The Trainer

by Jamie Lake

  “Oh, my God,” Chris moaned. He had never felt such overwhelming pleasure before in his life. Tight from months and months of loneliness, his ass wasn’t ready for such a quick reintroduction to cock. But Mason knew just what he was doing, going slow and steady, deep and full, picking up steam as Chris moaned and gripped the railing, digging his nails deep into it, panting like the bitch that he was for that big, muscled man riding him from behind.

  Mason removed himself, sat back down and pulled Chris over, making him sit back on his giant rod, punishing him, bouncing him up and down off it like a pogo stick.

  Chris felt that great lance punching his sweet spot again and again, and his own cock bounced half-rigid, drooling, as Chris stifled his moans and supported himself on Mason’s broad shoulders. As Chris grasped his own cock and jerked himself desperately, Mason pushed him down further by his shoulders and bunny rabbit fucked him, rapid-paced style, his balls smacking up and down. Chris eyes’ rolled back in his head as he shot all over his chest and let out such a howl that the neighborhood dogs howled back.

  “Get off, get on your knees,” Mason panted, after Chris’s final spasms were finished. He nodded and sat on his heels, looking up innocently as Mason hovered over him, stroking and pulling his thick cock, biting his lip until he burst all over Chris’ chest. The hot rain of cream splashed his collarbone, his cheek, and his nipples until Mason’s copious river was depleted.

  They both collapsed onto the tile of the balcony, hot in the warm summer air. They both panted and stared up at the sky. And as they stared up at the sky, the silver lining on the clouds floated away.

  “That was amazing,” Mason growled. “I guess I could use that help tomorrow after all.”

  Chris looked at him and smiled. “Yeah?”

  “Yeah, just, my daughter’s going to be there, so...”

  “Don’t worry, I’ll be good, sir,” Chris said.

  They both laughed.

  Mason walked two fingers across the tiles until they reached Chris’s hand. Then their fingers interlocked.

  He buried his face in Mason’s chest. The older man wrapped him up and kissed the top of his head. They lay there, sweaty and sticky and utterly enamored with each other; uncertain of the future, but certain of their budding love. In spite of complications, hesitations, mistakes and insanity, they had found each other, Chris thought, and that was enough for now.

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  Other Recommended Books by Jamie Lake

  Boyfriend for Rent

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  EXCERPT

  _________ o _________

  CHAPTER 27

  One drink turned into six.

  Six turned into a lot more than six.

  While Casey was pretty sure he’d matched Hunter drink for drink, the other man didn’t seem to be quite so tipsy. Okay, Casey admitted as he nearly tripped up the stairs to the front porch, maybe tipsy wasn’t quite accurate. Hunter wrapped his arms around Casey, practically carrying him up the stairs. When he tried to dig in his pocket for the key to the front door, Casey felt himself tipping backwards. Hunter caught him again, laughing hard enough that Casey could feel the vibrations through his whole body.

  “You gotta unlock it then,” Hunter said.

  Casey was so drunk, it took him awhile to get out his key. Putting it in the lock was going to be even trickier. Hunter had to lift Casey’s hand up, resting his warm weathered hands on his, balancing Casey’s body against his hip.

  “Just stick it in the hole,” Hunter said, his raspy baritone voice making Casey skin tingle as he came up behind him and helped him open the door.

  Casey could feel the warmth of Hunter’s body behind him and the hot smell of sweat permeated the air. The hardness of Hunter’s bulge in his skin-tight denims pressed against the back of Casey.

  “Just push,” Hunter said, his breath on the back of Casey’s neck.

  Casey was about to explode in his pants but he knew Hunter was just drunk. It didn’t mean anything.

  Casey pushed the door open and the two of them collapsed on the living room couch, laughing.

  “That was a good time. A really, really good time,” Casey laughed.

  Hunter caught his breath, his chest heaving up and down through his white t-shirt. “Yeah, that was awesome.”

  There was a silence between them for a second, just the sound of them breathing and the crickets singing outside.

  It was just the two of them. Alone.

  Casey may have been beyond buzzed but he did notice Hunter on the other end of the couch, his hands resting on his legs, sliding to his groin area. His thumbs fiddled with the fly of his jeans.

  “It’s so hot,” Hunter said, frustrated with his fumbling fingers.

  Oh, Jesus. Dear God, Casey thought. Please, don’t do that. You don’t know what you’re doing to me.

  Casey couldn’t help but notice how hard Hunter had become in the process.

  “Can’t open these,” Hunter said, laughing.

  Casey swallowed, his throat dry. “Let me help.”

  “Okay. Yeah,” Hunter said, biting his lip in frustration.

  Casey collapsed on the floor and crawled over to Hunter on his knees.

  Just breathe. He just needs help unbuttoning, that’s all. Don’t do anything you’ll regret and for the love of God, don’t take advantage of him. He’ll never speak to you again.

  Casey had to keep his anxious hands from trembling as he reached Hunter. The two of them locked eyes.

  Hunter was drenched in sweat; maybe it was because he was drunk, maybe it was because it was fucking hot in the living room, or maybe it was something else.

  Hunter flashed a smile at him.

  “Sorry,” Hunter said.

  His lips were so plump and moist, Casey wanted nothing more than to suck them with a hot wet kiss—or anything else Hunter wanted to offer him.

  Stop it, Casey told himself. Just help him out.

  But when Hunter’s tongue traced his front teeth and the woodsy aroma of beer and hot sweat made its way to Casey’s nostrils, it turned him on, big time. His erection pressed painfully against his zipper.

  “No problem,” Casey answered, his hands resting in Hunter’s groin area as he started to unbutton. “They are tight,” Casey chuckled.

  “Go ahead,” Hunter said, thrusting his crotch forward to make it easier.

  Casey popped those buttons open until he got to nearly the last one and that’s when it happened, Hunter’s cock popped out as well.

  It was semi-hard and thick.

  “Sorry,” Hunter said, trying to stuff it back in his boxers, as if teasing him, daring him to pull it out again.

  “No, it’s -- it’s ... it’s okay.” Casey said, embarrassed. He tried to keep his eyes off of it and ignored his own growing cock which was rock hard.

  “Help me get off ... I mean, get them off?” Hunter asked, slurring his words as he pulled his pants down.

  Casey took both hands on either side of the jeans.

  “Pull it,” Hunter said. Something in his voice was very dominate which only turned Casey on more.

  He obeyed, pulling the tight jeans off, his hands sliding down Hunter’s sweaty muscular thighs to his hairy thick calves and down to his socks.

  Hunter stood up as Casey went down on his knees. He swallowed hard at the sight of Casey kneeling there, head perfectly poised, as if ready to just open his mouth...

  Casey kept his eyes down. He couldn’t look up, not knowing that Hunter was in a t-shirt and boxers. Boxers that housed a bulge that he was far too interested in. His face was in the perfect height to pull Hunter’s cock out and give him the blow job of his life. Jesus Christ, Casey thought, fighting the urge.

  He could smell Hunter’s aroma wafting down on him.

  “Hey, Casey,” Hunter sai
d, soft and masculine, his voice rumbling.

  Casey swallowed, looking up.

  “While you’re down there, can you get me off?”

  “What?” Casey asked, his voice cracking. He flushed.

  “I mean my socks. Can you get my socks off?” Hunter said. He tugged at his t-shirt, pulling it off and tossing it aside.

  “Sure,” Casey said.

  “Should I sit down?”

  “If you want.”

  Hunter collapsed onto the couch and let out a moan. “Feels good,” he said.

  He looked good. Those boxers, that body. Casey wanted to run his tongue over each and every tattoo. His legs opened as Casey removed his socks one by one. Casey knew it was a little kinky but he liked the sweaty smell of a real man’s feet.

  For as masculine as he was, Hunter was good at keeping himself clean. The scent was intoxicating.

  “Ow.” Hunter winced.

  “What is it?” Casey paused.

  “My legs are sore. Been riding too much, I guess,” he said.

  “Where?” Casey asked. “Here?” He placed his warm hands onto Hunter’s legs and kneaded the knots he felt under the skin.

  “Ooh. Yeah, right there. Thanks, man.” Hunter said, closing his eyes.

  Casey massaged his calf up and down, just the way Hunter liked it. His hands travelled from his leg to his thighs.

  “This all right?” Casey asked.

  “Yeah, it’s perfect,” Hunter said, thrusting his crotch forward once again as he became more comfortable.

  Casey threw himself into the massage, gripping and sliding, gripping and sliding.

  “Hey Casey,” Hunter said.

  “Yeah?” Casey responded.

  “It’s a little dry. Got any oil?” Hunter suggested.

  Oh, my God, Casey thought. He was going to cream in his shorts. Everything Hunter said could be explained away as perfectly innocent, even while it brought forth some deliciously filthy alternative ideas.

  “Sure,” Casey said. He looked around for lotion in the downstairs bathroom cabinet. Nothing.

  Dammit.

  He didn’t want to take the time to run upstairs and check too. He wasn’t sure how long this moment was going to last and he wanted to enjoy it while he could. There was something in the kitchen that could work. “All you’ve got is olive oil,” Casey said.

  “Me? It’s our house now. It’s both of ours,” Hunter slurred.

  Casey smiled at the thought as he hurried into the kitchen and grabbed the bottle from the cupboard.

  “Whatever works,” Hunter said, his head leaned back.

  Casey fell back to his knees and flipped open the bottle of olive oil. He poured it on his hands, dripping down his wrists, as he worked his way from the back of Hunter’s calf to his thighs. Pressing and sliding, pressing and sliding.

  Soon, Casey found his way to Hunter’s inner thighs.

  “That good?” Casey asked.

  “It’s okay. You can keep going, if you want,” Hunter said, breathing in.

  Oh, he very much wanted to keep going. Casey started to move his hands into uncharted territory when a loud and familiar ringtone cut through the air. He froze.

  Shit.

  “You wanna get that?” Hunter slurred. “Callin’ late. Might be important.”

  “No.” Casey shook his head. He slid his hands back down Hunter’s legs. “It’s fine.”

  “You should get it,” Hunter insisted as the phone continued to ring. “How do you know it’s not about your mom?”

  Casey knew he could lie, but it wouldn’t be right. So even though the truth was going to ruin what they’d had going, he said it. “It’s McDermott’s ringtone.”

  “Oh.” Hunter pushed himself up into a more upright position. “He still has his own ringtone.”

  Casey sat back on his heels. “I just never took him out of my phone.”

  Hunter nodded and stood. He swayed slightly, but caught himself. His voice was surprisingly sober sounding as he said, “You might wanna think about why that is, Casey.”

  The phone stopped ringing, but Casey made no move towards it. All he could do was watching Hunter trudge towards the steps and then disappear upstairs, leaving Casey with that statement ringing in his ears and questions following after. Questions that were going to need answered, and soon.

  To find out what happens next, click here

  Other books by Jamie Lake

  (click below to view)

  Marked for Love Book 1

  Marked for Love Book 2

  Bad Boy: Naughty at Night Book 1

  Bad Boy: Naughty at Night Book 2

  Stay Always Book 1

  Boyfriend for Rent Book 1

  The Trainer Book 2

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