by Damian Bloom
His hard cock presses against my lower back, teasing me. I definitely need to buy condoms and lube from now on. Now that I have a sexual partner.
Grabbing me by the waist, Adam lifts me like I weigh nothing. He slides his cock between my legs, and it rests, fully erect, next to mine. It’s so much bigger, so much thicker than mine. It’s the first one I’ve seen in real life other than mine, but I suspect it’s much larger than average. Although something tells me that, whatever it would look like, it would still be my favorite, by virtue of being attached to Adam.
I grip Adam’s dick and begin moving my hand up and down, squeezing it tightly, the way I know he likes. He breathes heavily in my ear. The warmth of his breath chafes the back of my neck.
“I want to spoil you tonight.” His voice is hoarse and sultry, and it prickles my skin.
Adam makes sure to prove to me that he’s a man of his word. In the bath, he scrubs my body with care and painstaking attention, almost like he’s worshiping it. He covers me with kisses as he towels me off.
And then, in the bedroom, he pushes me onto the bed in the self-assured way that steals my breath away. Grabbing my ankle, he flips me over and crawls immediately on top of me. He grabs my ass cheeks and spreads them apart, digging his fingers into the flesh, hard.
“How is your ass even real,” he muses.
I hear myself giggling bashfully, my chest bubbling with happiness while my stomach squeezes with the need to be touched by Adam—everywhere, always. Please never let me wander away from your touch.
“Oh,” I jolt when Adam’s wet tongue slides over my asshole. Involuntarily, I fist the sheets and squirm with new-found pleasure.
“You like that?” Adam’s being sly. He knows exactly what he’s doing to me.
“Yes,” I gasp.
Adam smacks my ass. “I couldn’t hear you.”
“Yes, I love it. Keep going.”
His lips, his tongue, his entire mouth teases the erogenous zone. My body doesn’t even know how to respond anymore. All I can do is drool, my head buried in a pillow to mask the uncontrolled sounds escaping from me.
I push my ass up in the air, into Adam’s face, craving more and more. His tongue pushes against my opening. Ohmyfuckinggod, I think I might die.
And then, in a move I’ve come to think of as typical of Adam, just when I think it can’t get any better, Adam pushes me over the edge of pleasure. His tongue glides from my ass, down over my balls, up the length of my shaft, and then twirls around the head of my penis when Adam’s mouth wraps around it.
“Adam,” I almost scream. “Yes, please don’t stop.”
But he does stop. Only for a second, to suck on a finger that he then shoves up my ass, wet and determined. His mouth returns to my crotch, sucking, licking, driving me mad, as his finger starts to writhe inside of me. With no lube, there’s much more friction. It’s harsher in all the best ways possible.
Like I’m a mere rag doll, Adam flips me over again. While I lie on my back, looking helplessly depraved, my legs spread open wide, Adam picks up the pace. He continues to suck me off and finger me simultaneously until I thrash and twist in pleasure. One of my hands finds its way to Adam’s head, rubbing the short hair on the back of his head as I moan unintelligible things punctuated by his beautiful name.
My mind shuts off. There are no more worries or questions or thoughts about the future. So what if fate, if the universe itself is against us? In Adam’s hands, fate means nothing. What force can be greater than the touch of this man? Surely destiny must yield to him the way my body does.
The sounds I make only grow more incoherent as I approach orgasm. All I can do to warn Adam before I spurt is arch my back and whine. Slipping my cock out of his mouth, Adam begins jacking it furiously, and despite my better judgment or any notion of self-consciousness, I scream through the orgasm.
The only thing louder than my moans is Adam’s laughter, who eases up once my balls are spent.
From the living room, a din of other voices joins Adam in his laughter. My cheeks burn, probably as red as the head of my dick.
“Have I ever told you that the face you make when you cum is both the most adorable and the sexiest thing I’ve ever seen?”
I bury half of my face inside the pillow. “No one’s ever said anything that sweet to me.”
“Well, no one other than me has ever seen you cum.”
I grin. “And I’m very happy with my choice.”
“What choice?”
“You being my first.”
Adam puffs up his chest, a glint of pride in his eyes. He starts counting on his fingers: “First kiss, first sexual encounter…” He curls his fingers back into his hand, making a fist as anger shadows his face.
“You thinking of Freddie, aren’t you?” I ask.
“Yeah, I can’t believe I wasted your first date on that asshole.”
“Hmm, I didn’t think you cared about these things.”
“I don’t. But you do. I could have manned up and asked you out. Showed you a real good time.” He winks, and my heart flutters like it’s the first time I see it.
I brush my lips against the scruff on his face. “Do you think there’s a trace of Freddie left in my mind after the past week?”
Adam’s hand snakes down my back, pulls me closer to his warm body. “That’s good,” he says, dropping a kiss onto my temple. “So my evil plan is working.”
“And what’s your evil plan?”
“To wipe out any other man from your mind. To make you entirely, irreversibly mine.”
I quiver in his arms for a long time afterward as we kiss and touch and take in the wonder of each other’s body.
Suddenly, I find myself uttering a silent prayer. Fate, please just pass me by. I don’t care about the riches you promise me. There can be nothing more true, more right, or more charming than Adam and the spell he’s cast on me. There can be no happy ending without Adam. Please, just let my story end here.
19
Adam
It’s close to midnight, and the house is as quiet as Luis and I. I’m holding him tight like a teddy bear and going over the events of the day in my mind. I’m happy that I met his friends and saw his house. It feels like I know much more about him now. But some thoughts have been nagging me for hours, and I finally decide to bring up the subject. “Don’t you think your brother was acting a little weird?” I ask.
He’s noticed it, too. I can tell by the way his body tenses up at the sound of my question. His turn to speak comes and goes, but Luis doesn’t say anything.
“He doesn’t like this,” I guess, gesturing over our bodies to refer to us—whatever “us” might be.
Turning over, Luis studies my face in the dim moonlight. “He doesn’t not like it. He’s just very protective. He’s always been like that.”
“Protective…He’s scared I’ll hurt you?”
Luis offers a reluctant nod.
“I guess that makes sense,” I muse.
“Why do you say that?”
I gently brush a few strands of hair off his forehead. “We’re a pretty unlikely couple—or, uh, duo. What with the age difference and our expectations from life and relationships…”
An unspoken question crosses Luis’s face, and I think this is the moment I’ve been dreading—when he finally asks me about us, hoping for answers I’m incapable of giving him. But he lets the question dissolve. Instead, he looks away and says: “There’s something I haven’t told you.”
“That sounds ominous.”
“It’s nothing too serious.” He bites his lip. “I mean, it depends how you look at it.”
“You’re not pregnant, are you?”
Luis slaps my chest and giggles but then gets serious again. “You know I spoke to you about my Grandma.”
“Mhm.”
“There’s…She…” He rubs his face, frustrated with his inability to find the right words. “How do you even say this?”
“Just spit it ou
t.”
But Luis doesn’t spit it out. The words drag out of his mouth, uncertain and shy. “She’s got a…strange ability. Sort of.”
I perk up a little. It sounds like I might be up for an unusual story. “Like what? A superpower?”
His face darkens just a tad. “I don’t know if I would necessarily call it that. She definitely wouldn’t. She can’t control it anyway, or predict when it hits…” He heaves a deep sigh. “But sometimes, she sees things that haven’t happened yet. She’s able to warn us about them.”
My eyebrows rise involuntarily. “You mean she can predict the future?”
“Rarely, and she can’t decide what she gets to see. But so far, everything she’s seen has come true, so most of my family trusts her visions, although we rarely speak about it.”
I can’t help the pinch of skepticism that crawls over my face. A fortune-teller grandma? That sounds a little childish.
“You don’t believe me.” Luis’s tone is completely matter-of-fact, no trace of accusation in it.
I rack my brains for the most diplomatic way to reply to this. “It’s not that I don’t believe you. I’m sure you believe what you’re telling me.” Tenderly, I cup his face in my hand. “It’s just not something you hear every day.”
“I don’t blame you,” he says, even if he can’t help but frown. “Most of the time, Peter also doesn’t know if he believes Grandma’s visions or it’s all a stupid family superstition.”
Visions. I get an urge to snicker just hearing the word.
Right. His brother. What does this have to do with him and his sudden stand-offish attitude? “Was this what you were talking to Peter about in the kitchen today?”
Luis presses his cheek to my chest. “Yes, actually. Grandma had another vision on my birthday, and it hasn’t yet come true, but he’s stressing out about it.” He pauses. “I guess I’m a little worried, too.”
“Something bad?” I ask, rubbing his shoulder. I can’t suspend my disbelief enough to worry with him, but I don’t like seeing him stressed, regardless of what I think of the validity of his concerns.
His body shivers between my arms. “She said I’ll find true love.”
That’s it? I blink a few times. Isn’t that what he wants?
Suddenly, my stomach churns as a grim thought flashes through my mind. Oh no. I hope he doesn’t take this as a green light to fall in love with me.
“I’ll find it eventually,” he explains. “But first, I’ll get my heart broken.”
My stomach lurches at the idea of a heartbroken Luis. Oh. That must mean… “And Peter now thinks I’m the one who’ll break your heart.”
Luis confirms with a court nod.
The faint sound of laughter travels through the house from another room.
I scratch Luis’s back with the tips of my fingers. “Is that what you believe?”
His answer doesn’t come right away. His shoulders tighten. He probably wishes he’d never brought up this subject. “I do,” he finally admits.
It doesn’t surprise me to hear this, but it does make me feel bad. Luis knows what he can expect from me, and we both seem to enjoy our current dynamic for what it is. But how long can I count on things to stay like this? How long until Luis remembers what he truly wants from life and tries to force me into a role I know I no longer fit?
With me being his first in several significant ways—first kiss, first sexual partner—the chances are even greater that he’ll end up expecting more. And I swear I could throw up whenever I think of how selfish I’m being for not getting us both off this slippery slope. But for whatever reason, I can’t stay away from Luis. There’s an unseen force pulling me to him, as strong and as inevitable as gravity. I orbit around this young man with no chance of escaping his attraction.
“Then why do you keep seeing me?” I ask.
“Because I can’t stop.”
“Would you like me to…end it?” My voice almost stops in my throat. I feel sick at the thought that I might not see his lovely face again, that I’d stop waking up next to him, that I wouldn’t hear him breathe within arm’s reach late at night when only memories and ghosts are awake; and one scarred loner who can’t believe his luck as he remembers how good it feels to care for someone like this. But I have to at least give him the option.
“No.” The answer shoots out of him like a bullet from a gun. His slender shoulders arch around his ears, taut with anxiety. “Look, I believe in Grandma’s visions. Which means that if she saw me getting hurt, then I will get hurt, and there’s nothing I can do about it. If you don’t break my heart, someone else will.” He kisses my chest. “The only choice I have in the matter is who gets to do it.”
Luis’s eyes light up in the dark when he pulls back to look up at my face. I wonder if those are tears I see, or it’s just a weird reflection of what little light creeps through the window. Luis clears his throat. “And I choose you.”
I kiss him because I can’t think of any other way to respond to that. “I don’t want to break your heart,” I say, pressing my forehead to his. I wish we could just stay like this. Two best friends who care for each other and love sharing everything, including a bed, including their bodies. Why do all forms of affection need to be muddled by romantic expectations? I wish I could promise him I won’t hurt him, but that’s a promise I can’t make, and one that he wouldn’t believe anyway, because of his trust in his grandmother’s prediction. And, despite every one of my principles, I wish I could be what he wants. That I could ask him to date me, and I’d give him the wonderful relationship he’s looking forward to, and then we’d move in together and maybe get married. That I could be his Prince Charming. But then, in mere seconds, more somber thoughts invade my head—thoughts of broken hearts and trampled expectations, and unkept promises. I know the pain that awaits at the other side of that illusion, and I like Luis way too much to want to be the cause of that disaster. Even if his grandmother’s prediction comes true and I break his heart, that’s nothing compared to what could be. Compared to the pain that sometimes still echoes in my heart.
“Let’s just enjoy the present,” Luis says, threading his fingers with mine. His palm is cool. “What we have now is more than enough for me.”
“For me, too.”
He plants a sweet kiss in the corner of my mouth. “Then let’s not ruin it with thoughts of the future.”
Luis is right, of course. And that knowledge seems to put him at ease, because within minutes, he drifts off to sleep, cradled in my arms. But I lie awake for what feels like hours, studying the gradual shift of the shadows on his ceiling. I’ve locked my worries away in a mental closet for the past few days, not thinking about my previous experiences that point to only one conclusion: that I’m the biggest dumbass that’s ever walked the Earth.
Ollie, my own divorce…I know what dangers I’m exposing Luis to.
Guilt gnaws on my insides like a beast. Luis’s chest flutters with every breath, smooth and delicate, hinting at the fragile treasure hiding inside.
I don’t want to break Luis’s heart.
I don’t want to break Luis’s heart.
I don’t want to break Luis’s heart.
20
Luis
“Did you feed Hector?” Adam checks, his chin resting on my shoulder. I’m sitting in his lap, eyes glued to the computer screen. I haven’t written anything for two days, and it’s incredible how rusty I feel because of it. The characters just don’t speak as loudly as they used to, and the right words elude me. Adam says it’s normal, so I try not to panic.
“Yup. By the way, I got him a different brand of dry food, ‘cause I noticed he’s not super crazy about the old one. I think he likes the new one better. He ate it up. Maybe we switch to this one for good.”
“Whatever the furry boss wants.” He kisses my shoulder, then looks out the window, a soft smile decorating his gorgeous face.
Adam has seen a considerable drop in productivity, too, although I s
uspect he now does most of his writing when I’m at work. And I perfectly understand why. With his warm, hard muscles stuck to me, focusing on work is about as easy as running in waist-high water.
On the plus side, I’ve got more inspiration than ever. From sex scenes to mushy romantic moments, everything has become much easier to write because now I’ve got memories and feelings of my own to draw from. Adam finds it very funny that he’s evolved from being my writing coach into a literal muse.
I spend more nights over at Adam’s than I do at home, and we’ve fallen into a delicious sort of domestic routine. Hector is home much more than he used to be, which is great because days are only growing shorter and colder. Adam says it’s because of me, but I see how much Hector loves him. Every night, I have to basically wrestle the cat for the honor of cuddling with Adam. I suspect the house has turned into a more inviting environment for the feline because Adam’s much happier these days.
Over the past month, Adam has blossomed into a much less skeptical and, I believe, lonely man. The only time when he’s not smiling is when he’s actively trying not to, and I can’t pass by him without a hug, a kiss, or a slap on the butt.
Although I wouldn’t dare tell him, there’s very little left of the man I once called scary—except in the bedroom, where I love bringing his inner brute out.
But for all the coziness and the comfort of our current situation, I’m no closer to understanding what exactly is our situation. We still explain my almost constant presence in his house away with the pretext of writing, even though writing has taken a secondary place in our friendship. We hang out, cuddle, or fuck much more than we write.
“What’s up?” Adam notices I’ve been rapping my fingers on the table for a few good minutes. “You struggling with something?”
“Yeah. The ending.” I bite down on my lip. Drafting this novel has certainly been a challenge, but it was worth every second. It’s incredible how much I’ve learned since that moment when I typed the first word. I’m sure there’s more work left to be done than I can imagine now to bring the story to its full potential, but if I’m honest, I’m proud of what I’ve accomplished so far.
