by Eli Easton
But you can’t stand outside a restaurant forever. And you can’t stand on the cusp of almost having it all. You have to take the chance and step forward.
Besides, I had good reason to move the night along.
“Yeah,” I said. “Let’s eat.”
Papa Al’s was pleasant. The waitress was friendly with Mack, and she made sure we had everything we needed. But looking at Mack across the small table, all I was able to think about was that we’d soon be alone. All night.
I was so ready for this. I was miles past ready.
After dinner, I followed Mack the few blocks to his place. Inside, he took my coat and hung it in the hall closet. Then he went to a thermostat on the wall and cranked up the heat.
He turned to me and stuck his hands in his jean pockets. He had on a thick red shirt in a sueded fabric. It did nice things for his curly brown hair and eyes, and for those continental shoulders.
“Want something to drink? I’ve got beer or stuff to make rum and Coke.”
I considered it. I could definitely use a little Dutch courage. “Rum and Coke sounds good.”
“You got it.”
He went into the kitchen. I followed and watched him make two drinks. He was a bit heavy on the rum. Good. He handed me a glass.
“To the end of the semester,” I said, holding my glass up for him to bonk with his.
He tapped it with a soft chink. “To your article on St. Mark’s.”
I took in a sharp breath. “You read it?”
“Of course I read it. It was a nice piece. Sharon was happy. They’ve been getting lots of calls and donations.”
“Good. That’s good.” I nodded, relieved.
The second part of the article had played up the surprise guest appearance of the Badgers wrestling team as the wait staff, poked subtle fun at the spectacle of Mack McDonall as Santa—without using the phrase “gentle giant,” piled on stories about and quotes from the kids, and had a schmaltzy wrap-up full of holiday spirit. Randall had been pleased with it.
“You’re a talented writer, Gabe,” Mack said, his face serious. “I could… feel you behind the words. You put heart into it. You’ll make a great journalist.”
“You honestly think so?”
Mack’s praise meant everything to me. Because he was legit amazing at a few different things. And I’d sat in a huge crowd and cheered for him, but I’d never gotten a chance to show him why he should admire me.
Mack nodded, one corner of his mouth tugged up as if amused. “Yeah, I honestly think so. Cross my heart and hope to die. Stick a finger in my eye.”
I snorted. “Okay, okay. It’s just… I’m not sure how I feel about the article. It’s fine but… I feel a little bad for deliberately lying. I know there was a good reason. But it wasn’t exactly prize journalism.”
Mack frowned. “You didn’t lie. You just put the emphasis where it belonged—on St. Mark’s and the kids.”
“That’s true, I guess.”
But when I thought about it, Mack was right. So was mi mama. At the end of the day, “outing Santa” was a gimmick that would have been a momentary sensation at best, and it would have distracted from the real point of the charity event. Maybe finding the heart of a story was less about telling everything you know or even finding that catchy angle and more about focusing on the right details, the ones that truly matter, and finding a way to share them from your gut.
Wow. That sounded much harder than finding a gimmick. I hoped I was up to it.
I hummed thoughtfully and studied Mack’s face. “You were pretty cute with those kids, you know. I heard ovaries exploding all around me.”
Mack just snorted.
“What did Josh say to you, by the way? The little guy with Sasha.”
Mack got a funny smile. “He wanted me to get Sasha whatever she asked for. Said she could have his wish too.”
“Aw! How cute is that?”
“Yeah,” Mack said gruffly. “Bet he was impressed as hell when she opened her gift, and she got the Ikuzi doll she wanted. Like that.” He snapped his fingers.
“Because you’re just that good a Santa Claus.”
“Yup. I totally rocked it.”
“Seriously, it’s awesome that you and Sharon coordinate all that. Given how busy you both are.”
He shrugged. “Eh. Those kids need a little magic at Christmas.”
He took a big gulp of his drink. “Now why don’t you finish that.” He nodded at my glass. There was a spark of heat in his eyes that I was very happy to see.
“Yes, sir,” I said. But I ran my tongue around the edge of the glass instead of drinking it, teasing him.
His eyes burned brighter, and he put down his glass very deliberately. From the look on his face, I was about to be mauled.
I half gasped, half laughed in delight and tossed the rest of the drink back, eager to get it on board before it was ripped out of my hand. My tongue went slightly numb and my body warmed. Alcohol was awesome.
“Do you want to—” I began.
Mack pounced. He somehow got an arm between my legs and hoisted. The next thing I knew, he was striding through the house with me over one shoulder. I didn’t have time to protest before we were in a bedroom and I was tossed on the bed.
I looked around. This had to be Mack’s room. The bed, with its blue chenille cover, was ginormous. A bedside lamp cast a warm glow, and there was a bookcase overflowing with paperbacks. I didn’t have much time to dissect the place, though, because Mack was toeing off his shoes and peeling off his shirt. And that got my attention.
My jaw dropped open. Dios mio, that body. I’d seen Mack in a singlet, but it was different seeing his chest completely bare, from this close up and in the soft yellow light of the room. He was ripped, with a cobblestone road of a six-pack and big slabs of oblique muscles at his hips. Big, rounded pecs and shoulders, winter pale skin, and a generous smattering of dark hair were all on display. There were just… miles and miles of man. My mouth went dry.
Mack paused, hand on his belt buckle, one eyebrow raised. “Gabe? It’s been almost three years since I’ve had sex with another person. If you aren’t undressed by the time I’m out of these jeans, you can kiss those clothes goodbye because they will be ripped from your body.”
“Oh. I. Okay.” I found the will to move. I got my clothes off so fast you’d think they were infested with fire ants.
Naked, I scooted back on the huge bed, trying to find something to anchor myself with. Because Mack stood there like some primeval god, and he watched me like I was lunch. I finally let my gaze fall to his huge cock, and I gulped. I’d felt it the other night, but seeing it was a whole other matter. It didn’t even look completely hard and it was massive, especially at the thick base. I’d only ever seen something that big in porn.
“Guess you weren’t kidding about the ten inches.” I laughed nervously.
I wanted him like crazy, but that thing? That was intimidating. It was sort of like being in an eating contest where a plate with fifty hot dogs was put down in front of you. No matter how much you loved hot dogs, there was every chance you’d be in pain by the time you ate the last one.
But when Mack climbed onto the bed, he advanced slowly, and his hand was gentle as it moved up my thigh. “Hey. Gabe. We’ve got this.”
“Yeah?” I looked into his eyes. The tenderness I saw there reminded me that I knew Mack. He wouldn’t be thoughtless or selfish or cruel—not in this. Not with me.
“Yup.” He lay down beside me, pulled me close, and kissed me.
Dios, that was good. All that naked skin, all that firm flesh, all that Mack. And this time, we wouldn’t have to stop. Thank God.
I forgot to be worried. With our height difference removed, I could kiss him the way I wanted to—his mouth, his face, his ears, his neck. He smelled faintly of a woodsy bodywash that was delicious. I could touch him the way I’d dreamed about—explore all that muscle, pinch his large brown nipples to hear him groan, toy with the
dark hair on his chest. I teased his furry stomach with my fingertips until he let out a pained sound, took my hand, and placed it over rigid flesh.
Damn. That was so much cock. I moaned into his mouth as he moved my hand up and down. He squeezed my fingers tight, showing me how he liked it, and I jerked him slow. That big body shivered.
He tore his mouth away from mine to breathe. “Gabe. Christ, this feels good.”
I loved how his voice trembled already. It did wonders for my self-confidence. And suddenly, I appreciated the prize that was in my grasp. This bounty of nature was mine, and I wanted it all.
I pushed my way down his body until my mouth met my hand. Up close, his cock looked thick and meaty and oh-so lickable. I tested that theory, gripping him tight at the base and letting my tongue explore.
“Goddamn, Gabe,” Mack moaned. He was on his side and I could feel he wanted to thrust, but he grabbed my shoulder instead.
I teased him as long as I could bear to—with long licks and openmouthed kisses. But I gave in before he begged for mercy. I wanted badly to feel the weight of him on my tongue, to see how much I could take. I managed four or five inches, but it was still good, or at least it worked for me. He filled me completely, and that made the drag and suck better, snugger. I loved the feeling of being taken over by him, of losing myself to it. I used my hand to work the base of him and soon the tension in his body grew. His thighs trembled, and the hand that held my shoulder gripped almost painfully tight.
“Gabe.” He gently pushed me back.
I looked up at him. “You wanna come?”
“Not yet. Get your ass up here.”
I decided not to take him literally and got my mouth up there instead. He cupped the back of my neck and kissed me deeply, rolling partially on top of me. I could tell he was holding back, not wanting to crush me, and suddenly I needed more. I was desperate from sucking his cock. My own dick throbbed and demanded friction. So I tugged him all the way over me, spreading my thighs to let him lie between them, pulling him down hard, fingers digging into his back. Ignoring my urgency, he pushed up on one hand to look at me.
“Wait. How do you like it?” His voice was wrecked—deep and shaky. Dios.
“Anything. Both. My, um, the one guy I dated, we switched it up all the time. I like both.”
“Sounds good to me,” Mack said.
I stared up at him, my mouth falling open.
Mack quirked an eyebrow at me as if to say You didn’t expect that, did you?
The idea of fucking that body, of bending Mack over, or spreading him out below me, short-circuited my brain.
“Gabe?” Mack was starting to look concerned.
“O-okay. We can switch it up. But, um, for now, do you think you could, maybe, go all Mountain on me?” I cringed inwardly, hoping he wouldn’t take offense. But that’s what I wanted, what I needed. I wanted to be Mackified. I wanted to be left a puddle of goo on the ground where Mack McDonall had been.
Mack’s nostrils flared, but he kept his expression neutral. “Sure you’re ready for that? I thought you were worried about my size. You don’t have to do that tonight. We can just fool around.” He reached down between us and stroked my cock.
“Oh, Dios.” I arched on the bed, about ready to blow my load right there. It was the first time he’d touched me, and that large, rough hand was fucking magic.
“I-I know. And I was a little… uh, shocked. At first. But I’ve had you in my mouth now, and that makes me really want… Please. Mack.”
I saw him swallow. “I’ve only ever done that once. Most guys—”
“Oh madre de Dios. Then we have to. If we prep, I’ll be fine. But I need you to fuck me with that thing.”
As if a switch had been thrown, Mack growled and took over. He got up on his knees and flipped me. For a second, I was actually airborne, like a pancake, before landing on the mattress on my belly with a grunt. He pulled my hips up and fondled the cheeks of my ass, running a thumb down my crack and making me shudder.
“You sure? Fuck, Gabe, you’re killing me.”
“You’ve got a condom and lube, don’t you?” I gritted out. I couldn’t help reaching down and giving myself a squeeze.
He fumbled with the drawer next the bed and produced a bottle of lube and a foil packet. Oh, thank fuck. He didn’t ask me again, just used his thumbs, and lots of slick, to torment me until I was blithering a stream of half-conscious curses and endearments. Mi vida. Mi corazón. Oh God. Dios mio. Goddamn it. Fuck me, Mack. Come on. Venga!
I had no idea what even came out of my mouth.
Finally, finally, he pushed inside, slow but as steady and relentless as a machine piston. I wasn’t even capable of speech at that point. I lowered my head and bit the pillow, canting my hips in invitation while he split me in two. There was a bright ache, the way your lungs burn when you hold your breath but, oh wondrous flesh! my body stretched around him, drawing him in.
Bodies were fucking miraculous.
When he was all the way inside me, he rubbed my back. His breathing was loud and wild. “You okay?”
“Hell yeah.” My voice was like sandpaper.
“Jesus Christ. You’re so hot inside, Gabe. It’s… it’s fucking perfect.” He sounded sincere and overcome, like he just couldn’t believe it.
I thrilled at the words. I wanted to be perfect for Mack. I wanted to give him everything. I wanted to take everything. But most of all, at that very second? I wanted to be pounded until I came.
“Go, mi amado,” I told him, pushing back.
Mack went. He started to move and was soon driving into me like he go right through my bones. It was an amazing sensation. My ass was never in any doubt that it was stuffed to the gills. But the ache eased and I could feel him everywhere. There was no challenge in finding my prostate, because Mack pressed against everything. No, he slammed against everything, and I swear to God, my eyes rolled back in my head.
I spread my thighs farther, kept my head down, and reached back to him with my hands. I wasn’t sure why, I just needed to touch him, needed to be grounded in him, to hang the fuck on. He grabbed both my hands, interlacing our fingers, and used that leverage to pound into me even harder, pulling me back as he thrust into me.
At some point, I began to scream, the tension inside me almost unbearable. It felt like there was clockwork inside me, and it was being wound and wound and wound, the pleasure and pressure both almost more than I could stand.
And then I felt my balls tighten and an orgasm was right there, even without being touched. It was like a maddening itch that was right on the verge of scratching itself. I chased it, gave into it, and a pulsing began that was less intense than a regular orgasm, but it went on and on and fucking on, like surfing on an endless wave.
I was still twitching when Mack lowered me gently to the mattress and landed beside me, his skin slick with sweat. I could feel the rapid firing of his heart where our upper arms touched.
“Good God,” he breathed, wiping his face. “You okay?”
“Immffah,” I muttered. I tried again. “I’m fine.”
I rolled onto my side and looked down at the blue chenille cover. There was a huge wet spot. “I’m not sure exactly what just happened to my body, but I think you forced out every bit of seminal fluid I had.”
Mack looked down. He got a cheeky smile. “Hands-free too.” He pulled off the condom and tossed it in a trash can near the bed.
“Oh, so you’re proud? I’ll probably never be able to come again. You drained my inner reservoir for life,” I teased.
He put an arm around me and drew me in. I went, even though that put me back on the wet spot. It was worth it.
“The one time I did that before, the guy obviously wasn’t comfortable. Thank you for being such a trooper.” He kissed my brow. “It really was okay for you?”
“Are you kidding me? You’ve ruined me for life. I love that thing. I’ll have to rest a few days between bouts, but I’m totally down for more of th
at.”
I felt Mack smile against my forehead. Then he rolled toward me and slung his other arm around me, cupped my back hard. His hand was big and sweaty and, I thought, a little possessive.
“I’d like that.”
Simple words. But between us was something like a promise, something like a beginning.
On December 23rd, Mack, his dad, and I arrived at the Middleton Municipal Airport, a small airport that offered chartered flights and flying lessons. Finals were over, my article had been turned in for my Investigative Journalism class, and I was off work until the New Year. I should have been relaxed. But I was nervous about flying in a private plane—also known as a teeny tiny death tube. Mack said he and Jim had flown with George many times before, so I didn’t want to act like a wuss.
The sight of the little Cessna did nothing to reassure me. Could that thing handle the weight of two massive McDonalls, George, and me too? Maybe I’d tip them over the limit and we’d spiral into Lake Michigan. Talk about a Christmas surprise. At least the route from Madison, Wisconsin, to Mackinac Island was clear of big, frozen mountains to crash into. That’s always the way it happens in the movies.
Despite my misgivings, it was hard not to thaw when I saw how excited everyone else was for the trip. Mack and Jim both gave George a hug when we reached the plane. It wasn’t a one-armed bro hug either, but a real, back-slapping, “I appreciate you” kind of hug. They were all in such a good mood and spiffed up for the occasion.
Jim McDonall, normally a rough-looking guy, was dressed up fancy in pressed black trousers, a white shirt, red tie, and a black wool coat. Mack wore new dark blue jeans and a red wool sweater under his green anorak. And George had on a button-down red and green plaid shirt and brown trousers under a bomber jacket. All three of them were grinning.
George turned to me and held out his hand. “It’s nice to see you again, Gabe. I hear you’ve been making Mack a very happy man.”
“Um.” I shot a look at Mack, but he just shrugged as if to say You’re on your own.
“Well, it’s early days. You know. I think I’ve gotten him to happy, we’re still working on very happy, but I have a good feeling about the new year,” I joked.
