by Mia Kerick
He pushes me back a few inches so he can spread lather from my neck to my chest to my groin. “So hard…So ready for me.”
“Y-yes.” This one simple word takes great effort to speak.
Again, he reaches up and soon freshly lathered hands begin to pull on my cock, making my knees weak. He continues this massage until I’m pushing into his hand. “Don’t come yet.” A murmured command.
“O-okay… I need to touch you too.”
Despite the water pooling in my eyes, I lift my head to look at Bodie’s face. He seems calm, even serene. “Then touch me.”
I hate to break the spell by reaching for the soap, but it’s a necessary move. I fill my palms with the liquid and go to work. At first, I focus on his shoulders; very honestly, for both of our pleasure. I’m mesmerized by the sheer power of them. I find myself studying their impressive width when Bodie works the door at Surf’s Up, as he runs before me along the beach, when he stands at the kitchen sink in a thin, white T-shirt, scrubbing the breakfast dishes. And now my hands are on them. Pressing and squeezing.
“So good.” He closes his eyes.
Another subject of my constant awe is his back. I’ve never seen a back so capable of lifting and loading. One that ripples powerfully with every movement. I explore each ridge with soapy hands. I want so much to cup his muscled ass but again resist the urge. I’ve come to know that actions so bold cause the slight inward curl of his body that shelters him from me. And I’ve come to dread that sight. “Stand back a bit. I want to see all of you.”
Bodie obeys easily, never shy about letting me see his body. Before I study the contours of his chest, though, I look into his eyes. It’s dark outside; only the moonlight allows me any sight at all. And what I find in his gaze is warmth, intense need, and enough faith in me to allow me to press on. More soap, and then the exploration of a chest so strapping, my knees weaken.
As my efforts at lathering sink down to his belly, his hands find mine. And he guides the fingers of one hand to wrap around his cock. My other hand he places on his balls, around which my fingers instinctively curl. As I stroke him, he rests his hand atop mine, allowing him the control he needs to feel pleasure without fear. And a few seconds later, he reaches out to take my dick in his hand. We match our movements. Effortlessly, our breathing unites.
“Jesus Christ…” I murmur.
“Nope, it’s just me,” he quips, and I start to come.
Bodie’s not far behind, and he loses himself to the extent that he abandons my hand on his cock to brace himself against the wooden walls of the shower stall.
“Fucking amazing,” I utter, collapsing against his chest.
“That’s the truth.”
His arms come around me, readily supporting the leaning weight of my body, and for a moment I forget about every last one of my troubles. But when he steps back, snatches my wrist, examines the claw marks in the moonlight, and sets to work at scrubbing them, a few cares drift back.
Wrapped in towels, hair dripping down our backs, and with Hugo between us, we drink bottles of beer on the couch.
“You hungry?” I ask. “I can grab some of your snacks. Maybe peanut butter crackers?”
“Just hungry for you.”
“You always know what to say.”
“My mama raised me right.”
At his words, a gulf opens between us. “Until she left you.”
“Yeah, ’til then.”
“Why did she do it?” I’m sure he’s asked himself this very question a million times.
“I wish I knew. Best guess is she needed her man more than she loved her son.”
“But it didn’t matter to her what kind of a man he was, did it?”
He shakes his head. “Guess it didn’t.”
“Have you seen your mother since?” I hope this isn’t overkill in the question department.
“Nah, she never tried. But she and Wilkins screwed up my head so bad, I would’ve refused.”
“How long did you live with your aunt?”
“’Til I graduated high school. Then I went off on my own. Did any kind of job that called for no skill. Was pretty easy to get hired, seeing as I’m big. Ya know, and strong.”
“What kind of work have you done?”
“Way too much furniture moving.” He squeezes my knee. “Construction. Some restaurant work—behind the scenes shit. Bouncer at bars. Not too exciting, but it kept me outta trouble and paid okay over the past ten years.” He tilts his head, and adds, “I like working at those big home improvement stores, though.”
“Always in New England?”
“I traveled out west some. Even saw California. But I worked mostly around here. Never near where I grew up, though. Stayed the fuck away from there.”
I nod. “And I know you haven’t had a lover, but what about a boyfriend?” This time, a more personal question.
He shakes his head. The auburn curls bounce against his neck and make me want to touch them, which is really nothing new. “Just you.”
Still damp from the shower, I’m suddenly sweating. Bodie thinks of me as his boyfriend—not just his housemate or a friend with benefits. “Uh…how did you keep the guys at bay?”
“Truth is, it was harder to keep the women off me. Guess nobody figured I was gay.”
“I see.”
“You had boyfriends. Jack included.” It’s a statement of fact, not an accusation, but I cringe.
“Yes. Can’t figure out what I saw in him. He’s pretty awful.”
“He’s easy on the eyes.”
“That shouldn’t have been enough.”
“Agreed.”
“I had one boyfriend in high school and a couple after that. Never been much of a relationship person, I guess. Being alone doesn’t faze me.”
“Sounds like you aren’t just with me ’cause we fell together.”
“No. You’re not a boyfriend of convenience,” I confirm. Although sharing a house does have its rewards.
“Good.”
“It is good. We’re good together.” Looks like I’m throwing caution to the wind.
Bodie isn’t one to stare me down as I talk—to constantly seek to read my expression. In fact, until this point his gaze has been centered on Hugo. But he lifts his eyes to meet my gaze. In the light, they’re a stunning ecru, with a wide gap of chalk white beneath them. Bedroom eyes, someone once told me.
He nods, just once. “We sure as shit are.”
I want to ask if he’ll stay. I want to list a dozen other places he could work when his time at Surf’s Up is complete. But I don’t. This needs to be done in his time and in his way. I suffered through an upbringing where my every move was questioned and manipulated. I won’t do that to Bodie.
“Can I ask you something?” His gaze remains fixed on me.
“Of course.”
“I met your mom. Where’s your dad?”
“He lives here, on the island.”
“You ever see him?”
“Yeah. Every once in a while. We aren’t close,” I admit, “but we get along well enough. At least, we’ve gotten along since my parents divorced after I graduated from high school.”
“Is he the same as your mom—in the way he treats you?”
“Controlling as hell?” I shake my head. “No. He never cared if I wore boxers or briefs.”
“And your mother did?”
“She still does. Mom cares about all of the minute details. I keep her at more than an arm’s length. But Dad, he’s fine. He’s lending me money for the VW, after I come up with a good faith down payment. “
“Which is where I come in.”
“It was the motivation for a housemate.”
“So glad you fell in love with that little car.”
I wonder if Bodie would be glad to learn I’m falling in love with him. For me, sex is not a first, but this is.
As I get ready for bed in the bathroom, my mind wanders to the specifics of our new bond. I never asked for speci
fics about what happened with that Wilkins guy who forced his attentions on a youthful Bodie. If he wanted me to know, he’d tell me. I’m fairly sure of that. But now I have an idea of his life story, if only a vague one.
His life has been lonely because the expectation of rejection made it necessary. Mine has been solitary to avoid confrontation with people like Mom. Is it mere coincidence that both of our mothers are so lacking in proper parental instincts? They failed to love and protect us as mothers should. And our fathers—Bodie’s was entirely absent, from what I gather. Mine was missing in action when I needed his intervention.
Can two men with such vast gaps in nurture come together in a loving relationship?
Another question I can’t answer tonight.
I spit my mouthwash in the sink, wipe my face with a pink towel, and head for my room.
Chapter 16
“Time for fireworks?” I ask when Bodie joins me in my bedroom. I sound so eager. Probably because I am.
We tend to spend more nights in my room than his as my bed is bigger and of better quality. In other words, there’s more room to move and it creaks less when used for activities other than sleep. I lie on my side between the crisp sheets and observe scarlet heat rise up his neck, landing in the tawny scruff on his cheeks.
“I sure hope so.” He dips his head almost shyly before glancing at me. And then he allows an undeniably sweet smile.
I really have no idea what “fireworks” means to Bodie; I try to take each new development in our physical relationship as a singular gift from him to me, and given back in my unique manner. I have no expectations that what will occur between us intimately will resemble what happened with the other men in my life. And this is exactly how I want it.
Take it as it comes, I remind myself when he tosses his towel onto the floor and climbs into bed beside me. He props up his pillow and leans against the headboard.
“Been waiting for tonight,” he admits, his voice hushed.
“Why is that?”
“Not sure I should say. Maybe I’m just supposed to…do.”
I rest my head on my pillow and gaze up into his eyes. “Talking about our physical relationship is important. For many reasons. So we know where each other’s heads are. And for our safety.”
He nods. “Never been the world’s best in the talking department.”
“You do fine, Bodie.” He does well enough, because although he may not be eloquent, he’s honest.
“I was hoping to make love to you tonight, Ollie.” Surprisingly, his gaze stays pinned to mine as he makes this declaration. He doesn’t even blink. “And I’m seriously hoping you’ll see fireworks.”
“Oh.”
“Not if you aren’t ready, though. I don’t want it if you don’t want it too.”
“I want it.” I’m further surprised at my breathy tone. “I’m ready.”
“I want so bad to be inside you.”
“That’s also what I’d like.”
A rush of breath shoots from his lungs. Relief, maybe, that we’re on the same page in terms of what we want. Or maybe it’s from that peculiar feeling when anticipation collides with anxiety.
“So glad.” His gaze shifts to the window. “But this ain’t something I’m good at, ya know.”
“How do you know that?” I ask. “You could be a master in the art of lovemaking.”
“Shit. Never thought of it as an art.” His shoulders fall.
“Don’t think about the details too much, then.”
“Tall order, Oliver.”
Maybe dwelling on the possibilities is messing with his confidence. Time to talk business. “I have condoms in the bathroom.”
Bodie nods and the redness on his face flairs. “You always wore condoms in the past, right? And you got tested after Jack.”
“All true.”
“And I never been with anybody.”
I nod.
“Do I need to wear a condom?”
I’ve never been with a man without a barrier between us, but… “I think it’d be safe without one.”
“Me too.” He glances at the bedside table. “I stuck lube in there when you were in the bathroom.”
My blush now matches his. “You’re a very clever man. “
He laughs. “Hope I’m clever enough to make you see fiery explosions.”
“The feeling is mutual.”
He slides down beside me. “You were right. Talking about this shit is good.”
“Not a mood-wrecker?”
“Nah. Kind of helps me know where your head’s at, like you said.”
“Not completely. I mean, part of that is knowing…” I hesitate, debating as to whether I really want to say this. “Knowing how we feel about each other.”
“Oh yeah, right.” He turns on his side and stares into my eyes. His lips pull tight and his forehead creases. “I’m crazy about you.”
What did I ever do to deserve this man? My mouth falls open.
“And you, sir…” he prompts. “How do you feel about me?” A tiny drop of perspiration slides from his temple down the side of his face. My answer matters to him. And profoundly so.
Should I be honest? I’m not certain whether the truth will draw us closer or drive him from me.
“You’re the best thing that has happened to me in a very long time,” I admit.
He wipes the wetness from his face with his shoulder. “Ever?”
Is he the best thing to ever happen to me?
I have no clue why, but tears spring to my eyes. And then they have the gall to roll down my cheeks. All I can do is bite my lip to keep it from trembling. “Yes. Ever.”
At that, Bodie dives onto me, exuberant with desire and joy and a gleeful satisfaction. I smile as I kiss him, which I hope he doesn’t take the wrong way. I’m just exuberant too, in my own more reserved way.
Our kissing soon changes from frantic to steady and purposeful. Kisses of intention. Bodie may not be experienced in this arena, but his sheer passion more than makes up for it. My smile fades into lax awe as he probes the shallows of my mouth with his tongue.
“Got no real plan here. Just gonna do what feels right,” Bodie informs me between kisses. And then he slides closer. “That sound cool?”
“Uh-huh,” I reply, trying to catch my breath.
He explores my chest in such a way that I feel simultaneously cherished and ravaged. My nipples are flicked and sucked, my belly is nibbled and teased.
I can’t help but gasp. “Bodie…you said you weren’t experienced…but you seem to have a handle on things.”
“I’m just going with my gut,” he replies and refocuses his attention on the underside of my jaw.
I lie almost passively as he burrows his face into the crook of my neck. The tiny bites urge me to both push him away and pull him in. And I want to run my fingers through his hair, slide my palms from his shoulders to his chest and down to his cock, and then stroke him until he loses control. But I temper my urges. I need to see how Bodie wants this to unfold. Time is on my side; this is just the first of many times we’ll be together.
He reaches across me to the bedside table, pulls open the drawer, and grabs the tube he stashed there earlier. When I hear the snap of the cap, goose bumps rise on my arms, as I know this is real. Bodie’s going to make love to me.
“Gonna try to take it slow, but I gotta tell ya, I’m too damn ready.”
I want to say something charming, or even remotely intelligent, but all I can do is nod.
Gently, he rolls me onto my stomach, and though hidden by the sheets, I feel exposed. Without warning, he slides cool, dripping fingers between my ass cheeks, finds my hole, and presses boldly inside, all the while patting the top of my thigh with his other hand. Like a cowboy soothing an unbroken horse.
“Oh, Christ, Bodie…” I murmur as he moves the single finger in and out, slowly, but with a deliberateness I can’t miss.
He pulls out, adds more lube, and enters me again with an additional
finger. “That good?”
“Uh-huh.” I feel distinctly like a science experiment.
“I want you so bad.” He clearly feels differently.
“Then kiss me,” I urge. “It’ll help get me ready.”
Bodie manages to rearrange our bodies so that he can kiss my lips while also stretching me open with his fingers. And his ardent kissing does the trick. I forget the novelty this must be for Bodie and begin to pant.
“Are you ready for me?” I’ve never actually been asked this question before. Not so directly. “Or do you need some more opening up?”
I shake my head, then nod, then shrug. Not a particularly coherent response, but Bodie seems to get the picture, pulling his fingers from me.
He kisses my cheek and kneels behind me, between my open legs. He lifts my ass in the air and spreads my cheeks with a finger and thumb. “You sure you’re ready?” he asks again. “’Cause, like I said, I’m almost too ready.”
Face on the pillow, I smother a smile. Cowboy, take me away… “I’m ready for you.”
“Oh, thank you…thank you.” He guides his dick to my ass and pushes inside, far less tentatively than I’d expect of a virgin.
And suddenly I’m overwhelmed, both physically and emotionally. “Bodie!”
“Oh, fuck. Sorry.” He freezes, halfway inside me.
“Don’t stop now…I need more.” I literally squeak this request.
“I just…I just don’t want to hurt you.” He gulps but remains still as a statue. “How does it feel?”
“It doesn’t hurt. Just feels full …stretched out. I want you all the way in.”
He grabs my hips and pushes again and then again until he fills me. “Jesus, Ollie, this is the best thing I ever felt!” I can hear his bliss. “I’m gonna want to do this again later, ’kay?”
“Let’s get it done this time first.” Another squeaky request.
“Yeah…yeah, right.” He pulls nearly all the way out, and then, rather haltingly, reclaims every inch he vacated. “You like it?”
“Oh, yes…” I’ve never before talked so much during sex. But still, the experience is more intimate than anything else. Ever.
