crotch. “You know what to do, Butterfly.”
“Hmmph,” he half whimpered, half moaned, working my belt off in record time and sliding my pants down.
He was on his knees before I registered the kiss was over, stroking my dick with his big, callused palm before taking me down his throat.
Some words left my mouth, though I doubted they were in English.
When I staggered across the wall and knocked down a nightstand, Enzo chuckled around my dick.
He withdrew a few inches and grabbed my root, spat on my crown, and covered my dick with saliva. Then he was back at it.
Not wanting to climax in his mouth before the main event, I tugged him back up and started peeling off our clothes until we were both naked, standing by the bed. Our mouths fused together again, hands exploring each nook and cranny of each other’s body.
“What can I do—” he mumbled into my mouth, sounding drunk and so far away. Maybe I was drunk, too, with the prospect of having him all to myself for a weekend.
“Anything, Enzo,” I growled. “You can do fucking anything you want to me.”
He circled my rim with the tip of his finger teasingly, and I let it happen for an unfathomable reason. I flicked my tongue against his, an official warning he was about to cross an invisible line.
It did feel good, though. Everything he did with his hands felt divine.
“I know what I want for my birthday.” His lips moved over mine. His birthday was three weeks ago, but we hadn’t celebrated together. I was careful not to mention it, not to scare him off.
“Yeah? Enlighten me.”
“To fuck you.”
A husky groan escaped me. File under things that weren’t fucking happening. But he was cute. I wasn’t gonna kill his dream today. “Need to stuff my cock into you. Now.”
I lowered him onto the bed and kissed his shoulders first, then rolled my tongue to his right nipple, sucking it until it pebbled. He sighed and shuddered with pleasure. My tongue moved to his ribs. Belly button. The deep, prominent V of his torso.
“If your mouth touches my dick, I’m coming,” he strangled out. “So you better flip me over and fuck me.”
“We’re doing missionary today.” I grabbed a small packet of lube from my duffel and squirted some onto my index and middle fingers. I pulled his balls up, massaging them tenderly as I prepped him, leaning down to suck his tongue, kiss him so hard, his wet crown glued our skin together.
“It feels sooo good,” he purred, arching his back. “You should try it.”
“Brat.” I chuckled into our kiss, awarding him with a light smack to his ass.
The jokes ceased once I slid into him, somehow still surprised at how tight it was. This time was different, because we were staring at each other, his knees hooked over my shoulders.
There was no running away from the things I saw on Enzo’s face, the tenderness that shone through his pupils.
It was the best birthday present anyone could ever give me.
I wanted to pocket and carry today with me for a rainy day. To carve it into my DNA. To never let him go so he’d keep looking at me like that.
The more I moved inside him, the more his pupils dilated, intensifying with this intangible thing that melted down my walls. His toes curled over the back of my shoulders, and my balls tightened as I strained to keep myself from falling apart.
Staring down at him, I had to face the truth. I knew we were enemies. I never trusted him not to stab me in the chest in the middle of the night. I just thought he was worth the risk.
“Butterfly, I’m so close,” I whispered.
“So am I.”
“Come with me, baby.”
He nodded eagerly. “I’m right there with you, Tomcat.”
We came in each other’s arms, staring, falling, crashing, clinging to each other like survivors on a wrecked ship.
And in that moment, I only existed in the places where we touched.