by Cate Ashwood
I heard the front door click behind them, Dustin’s too-loud voice carrying through the parking lot as they walked toward home.
Finally, it was just me and Frankie, alone at Copper Creek.
Barrett
It was dark outside, and with the only lights in the building shining over the bar, it was like being transported back to the first time Frankie’d had a drink here. My cock got hard thinking about him on his knees, right where I was standing, and that was when I’d had enough waiting.
“You ready?” I asked.
He tilted his head back to look at me, smiling hard enough that I felt like he was radiating actual warmth. “Definitely ready,” he said, his words heavy with double meaning. “And I’m starving.”
I grinned back at him. “Good. I hope you like spaghetti.”
“There isn’t much I don’t like.”
“Other than pedestrian pizza.”
He laughed. “Even pedestrian pizza has a time and place.”
“We gonna stand here all night talking about pizza, or you gonna get up and come home with me?”
“Lead the way, boss.”
We walked to my truck, our pace slightly faster than usual. It turned me on to know that Frankie was as anxious to get home and behind closed doors as I was.
My house was only a few blocks from the brewery. Most summer mornings I walked, but I was grateful for the truck. I’d waited long enough that day to touch him, and even the few minutes home was too much. Hidden inside the vehicle, away from the nosy eyes of my neighbors, I slid my hand along his thigh, feeling the buttery fabric of his pants and the flex of muscle beneath my palm. Frankie shifted in the seat, wiggling lower and giving himself room to let his legs fall open. I skated my fingers along the seam of his pants, still getting used to the feeling of touching another man.
I definitely couldn’t speak from experience, but I had a hunch Frankie wasn’t like other guys. He was so fucking responsive, that even being groped through his clothes at a stoplight, he made it seem like it was the best thing that had ever happened to him.
Adding a little bit of pressure, I experimented with rubbing the heel of my hand against him, and nearly missed when the light turned green as Frankie’s head fell back against the seat, his eyes sliding shut.
My breath was coming in heavy pants and nothing had fucking happened yet.
I got us back to my place without totaling my truck, which was an absolute miracle. The door to the garage had barely slid shut behind us before Frankie had climbed over the center console and into my lap. He moved hard against me, the ridge of his erection grinding against mine.
“How do we always end up doing this in my truck?” I slid my hands down his back, tucking my fingertips into the waistband of his pants, then shoving them beneath the fabric to cup his ass. I rocked him against me as his lips found mine and he kissed me.
I wanted to get him out of there, to get him settled and laid out in my bed, but I also didn’t want to take my hands off him. I’d waited an eternity for this, and now that I had him, I didn’t want to let go. But things were heating up, the windows of my truck starting to fog. I broke the kiss and Frankie pulled back.
It was good to stop. I needed to slow things down a little before I got way too carried away.
“I’m not going to fuck you in my garage. First time I have sex with a man, I need room to work. Gonna make the most of this.”
He laughed. “First time, huh? You really were the straight boy.”
“Clearly not.”
“You’re gonna have to explain it all to me later, then.”
“I’d think it’s pretty self-explanatory.” I gripped his ass tighter, making him squeak. “I want you.”
He paused, probably for dramatic effect, but it came out sounding solemn and so serious it made my heart lurch when he said, “You got me.”
I nodded and slipped my hands back out of his pants.
“Good. Now get inside before I change my mind about fucking you in here.”
He scrambled off my lap faster than a squirrel being chased by a dog, and he was halfway to the door before I’d even gotten out of the truck. I raced after him, catching up just as his hand closed around the handle. I grabbed him, pressing him against the painted wood, and kissed him, happy to be doing this outside the confined space of the truck.
“I don’t think this counts as ‘inside,’” he said.
“You complaining?” I reached behind my head and pulled my shirt off.
“I wouldn’t dare.” His hands went to my pants, tearing them open in one swift move. I shoved them down over my hips, along with my briefs, hopping to catch my balance as they got stuck over my shoes.
Frankie stood there, his laughter echoing off the walls as he watched me struggle.
“You need a hand, boss?”
“I’ve taken my damn clothes off before.”
“You sure about that?”
I glared at him, but he kept laughing. He came closer and sank to his knees, patiently helping me get my shoes off and my pants over my feet. I kicked free of the jeans as Frankie lifted up on his haunches and took my cock all the way down his throat.
He caught me off guard, making me lose my balance. I pitched forward, catching myself on the doorjamb with one hand. If Frankie noticed I’d almost crushed him, he didn’t show it. He just got to work. I was arched over him, watching him suck me, his head bobbing in time with the fist that worked me, and it was the most beautiful thing I’d seen.
I let him go for a while, him totally clothed and me totally naked, getting a blowjob in my fucking garage. It felt so unbelievably good. It was torture to pull him away, but I had to. Two minutes more, and I’d have come. There was so much more I wanted to do before that happened.
Hauling Frankie to standing, I slanted my mouth over his and slid my hands down and under his ass. The moment his feet came off the floor, he wrapped them around my back, hooking his ankles and thrusting his tongue into my mouth.
I fumbled to get the door open but eventually managed, careful to clear the top step without dropping him as I walked us into the house. He kissed me the whole way. His breath mingled with mine the same way his hands tangled in my hair.
The drugged moans of a desperate man filled the room as I closed the bedroom door behind us. He kissed me harder, more forcefully, as though he thought I might need an extra shot of convincing. I didn’t. I wanted this so badly, I could barely control myself enough not to toss him on the bed and push right inside.
Instead, I set him down, my lips lingering against his for a moment longer.
“Get on the bed,” he told me.
I backed up, sitting when I felt the mattress against my thighs. I couldn’t look away. He was so beautiful as he pulled his shirt over his head, dropping it to the floor as he took another step toward me. I was mesmerized by the way his fingers trailed down his stomach, unlatching the button of his pants.
He finally pushed them off, and I sat, awestruck, seeing him totally naked for the first time. He was angles, and softness too, all the right contradictions in all the right places. I couldn’t not touch him. I needed to have my hands on him, so I reached forward and slipped my fingers around his wrist, just like I’d done so many times before.
This time, though, this was different.
He came to me willingly, pliant as I pulled him into my arms. He straddled my lap, kissing me and touching me with featherlight fingertips. I shivered all over and rolled us, pinning him beneath me. I held back for a second to take in my fill of him. I wanted to remember Frankie just like this. His eyes were bright and filled with need as he looked up at me.
There was so much I wanted to do with him, so much I wanted to try, but that was going to have to wait. I needed to be inside him, to feel him surrounding me. I wanted to show him how much he was wanted, how it felt like I’d waited my whole life for this.
I reached up under the pillow where I’d stashed the bag from the drug store earlier that
day.
“Jumbo pack, huh?” Frankie asked with a laugh as he spotted the box.
“Too optimistic?”
He kissed me. “Not optimistic enough.”
I pushed up onto my knees so I could use both hands, and Frankie slid his arms behind his head. He let his knees fall open and I could see all of him. He was so fucking gorgeous, splayed out like that on my bed. I wanted to tie him up and keep him there forever, but I couldn’t say so without sounding like a fucking psycho.
I tore open the box and pulled out a condom, then found the bottle of lube I’d bought with them. I clicked open the bottle and squeezed some out onto my fingers; then, with hands that were most definitely not shaking, I touched him.
He gasped when the lube hit his sensitive skin, but that gasp turned to a moan as I applied a little more pressure. His head rolled back and his eyes were closed, and the way his hips kind of rolled each time I got close to pushing in, I guessed I was doing okay.
“Barrett.”
I would never get tired of hearing my name said like that, and I knew without him saying anything else, exactly what he needed.
I pushed one finger inside, then almost immediately added another one. He cried out, this garbled sound that could have been pain or pleasure, though I expected it was probably a bit of both. Gently, I thrust into him, going slow as much for me as I was for him. He was so fucking tight that for a second, I had doubts I was going to be able to get my cock inside.
Logically, though, I knew I could, but I didn’t want to hurt him.
He called my name again, begging, and I wrapped my other hand around his dick, jacking him slowly as I thrust in with my fingers. He was breathing heavily enough that he’d started to rasp, and I had no idea if he was ready, but I couldn’t wait any longer.
I pulled back, and the sound of my name on his lips once more was all I could take. As quickly as I could, I rolled on the condom and slicked myself up, then positioned my body over his. Time stuttered as I paused, the tip of my cock pressed against his entrance, and I took a breath, willing myself to go slow as I pushed inside.
He hissed and arched his back, his hands pulling me closer with a rough grip. He was tighter than I ever imagined, and the pressure and the heat and the enormity of the moment was almost enough to push me over before we’d even gotten started.
He felt so fucking good, so fucking perfect, like his body had been made for mine. I pushed as deep as I could go, burying my head against his shoulder and letting out a long breath when my hips rested against his ass.
“Am I hurting you?” I asked, terrified that he’d say yes.
“No.” He smoothed my hair, and the gesture was so tender that it almost broke me.
“Sure?”
“Feels good, Barrett. You feel so good.”
I pulled back, then gave an experimental thrust forward and immediately lost whatever tenuous grip I’d held over my control.
Frankie
Sex with Barrett wasn’t like anything I’d ever experienced before.
Not by a long shot.
Fucking was fucking, but this was a different thing altogether. Barrett didn’t just fuck—it was this whole crazy experience that consumed me completely. It was sensory and tactile, and it wasn’t just tab A into slot B type shit.
The moment he’d pushed inside me, the moment he’d asked with such fear if he was hurting me, and then the moment he let go had compounded to become this beautiful thing that I couldn’t look away from.
And I didn’t want to.
It had started out tentative, almost exploratory. He thrust into me with care, like I might split in two if he was too rough with me. I caressed my hands along his back.
“Harder,” I urged him, and dutifully, the next thrust was almost slightly more forceful. “Barrett,” I said, pushing him up so he could look me in the eyes. “Give me everything you’ve got. I’m not going to break.”
He nodded once, something passing briefly over his face, and then his mouth was on mine and he was fucking me for all he was worth. The bed shook and the mattress creaked, and I cried out over and over, because when he slid his arm beneath my lower back, giving himself something to grip, something for leverage, it changed the angle of his cock.
Over and over he pushed inside, the thrust and retreat driving me crazy as the crown of his cock dragged over my prostate, sending bolts of pleasure arcing through my body with each stroke.
Before I knew what was happening, before my sex-drugged brain could catch up with what was going on, my orgasm hit, blindsiding me and sending me reeling. I came hard, painting my stomach and his chest with my release.
Seconds later, Barrett followed me over, driving hard into me, burying himself deep as he came.
We were frozen like that, locked together, neither of us able to move. I could barely get enough oxygen, and my brain had shorted out sometime around when he’d slid the first finger in.
“Frankie,” he whispered, his mouth against my sweaty skin.
“Mmm.”
“I had no idea…”
“Me neither,” I admitted, because it was true. I had no idea it was going to be like that.
“That was—”
“Intense?”
“Yeah. And good. It was good, right?”
I nodded. “So fucking good.”
Gently, he pulled out and rolled to his side, pulling me with him and into his arms. “It was, right?”
I kissed his chest, tasting the saltiness of his skin. He held me close and neither of us said anything else for a long time. I knew he was probably processing everything that had just happened, and so was I.
There was something to be admired about how hard Barrett slept. Maybe it was that he’d fucked all the energy out of himself and needed the rest to recuperate, or maybe he was actually part bear and had slipped into hibernation, but the man was passed out cold.
I’d been up for an hour already, and there was no sign that Barrett was going to wake up anytime soon.
The night before, I’d been half waiting for him to kick me out or offer to drive me home—he was a gentleman after all—but the offer never came. In fact, I’d learned something kind of surprising about Barrett after he’d taken me into the shower to wash away the come and the sweat.
Barrett Anderson was a cuddler.
I climbed out of bed and found a T-shirt to throw on so I wasn’t walking around in front of Barrett’s windows with my dick swinging and crept out of the bedroom. I didn’t want to snoop through his stuff—scratch that. I wanted very much to snoop through his stuff, but figured I probably shouldn’t. Instead, I found a magazine to read, and while it wasn’t Vogue, it would do. Though it was a little weird that a man who had never ventured farther than Anchorage had a travel magazine subscription. Or a magazine subscription at all. Most people I knew read their shit online.
I flicked through the glossy pages, admiring the photos and making mental notes of all the places I was going to visit once I wasn’t completely destitute. When I’d exhausted the pictures of Scotland, I tossed it back on the coffee table and decided Barrett had slept long enough.
He was still sleeping when I stepped quietly into the room. I spotted my bag over by the dresser. Silently, I rummaged through until I found what I was looking for.
Lifting my camera, I focused on the sweep of his hair over his forehead, the way the light hit the arch of his shoulder, his hand, open and relaxed against the sheets. Every detail of that man’s body was perfection, and I wanted to capture all of them.
The quiet click of my camera filled the room, and as I was focusing the lens on the curve of his ass, I heard Barrett’s voice.
“What are you doing, you psycho?” he laughed. “If I find those on the internet, I’ll kill you.”
“You’re talking about murder and I’m the psycho?” I turned the screen toward him so he could see the last picture I took—his ass. “I was capturing your better side.”
“Hey, that’s not ha
lf-bad.”
“Excuse me. You don’t have to sound so surprised. It’s amazing.”
“It is. You could go pro.”
“That’s my one-day fantasy. I have a long way to go before I get there. I’m just starting out, and it’s probably isn’t going to be anything more than a hobby for a long time.”
“Don’t sell yourself short. You’re a genius behind the lens. Look what you did for my ass.”
“Your ass was perfection before I aimed my camera at it.”
“This is what you wanna do? For a career, I mean?”
I shrugged. “Maybe. I dunno. Not sure what I wanna be when I grow up quite yet, but photography has always felt close to me. That’s the only way I can describe it.”
“I get it. Like, it fits.”
“Yeah. The first time I picked up a camera, I think I was like, eleven or twelve. And I just thought that the world looked so much more beautiful through the lens.”
“You should do it, then.”
I looked away from him because the openness in his face was making my heart do weird things. He believed in me without any reason to, beyond a quick glimpse at a candid shot of his own ass. It was a lot.
He took my camera out of my hand and placed it carefully on the side table. “Why are you wearing clothes?”
“I didn’t think your neighbors would appreciate seeing me in all my glory.”
Barrett laughed. “It looks like a dress.”
I twirled, the oversized T-shirt floating out from my body as I spun. “Add a belt, some chunky jewelry, and I might have a half-decent going-out look.”
Barrett laughed. “Not sure the residents of Sawyer’s Ferry are ready for your ‘going out look.’”
“I’ll have to make it a staying in look, then.” I straddled Barrett’s lap, leaning in to dot a kiss to the tip of his nose.
“I am 100 percent okay with that.” He slid his hands up under the shirt to cup my ass, rocking me against him. “I’d be even more okay if your staying-in look didn’t include any clothes at all.”
