“Here,” he says, as I buck into his touch. “This is where my mind went. The sun on your skin, your cock in my hand, your mouth right here – just like this – begging to be kissed.”
I moan, wanting his tongue, his hands, his body. As we kiss I fumble at his clothes, baring his ass. When I pull him in, his cock against mine, he cries out into my mouth. “Oh God, I love you,” he says, his breath hard and hitchy.
“I know. I love you, too.” I can’t stop. At the back of my mind is the thought that any moment some happy hiker might round the corner and come upon us, half naked and half crazed in all our sweaty, sexy glory. I lick my palm to get a better grip on him and he lets out one of those little stuttering moans that always make my blood race faster. His eyes are almost black and he looks at me the same way I look at him in these moments – like I’m his whole world, the only one he’ll ever need or want.
He shudders and sticks out a hand to support himself on the tree behind me. His other hand is on my balls, cupping without pressure, as if my touch were enough to make him forget what he was doing even while he was doing it.
“Come on me,” I say, as I jerk him closer to the edge. “Come all over me. Show me how much you want me.”
Finn leans forward, his forehead against mine. His breath catches in a gasp and I feel him spurt – first against my belly and then hot against the shaft of my cock. His slack fingers come back to life and he takes me in hand - still moaning through the aftershocks the whole time – and it’s so slippery and delicious that I go off like a firework.
He grinds against me, sticky and softening, and I feel his smile in his kiss. “Jesus,” he whispers. “And they say you should never act out your fantasies.”
“Why?” I press my back against the tree. My knees feel like they’re about to fold out from under me. He takes hold of my hip, holding me up, and I wonder if his fingertips are going to find the same bruises they left there last night. I’m so in love that it’s frankly fucking stupid.
“They say if you do it you’ll be disappointed.”
“And are you?”
He laughs and kisses my ear. “What do you think? Come on – let’s go. Before someone sees us.”
“Please tell me we’re not going to run.” I don’t think my knees could take it. That’s the hallmark of really great sex right there – when you try to walk afterwards and your legs just want nothing to do with it.
We clean up as best we can and head down the hillside, hand in sticky hand. Already I’m thinking of the shower we’ll share when we get back to the cabin, about how he’ll lean back into my touch while I shampoo his hair, his ass gently bumping me as the water streams down over and between us.
“That’s better,” he says.
“What’s better?”
“You. You had that look this morning, the one you get when you’re worried about what other people think about you.”
Ah. So that was the point of the exercise.
“And now?” I ask.
“Now you don’t. Now you look like this vacation is doing you some good.”
“It always does me good, Finn. You know I love it up here.”
He swings my hand back and forth between us as we approach our cabin. “Wanna do it again next year?”
“Totally.”
“For real?”
“Yeah.”
“No, I mean for real.”
He stops just outside the door. I don’t know what he’s trying to say.
“Like we did the first time,” he says. “When we were pretending…”
“…to be on our honeymoon?” Oh my God, is going where I think he’s going with this? My stomach does one of those weird rollercoaster dives it does whenever something big is coming. Like third degree stage fright, but pleasant somehow.
“Right,” says Finn, and kneels.
I start laughing. I know it’s the wrong response, but I can’t seem to stop myself. “Finn, what the hell are you doing?”
“I’m trying to propose to you,” he says. “But it turns out I’m really bad at it.”
And now I’m crying and laughing all at once. “No. No, you’re not. You’re great at it. You’re perfect. You’re the best at proposing that ever was.”
His eyes are full of tears, too. “So is that a yes?” he says, with this beautiful, expectant smile that makes me wonder if it’s even possible to be this happy.
“God, yes,” I say, before I start crying again. “So much yes.”
He reaches into his pocket and takes out a plain ring. It takes me a moment, but then I realize it’s one of the cheap brass wedding bands we bought last year. He kept it this whole time, perhaps waiting for the right moment to ask me. Waiting for the moment when we were ready to do it for real.
Also by the same author
Flunking English, short on cash and trying to keep up with the demands of dancing a principal role in Prokofiev's Romeo and Juliet; Milos has a lot going on right now. The last thing he needs is his English teacher riding him about his poor class performance.
For teacher Tom, still raw from an ugly breakup, the last thing he needs is a new romance, especially one that drags him into the thorny ethical issues of dating a student.
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Going Sasquatch Page 17
