by L. A. Witt
He glanced at it, then up at me, eyebrows quirked. “Is that a trick question?”
“No.” I licked my lips. “But if it’s some priceless antique you inherited from your grandma, I don’t want to break it.”
Mark shivered. “Uh. No. It’s . . . just something I got off craigslist.”
“Good. Let’s break it.”
The grin that spread across his lips made my heart go insane. “Yeah. Good excuse as any to replace it.”
I laughed, and he took advantage of the moment to flip me onto my back. I was startled for all of two seconds, and then I grabbed him, dragged him down to me, and hooked a leg over his, pulling our hips together. Mark didn’t resist at all. If anything, he melted against me, and he kissed me like his life depended on it.
In between making out and shucking off most of our clothes, we changed position a few times. I was on top. Then he was. Then we were on our sides. Then I was on top again, straddling him with our cocks rubbing through our boxers until he rolled me onto my back and started on my neck.
Fuck. He loved kissing my neck, and I couldn’t get enough of it. He spent ages doing it. Up and down. One side. Then the other. Along my jaw. Up to my ear. Down to my collarbone. All along my shoulder, like he didn’t even notice the old burns. And the whole time, his cock pressed against mine, rubbing subtly through our underwear every time one of us moved. Much more of this and he was going to get me off before we’d gotten a hand below the waist.
I started to push him back so I could get on top, but he didn’t move. “Stay on your back.”
“Bossy, hmm?”
“Not bossy,” he said between kisses on my collarbone, “but it’s a lot easier to suck your dick if you’re on your back.”
I shivered. “Well, shit. When you put it like that . . .”
He started moving down. For a second, I was way too aware of how exposed my scars were, but even as his lips got close to the damaged skin that started just below my collarbone, I couldn’t concentrate on being nervous. He’d seen the scars. He’d felt them. If he was going to be disgusted by them, he would’ve been by now. But even when his lips brushed the thicker skin, he didn’t act grossed out or turned off.
I stroked his hair as he continued kissing his way down. He looked up at me for a second, grinned, and kept going.
“You, uh . . .” Fuck, I could barely talk. “You don’t mind guys who aren’t cut, do you?”
His eyes flicked up again, and he shrugged. “No. Why would I?”
Before I could say some guys are weird about it, he drew a circle on my skin with the tip of his tongue, and all I managed was a moan. He laughed so softly, the only reason I knew about it was the rush of warm breath across damp skin.
“Damn clothes.” He tugged at my waistband. “Let’s get rid of these.”
I was covered in goose bumps as I lifted my hips so he could slide my boxers out of the way. I couldn’t even find anything witty or dirty to say; I was too turned on by the thought of his mouth on my cock.
He bit my hip bone, and I couldn’t stop myself from letting go of a low, strangled sound.
And then . . . oh God. He ran his tongue around the head of my cock and, a second later, closed his lips around it, and there wasn’t a damn thing I wouldn’t have done as long as he kept working that slick, hot magic.
Some American guys didn’t know what to do with a man who was uncut, and they’d either freak out or not realize they couldn’t be quite so rough, but Mark must’ve done this before. That or he was uncut too; I hadn’t gotten that far yet.
Either way, at least he knew not to go straight to jerking me off like he might a guy who was cut. He was even gentle with his lips and tongue, licking and teasing the head just right to make my whole body hot. When he started stroking, he knew to use my foreskin, sliding it up and down the shaft until I was about to lose my mind. I didn’t care how or why he’d learned to handle a cock like mine as long as he didn’t stop.
Except . . . I did want him to stop. I didn’t want him to make me come. I wanted to . . . God, just thinking about it almost got me off.
“I want to fuck you,” I moaned. “N-now.” Thank fuck my knee was just aching bearably; I was so not in the mood for pain to interfere with everything I wanted to do with this man.
“Mmm.” He sat up and met my gaze. Dios mío, the lust in his eyes was burning as hot as my own.
“Now,” I repeated.
“Yeah,” he panted. “Let me . . .” He gestured toward the side of the bed. “Condom.” He reached for the nightstand, stretching his lean torso and making my mouth water even more. Oh, yes, I was glad I’d bent my rules tonight. His body was amazing. As he sat over me again, condom and lube in hand, I couldn’t resist running my palms up his smooth abs and thinly haired chest. This was someone who didn’t just squeak by on his Physical Readiness Test. He probably still blew the 18-25 guidelines out of the water even though he had to be in his forties.
As he rolled the condom onto my cock, he looked up at me. “Go easy, okay? You’re, um, not exactly lacking here, and it’s been a while since I’ve done this.”
“How long is ‘a while’?”
Mark’s lips quirked, and he shrugged. “Couple of years at least.”
I nodded. “Okay. I’ll go slow.”
I sat up, and he moved onto his hands and knees. I took my time fingering him, stretching him, making sure he was ready for me. It was also the perfect opportunity to calm myself down so I didn’t go off the second I was in him. And to make sure my knee really was up for the challenge. So far, so good.
As soon as he was ready and I wasn’t about to lose it, I knelt behind him. Mark swore even before I’d touched his hole with my dick, and when I did, he moaned. As I pushed into him, I moaned.
“This all right?” I asked as I carefully worked myself deeper.
“Uh-huh.” His head fell forward, and I watched a shiver run up his spine. “So good. Jesus . . .”
Yeah, it was. Holy fuck. He was tight as hell, and he rocked back and forth, driving me deeper even while I was trying to be careful. I picked up speed, and he moaned louder, and, oh yeah, it was perfect.
My knee protested, and it promised to ache like a motherfucker later, but it would hold for now. It damn well better.
I leaned down and wrapped an arm around Mark, grunting as I thrust into him. I nipped the back of his shoulder before I slurred, “You’re gonna make me come. Fuuuck.”
“Oh Jesus, that’s hot,” he moaned. “Keep—” I bit his shoulder again. “Oh God.”
I pounded him, thrusting deeper, and murmured how hot he was, how I wanted to make him come so hard he cried. Was I speaking in Spanish? Maybe. It didn’t matter if he could understand the words, though; from the way he moaned and shook under me, he understood enough.
“Yeah . . . just like that. Oh my God.” He shuddered, and I gritted my teeth and gave him everything I had, and then he let go of a helpless cry as he came. I got lost in the sound of Mark losing his mind, and suddenly I was coming too, pushing deep inside him as he clenched and squeezed every last drop out of me.
Everything slowed down and finally stopped, except my pounding heart. Shaky and dizzy, I pulled out, and then I flopped onto my back next to him so I could catch my breath and wait for the room to stop spinning. Mark turned over and dropped down beside me too, probably right in the wet spot, but he didn’t seem to care.
Still panting, skin gleaming with sweat, he slurred, “I am really glad I checked out that club tonight.”
“Yeah.” I licked my lips. “Me too.”
Forty-two years old, and I’d never woken up beside a man before.
I’d had sex with men in my bachelor days, and I’d broken my wedding vows with as many men as I had with women, so it wasn’t like I was new to hooking up with guys.
Every one of those encounters had been discreet for obvious reasons, though, and we’d never stayed in bed once we’d caught our breath. That was assuming we even got
near a bed. It was usually men’s rooms, back alleys, and the occasional hard-to-find nook on a ship, and once on a deserted stretch of beach on Guam. When it was over, we’d go our separate ways and hope no one had seen us.
So to say the least, it was novel as hell to wake up in my own bed with the morning sun pouring in through the windows and spilling over Diego’s naked sleeping form. That along with all the twinges and aches in my tired body proved without a doubt that last night hadn’t been a long, vivid, incredibly pornographic dream.
I squirmed under the covers as goose bumps sprang up all over my skin.
He was completely still, his chest rising and falling with the slow breathing of deep, peaceful sleep. And since he was asleep, I didn’t have to worry about him being self-conscious while I drank in the sight of him.
I’d noticed the scars by his eye and his temple at the bar, but now that the light was better, I could see more of them on the side of his face. A lot more. He had some heavy five-o’clock shadow, and the smaller scars stood out like flecks of white hair in his dark beard. Thin, silvery lines, none more than three-quarters of an inch long, were scattered along the left side of his face. Some disappeared into his hair. There was a second one near his eye, cutting a dramatic slash through his eyebrow. Some were razor-straight. Others had the distinct scalloping of a cut that had been stitched, including the two most prominent ones next to his eye.
There were more sprinkled down the side of his neck and toward his collarbone, and that was where the more dramatic damage started. A broad scar that had to be from a serious burn covered his left shoulder and upper arm and down to almost halfway across his pec. Most of it had a texture like a fine net had been put over it, and I was pretty sure that was the telltale mark of a skin graft.
On his pec, the scar had partially consumed a tattoo. Most of the ink was badly distorted, but the remaining curves made up a profile I’d seen plenty of times in my career—a swallow. The traditional tattoo of a Sailor who’d logged five thousand miles at sea.
I chewed my lip as I watched him sleep. If not for the swallow and his hackles going up over the Navy, I might’ve thought he’d been in a car crash or something, but no. He was definitely a combat veteran. One who wanted nothing to do with the military that had, according to his comment last night, fucked him.
I traced my gaze over the smaller scars on his face and neck, and the pattern made more sense now. Shrapnel. Like he’d been lucky and far enough away from a blast to survive, but close enough to be fragged and burned.
Tilting my head a bit, I looked at the underside of his forearm. Sure enough—more scars. A smaller burn on his elbow. More thin white lines all the way up to his wrist. I thought there was even a gouge in the heel of his hand, but I couldn’t see for sure.
In my mind, I could see him throwing up his arm to protect his face, catching some of the pieces but not all of them. A chill prickled through me as I pushed away an image of him bloody, burned, in pain, and afraid. Instead, I gazed at the man he was now.
There was no way I could tell him the scars didn’t make him less attractive. It would just sound patronizing, but it was true. If anything, they made me curious about him. I’d immediately wondered what the story was behind the two scars I’d noticed on his face, and that curiosity ran far deeper now. Where had he been? What had happened between his five thousandth mile at sea and now? Was that why he didn’t date military men? Or was there something else? He was old enough to have been kicked out when DADT had still been in effect. And I’d met plenty of people who swore off active-duty partners because there was too much separation and too much chance of a flag-draped casket.
Any one of those sounded like a perfectly valid reason to me. That was part of the reason I hadn’t tried to push him when he’d said my active-duty status was a deal breaker.
But damn, after spending the night with him? While I understood if he wouldn’t or couldn’t date me, he was going to be a tough act to follow.
Still asleep, but grumbling like he might be coming around, Diego rolled onto his stomach and burrowed into my pillow, disheveling his hair even more. I smiled to myself. He was fucking adorable when he slept.
I couldn’t resist, and leaned in to kiss the side of his neck. He tensed like I’d startled him, and I almost drew back, but then he arched against me and gave a soft, sleepy moan. So, I did it again. I kept nibbling on his neck, and as he squirmed, I ran my hand down his side and under the covers. When I snaked it toward his belly, he pressed back against me. His cock was almost fully hard. A couple of gentle strokes, and it was all the way there, rock-solid in my hand as he rubbed his ass against my own erection.
“Fuck,” he moaned.
“Roll onto your back,” I whispered in his ear.
He did, and before he’d even settled, I was kissing his neck again. He still smelled faintly of the soap we’d both used in the shower a few hours ago, and that made me even hotter. It was almost like I’d marked him with my scent, and it tickled some primal, territorial side of me. Like I wanted to claim him somehow. It was ridiculous, but so was any thought that ever crossed my mind before I’d had coffee.
Under the covers, I stroked him with one hand, using his foreskin the way he seemed to enjoy. His groans said I was doing it right, so I kept going.
Then I started kissing my way down. He arched and squirmed as I trailed kisses along his chest and his belly, and when I licked around the head of his cock, he rewarded me with a throaty moan.
Before last night, it had been ages since I’d given a blowjob, and the ones I’d given in the last twenty years had always been hurried, hidden, and guilty. A quickie that was overshadowed by the fear of getting caught and, later, the shame when I’d gotten away with it. I’d gone down on him last night to wind him up, but this? This was the main attraction, and this . . . this . . . Oh God.
My body was still heavy with sleep after I’d spent the whole night beside him, and he was sprawled in the middle of my bed with the late-morning sun sliding over his planes and contours. There was no hurry to get him to an orgasm—just slowly, lazily sucking his dick and enjoying the salt of his skin and the sting of his fingers tugging at my hair.
And I was pretty sure it was the hottest thing I’d ever experienced.
While I stroked him and sucked him, he was murmuring in Spanish, gripping my hair in both hands as his hips rocked just enough to push his dick into my mouth. He didn’t seem to be in any hurry either, but after a while, his breaths started getting faster and sharper. He held my hair tighter, and some more Spanish tumbled off his lips before, “I’m gonna come. Fuck . . .”
I groaned around his cock, he shuddered hard, and his hips jerked just as he came, filling my mouth with cum and the air with curses in two languages.
As I returned to the pillows, he wiped a hand over his face and exhaled. “If I’d known this is how you start the day,” he murmured, his accent thicker than usual, “I wouldn’t have said no the first time.”
“If I tell you I do this every day, will that convince you to come back?”
Diego laughed. “If you promise another night like last night, you definitely won’t have to twist my arm to get me to come back.”
I chuckled. “Guess I better stock up on condoms.”
“Mm-hmm.” The featherlight brush of his fingertips down my side made me gasp. “I work nights, but as long as you don’t mind me showing up in the middle of the night . . .”
“Not at all.” I laughed again. “Hell, we could christen every room in my house. Then I won’t have to worry about having a housewarming party.”
Diego trailed a fingertip along the edge of my jaw as his lips pulled into a sleepy, sexy grin. “Well, if you want me to come back and help you defile your house tonight, I’m off at two thirty.”
“You better believe I do. Any chance I can talk you into staying long enough to have breakfast?”
“Breakfast?” His eyebrows quirked. “Aren’t you forgetting something?”
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“Forgetting—”
Diego pressed me back with a hand in the middle of my chest. With a grin, he started downward toward my cock.
Well, I wasn’t forgetting it now.
Neither was he.
On Sunday morning, I woke up first. Mark was still snoring softly beside me, and the sun coming through the bedroom window was like déjà vu. I was here again? How the fuck had that happened?
Last night was a little bit of a blur. We’d exchanged some texts while I was at work, and those had ramped up from flirting to telling each other what we’d do if we were alone right then. As soon as the High-&-Tight closed, I was back where I’d been twenty-four hours before—pulling into Mark’s driveway.
Because hey, I was a red-blooded gay man. I wasn’t going to say no to more of the kind of sex we’d had on Friday night.
What part of one-night stand did you not understand?
I sighed. The part where the sex with Mark was really good and I wanted to keep coming back for more, apparently.
Wait, keep coming back?
It was two nights. Wasn’t like we were eloping or anything.
Yeah, and what will you say if he suggests hooking up again?
I squeezed my eyes shut. Oh, I knew what I’d say. I could still feel everything we’d done the last couple of nights, and yeah, if he suggested hooking up again, I’d be on board. When the sex was this good, it just didn’t matter what kind of uniforms were hanging in his closet.
Keep telling yourself that.
Mark rolled over and, after he’d blinked a few times, looked at me. “Morning.”
I smiled. “Morning.”
“Sleep all right?” he asked.
Surprisingly, yes. I nodded. “Yeah. Just woke up a few minutes ago. You?”
“Mm-hmm.” He mumbled something as he stretched. “I’m going to be feeling this for days.”
“Damn right you are.” I trailed a finger down his arm. “You won’t be sitting down this week without thinking of me.”
He shivered, closing his eyes as he grinned. “Like the sound of that.”
