Now that he's speaking to me, forcing me to confront the feelings I had consigned to the flames, something glimmers there. A tiny bud, maybe hope. It's frightening, because I honestly thought I had severed all meaningful connections with him, to the point where there was nothing left but that loss, that loathing.
Perhaps I am wrong in this. Perhaps I had simply buried and ignored it, the same way he did to himself.
And it's this thought, more than anything else, that gets me to stand up. “Nice talking with you. Glad we cleared some things up. But I don't want to associate with you again. You made your bed. You need to pay for your mistakes. And I'm not going to put myself in a position where I can be hurt by you again. Thank you, though.”
I don't reach out a hand to shake his. I simply lock gazes with him, and see the surprise, before daggers of hurt affect him. Then I turn on my heel, and I leave the bar, my drink not finished.
I'm done. That part of my life is over. Maybe we had a brief moment, a chance for something to happen, but that moment is gone. It won't be coming back.
He'll have to live with it. And so will I.
Chapter Four
I don't seem to make it much further, before I hear footsteps hurrying behind me. It simply causes me to speed up, stabs of irritation weaving through the fear that affects my heart. No. I can't look back. I can't allow this to happen. I can't allow him to affect me like that again. I keep ahead. I'm likely faster than him by foot, but he still catches up to me when I'm near my room number, and I have to growl, and tell him to go away.
“Look!” He's desperate at this point, and furious as well. “I said all that, and you're now just gonna fuck off? Is that it? Did it mean anything to you?”
“If it meant anything to you, it wouldn't have taken you four years and getting thrashed in a boxing match for you to finally realize the truth,” I growl, slipping myself into southpaw stance, already envisioning an attack, anticipating how to dodge it. Unlike boxing, though, real life fighting is far more brutal. We don't have our fancy footwork and a referee stopping us from carrying out our punishment. We have no rules other than whoever can completely overwhelm the other person first. Another difference between film fights and real-life fights. Most people will not fight unless they believe they have an extreme advantage over someone else. There's no point risking themselves when they can do other things to prevent injury. Especially in olden times, where even a little injury carried the risk of death, since few people understood the importance of hygiene.
I expect to get the same kind of ferocity from him again. When he doesn't say anything, I unlock my room, even though a tiny part of my brain knows that this is a bad move – turning my back on the opponent, allowing them access into my room – and sure enough, I've made two steps through the door, before I feel the full force of him slamming into me. I stagger and instantly go for an elbow strike, only to find he's let go of me, and he's closed the door.
“Get the fuck out. Now. You're not welcome,” I hiss. His eyes turn into slits, and he advances on me. I back slightly. His muscles tighten. He's preparing to lunge again.
I brace myself, ready to absorb the impact. He uses his full body against me, and I gasp when I realize just how much stronger he is. I mean, I knew anyway, but it's something else to have that brute strength smash into me. I stumble, until I topple and fall onto the floor, and he quickly pins me down. I let out a bark of protest, right until he presses his lips furiously against mine, sucking all the air out of me in surprise. I let out another yell, and a more half-hearted struggle against him this time, because a violent, primal surge of arousal shoots through me. It takes me by surprise, and the air continues to burst out of my lungs as I half grapple with him, half kiss him back in the same furious passion he's showing me. Sensations like a bucket of cold water dousing me, along with the heat of a dream-remembered fantasy I had of him stirs to life.
You fucker, I think. And then I find it hard to form any coherent words at all as he shoves his tongue into my mouth, and I'm left dealing with the hot, wet, raw organ, tangling it with mine, my mind going back to that evening four years before. He has the taste of his beer upon his lips, tainting his breath. He also has the strong pungency of peppermint aftershave, and when he draws back from me, I see the poke of blonde hair from the dip of his black shirt.
Any further attempt at resistance collapses after that. I realize that I wanted him to do this. I wanted to have that last forbidden taste before we parted ways from one another. I wanted to have my darkest dreams come to life, and fuck whatever it was. I just didn't think he would ever incline that way again.
Which was why he needed to make the first move. Because I'm not going to make it any easier for him. I let myself relax for a moment, losing my mind in the kiss, in the press of our bodies together, with the contrasts of my back against the carpeted floor, the friction of my shirt and skin, along with the sliding of his shirt and heat emanating through. His eyes are intense this close up, sparkling emeralds, like the scintillation off an ocean's surface. His beard and mustache are a little scratchy, but delicious at the same time, adding a strange and wonderful rough contrast between smooth skin and coarse beard.
He eventually relaxes the pressure he's putting on me, and melts into the kiss as well. I could at this moment smack him in the face and end it all, but the delightful shivers, the raw arousal shooting through me, causing a tight hotness to develop in my groin area, makes me stay with him. I kiss him, grope along his sides and hard rub his shirt and then his beard, sometimes digging my fingers in tight, and sighing into his mouth because I've buried things for a long time. Too long.
Still carried on by the momentum of what he's started with me, he now yanks my blue shirt off, throwing it over the chair that's tucked into the small desk with a mirror. He gives a hungry, wanting stare over my chest, though he's obviously seen it just last night too, under the conditions of a championship fight. His eyes are now so dark that I can barely see the green in them anymore, and I reach for his shirt as well, wanting to see him without any clothes on, wanting to drown in the sight of that glorious body. He lets me do so, and I'm greeted with those monstrous muscles, nearly twice the size of mine, with veins raised to the surface from heat, and the satisfying bumps of muscle that define him as a male in his prime. He is gorgeous. I could eat him up with just my eyes, but I also want to feel that strength get used against me. I want to have him pin me down, helpless.
I glance over to the drawer next to my bed, where the lube bottom is. I take one around with me, simply because I never know when the mood will hit, and it feels nicer for me to have that on my hands as I masturbate, then to have just my raw hand. I'm not sure why – it just seems to be what works for me.
I push against Jackson, and he lets out an animalistic growl, his teeth bared, before smashing his lips with mine again. “You're not getting away this time,” he hisses into my mouth. “I'm gonna fuck you until there's nothing left in your brain. And you won't stop me this time.”
Thrill bolts through me, and I grin fiercely against his lips, putting more effort into resisting the enormous strength in his arms, and failing. Me, a boxer, able to beat him in a fight, unable to take him away from me now.
Though, that's partially because this is what I want. I don't want to break away. I want to be consumed. I don't desire either of us feeling guilty, of breaking the spell of the moment, because the moment is everything.
He grins, before starting work on the lower half of my body. He removes his mouth from mine as he does so. My erection is already primed, thirsting for some action, and I feel the strong bulge of his against me as well. There's no excuses for me, and none for him.
“Fuck me,” I growl, and clutch his blonde hair tight at the back of my head, forcing our lips together again. He hitches in breath in clear excitement. His cheeks are flushed, his eyes almost dazed in lust. I imagine I must look similar, because my cheeks are burning, to the point where I swear I can see the sweat eva
porating, though it's likely more to do with the fact our breaths are condensing against one another, prickling the skin there.
He tugs at my pants with more ferocity, and manages to get those off, along with my shoes and socks, which slide out easily, from my habit of always just jamming my foot inside the shoe, without bending down to have my fingers tease them in.
Now I'm slipped out of it, he soon teases his off, and now we're laying on the floor, completely naked, our dicks hard, and lust consuming our souls. It's happening. We're going to do it. And never have I wanted something that badly. My heart is pounding hard, and my blood rushes around my body, filling up my ears, causing my throat to twitch in desire, and my chest to heave up and down fast. I see a similar result in his body as well, and it's marvellous to see such a huge body trembling in excitement. I wonder what scenarios he's imagining in his mind – if he's imagined them a million times before, always wondering what it could have been, if we went all the way. If I hadn't stopped him, or he pushed on regardless. I can't promise I would have stopped him if he did that.
Certainly not promising that now. When I'm not closing my eyes and indulging in the kiss, I'm greedily examining our bodies, admiring his structure, admiring his erection, which isn't too big or too small – and let me tell you, from all the uh, home experiments I've done to find my pleasure points, less is more in these cases. The ass is sensitive, and not so used to things being stuck in from the other end. It needs preparation.
Jackson growls and gets off me, pointing to the bed. “On there. Now.”
The command in his voice is sexy as hell, and I find myself scrambling to be over there, no questions asked. I want whatever he's planning to do to me. I even liked it when he squeezed my wrists just a little too hard, inflicting a mix of pain and pleasure at the same time. I like the feeling of being dominated, of being completely subject to his will. I also have a sneaking suspicion he might not be completely sure of what to do next, but I let him command the pace anyway. He's in the moment. He wants me, and I want him. All our former bullshit is shoved aside. We don't need that at the moment.
At this point, we must be both to spontaneous combustion, because our hearts are hammering too fast to discern the individual beats, and there's a tight feeling in my groin, even though I haven't been caressed or stimulated in the usual way. Just looking at him and knowing that right now, I am his and he is mine is enough to get everything pulsing and eager for more. It's an amazing feeling, to know that someone can affect you so profoundly.
And part of me is secretly pissed off that so many years were wasted. All because this dumbass took that long to figure out that he was gay and it didn't fucking well matter what people thought, since chances are, if they didn't like him, then they probably aren't worth knowing anyway. Though I suspect he won't ever go public with this information. That's okay. As long as he's honest to himself, and honest to people like me, then it's worth it in the end.
Halfway through the kissing, he pauses and gives me a rather worried expression, before placing his mask back on, and drowning in the moment. His hand starts brushing along my erection, and his eyes are focused on it and my reaction, both from my face and from the stimulation. He grins when I groan, but I can tell that this isn't enough for him. His dick twitches, clearly greedy for me, and I grin back at him, now reaching out to clasp it and then massage expertly, with my fingers teasing his balls. He squeezes his eyes shut for a moment, allowing me to do this to him, before his eyes open, and he stares at my asshole.
“Drawer,” I gasp, now reading his mind, knowing what he intends to do. He gives me a rather puzzled look before complying. He reaches for the drawer, opens it, and spots the mint scented lube. One of his eyebrows shoot up.
“Someone likes to keep themselves busy in the evenings, don't they?” He examines the bottle with a critical expression, a small smirk over his lips. I roll my eyes in response.
“Guy's gotta enjoy himself somehow.”
He places a hand to my lips now, his expression growing serious. The steel in those eyes silence me, and I take in a deep breath, which quavers out of me in anticipation. Enough teasing. I've never had sex with anyone before. I don't know about him. It's entirely possible he found ways to indulge in his guilty pleasure, but I can't know for sure, and I'm not about to ask him in the heat of the moment. I just want to be fucked out of my mind. I just want to feel like I'm a part of someone else, even if it's only temporary.
It's wonderful, honestly. A little bit sexy, too, seeing him now spreading my legs out so he can rest between them easier, as he pours some of the lube onto his palms.
I take my opportunity to escape now, wriggling out from under him. I don't get very far before he yanks and twists me, so that my ass is facing him, and my knees sink into the bedsprings. I hear the distinctive creak as pressure is put on the springs, both from me and from Jackson's impressive distribution. He squeezes my ass hard, and even though the wetness on his palms, he's able to make me gasp in pain. I shiver as he then leans forward, his chest against my back, to say, “I'm gonna give you the ride of your life.” He then bites my ear, and I let out another loud gasp. My mind is sluggish with arousal at this point, making my body boneless and unable to resist his touches, the feeling of his fingers digging into my shoulder blades, before I hear the familiar squirt of my lube bottle, and feel a tingling coolness slowly being placed around my ass entrance.
Quivering, I hold my breath and bite my lip as I feel him continue to add lube, and now tease a wet, cool finger inside my heat. I must be like a furnace right now, since the coolness is shocking to me, and makes me flinch. In response, Jackson sinks his teeth into my shoulder, before flicking his tongue and huffing hot air onto the muscle there. It sends a violent shiver down my spine, causing electric fingers of pleasure to radiate out from that spot.
He's teasing me further, opening me up, making sure I'm wide enough to take in his dick. Oh, how I crave it. For one moment, I consider turning around and just taking it in my mouth instead, because despite my confidence about who I am, I'm still unsure if we'll both like to do this together. Not all gay couples like anal, after all. That's a misconception. I have a gay friend who absolutely hates anything anal, even though it's what people expect him to do. He prefers hand and blowjobs, and long massages over his boyfriend's body, though for the sake of his boyfriend, he does choose to allow anal.
I'm having second doubts, which get cleared around in an instant when the tip of his dick begins pushing against my entrance, making it wider, and making me gasp, my eyes go wide, and for me to collapse further, my elbows now resting against the simple white bedsheets. I let out a whimpering moan as he pushes himself partway through, then steadily begins his back and forth, widening the gap, digging deeper with each thrust. Sweat is forming everywhere. My body precipitates at an alarming rate, and I think that if my heart beat any faster, I might just end up having a heart attack.
My fingers turn into claws, rumpling up the sheets further, and there's slight friction burns appearing on my knees from the force of the thrusts that are slamming inside me. It hurts and causes great, intense pleasure at the same time. It's painful, because he's thicker than I expected, and it's the first time someone's dick has buried itself inside me. Hopefully, it won't be the last sex I'll have, because if this is what sex with a person truly feels like, then masturbation for me pales in comparison.
Not when I can instead share the moment with someone who has a way of capturing my mind and heart, in such a simple way. He continues to grind and grind, and I let out a gasp, before yelling as he blurs inside me. Almost unbidden, the tension in my balls turns into a white-hot heat that trickles along my dick, as if it's about to explode into pieces. The orgasm washes over me. I yell and clench my hands tighter, jet after jet expelling from me, hitting the sheets, the headboard, and partially on the top of my hands. I can't believe how fast I came there. I knew we had the g-spot located in a convenient access point, though some might argue it to
be unfortunate. It's not long before I feel the tension in his dick as well, a change of pace as he becomes more urgent, more desperate to come.
When he lets himself come, and I feel that strange, sudden heat hit me there, I arch my back and curl my toes, before squeezing my eyes shut, and letting out a sigh when he leaves me. We're both spent now, or at least, for however long it takes before we get hard again.
Jackson pushes hard onto my back, forcing me to collapse onto it, and blink in a blissful daze, right before he buries his lips on mine yet again. “I can't get enough of you,” he whispers, stroking my head, sinuously moving his body over mine, imitating the slow grind, even though his dick is still spent from the last time it came. “I just want to stay here and fuck you all night.”
I shiver. “So why don't you?” It's a dare. One I hope he plans to take up.
“I just might.” He smiles, obviously tired from his activity. He's sweating profusely, far more than me, so the effort must have cost him a lot of energy.
“Promise me you won't go back to your old ways again. That you won't just wake up in the morning and decide that you regret what you did.”
To Love A Hitman Page 17
