by J. M. Snyder
Carlos smiled. “I’m sure you didn’t.”
Kicking the door shut behind him, he rolled the food cart over to the bed and looked down at Andy, taking in the hooded eyes, the disheveled hair. Andy knew his face was flushed, and a thin film of sweat beaded above his upper lip. When he met Carlos’s dark gaze, he couldn’t help but stroke himself beneath the covers. Please God, he prayed, staring into those depthless eyes. Give me an ounce of strength here, that’s all I need. Just let me hold out a little bit longer, please, just until he leaves…
“I wanted to apologize for last night,” Carlos was saying.
Andy tried to concentrate on his words. “For what?”
Carlos shrugged. “I was just…I don’t know. I didn’t really trust your friends. I mean, you have to be careful—”
“What?” Andy asked, more of a breathless moan than anything else. His fingers pinched the tip of his dick, and his eyes slipped shut against the lust that shot through him. Almost inaudible, he sighed, “Please.”
Carlos sat down on the edge of the bed, his pants pulling taut along his thigh, his hand just inches from Andy’s bare hip. Andy’s lower lip trembled at the guy’s nearness; he caught it between his teeth and bit down, hard, trying to force himself to focus. On the moment, the man beside him, the insatiable hunger that gnawed at his cock and balls and soul…
“Carlos,” he sobbed, “please.”
Through the covers, Carlos ran his hand along the curve of Andy’s hip. Andy’s hand gave another involuntary jerk at his erection. He couldn’t do this. He just couldn’t. Another hard pull like that, and he’d squirt all over the damn cabin. Watching Carlos carefully, Andy admitted, “I’ve been thinking about you.”
Carlos laughed. “I can see that.”
Andy felt his face flush. Before he could respond, one of Carlos’s slim hands eased beneath the covers. Andy gasped as those warm fingers tickled over his bare skin, ran through the kinked hair at his groin, then closed over Andy’s own hand, circling his dick. As he stroked along the length of Andy’s cock, Carlos watched him closely, his gaze never leaving Andy’s face.
“Yes,” Andy sighed. He caught his upper lip between his teeth and drew in a sharp breath as Carlos let his hand drift lower, cupping Andy’s balls. “Yes.”
With his forefinger, Carlos traced the underside of Andy’s dick, from the bulbous tip back down to the base, then rubbed over his nuts, drawing a line down the center of his soft sac. Then lower—Andy slid down a bit, spread his legs, let that exploring finger find its way over the trembling skin beneath his balls to poke between his buttocks. Andy flexed his sphincter, trying to draw that finger into him. “Please,” he whispered. “Yes, God yes, please.”
Carlos eased the covers back, exposing Andy’s smooth, pale skin. The air kissed his nipples erect, and the bed sheets rubbed over his stomach and crotch, exciting him with the gentle fall of fabric over heated skin. When the sheet uncovered his hard cock, heavily veined and curving up from the thatch of wild blond curls at Andy’s crotch, Carlos whistled appreciatively.
With a faint smile, Andy teased, “See what you missed?”
“I’m here now,” Carlos replied. “Doesn’t that count?”
As if magnetized, his hand was drawn to Andy’s thick shaft. Pushing Andy’s hand out of the way, Carlos wrapped his fingers around the hefty length, his thumb stroking the slit in the plum-colored tip. Andy lay back against the pillows of his bed, his hips raising off the mattress as he thrust into Carlos’s hand. “Yes,” he gasped, as that thumb did delicious things to his cockhead. It swirled over swollen flesh, tickled along tender skin, until Andy couldn’t restrain himself and thin pre-cum trickled down Carlos’s wrist. Two strokes, that was all Andy needed. Just two hard strokes and he’d come…
But his eyes widened when Carlos leaned down to kiss the tip of his dick. Then a pink tongue licked out, tasting him, and Andy couldn’t do it any longer, he just wasn’t that strong—with a cry of lust, he bucked against the hand that held him and gave into his need, the orgasm ripping from him with an explosive rush.
Before he was even finished, he was apologizing. “I’m sorry,” he mumbled, eyes closed, head back, dick spasming in Carlos’s fingers. His hips couldn’t stop thrusting into that willing hand. “Oh jeez, I just couldn’t hold it, I’m so sorry…”
A gentle hand ran through Andy’s damp hair, smoothing it back from his sweaty brow. Wet lips kissed his chin, and the scent of his own jism filled Andy’s senses. “It’s cool,” Carlos whispered. “Look at me.”
Opening one eye, Andy saw white cum beaded in Carlos’s dark curls. His dusky skin was slicked with Andy’s juice, and a broad smile split his thin lips. The guy was so damn close, his hand still caressing Andy’s wilted cock, that Andy felt aroused all over again. “You’re a mess,” he murmured.
Carlos puckered his lips to blow Andy a kiss. “You’re the one just about shot my eye out.”
Andy sat up and touched his mouth to Carlos’s. The lips that met his were strong, demanding, and tasted of himself. As the hand at his crotch slowly teased him erect again, Andy whispered against Carlos, “Will you fuck me?”
He felt the waiter’s lips grin against his own. “Thought you’d never ask.”
* * * *
The food on the cart grew cold as Carlos stripped out of his clothes and joined Andy in the bed. His skin looked dark against Andy’s pale flesh, and his uncut cock jutted from the black curls at his crotch, the ruddy tip pointing Andy’s way. There was a box of condoms in Andy’s top drawer—he’d packed them in anticipation of the “good time” Palmer assured him he’d have, and thanked God he hadn’t thrown them out after he bombed at the bar the night before. Rearranging his pillows onto the side of the bed, Andy leaned over them, ass in the air, legs spread in invitation, as Carlos pulled on a condom. For a few moments, Andy waited, patient, his dick already hardening against the pillows in anticipation of sex.
Then he heard Carlos grunt behind him, and he looked over one shoulder, concerned. The guy had the condom in one hand, the other rubbing his foreskin back and forth over his dick as if masturbating. “Hello?” Andy wiggled his hips, clenched his buttocks. “I’m waiting.”
Carlos grinned. “So impatient,” he teased, “you Americans.”
Andy laughed. “Fuck me already.”
With a final squeeze of his dick, Carlos slid the condom onto his shaft, then climbed onto the bed behind Andy. There was a small, complimentary bottle of lotion that had been in Andy’s cabin when he checked in; Carlos emptied it into his hands, rubbed them together, then touched both hands to Andy’s ass. The cool lotion glided over his skin, between his cheeks, over the puckered hole of his anus. He arched his back, pushing into Carlos’s hands, moaning as one slick finger eased into him. “Please,” he sobbed, rocking back against that finger. “Oh God, oh please, please.”
Carlos didn’t need more prompting. He guided his dick to Andy’s trembling hole; the tip pushed between Andy’s buttocks, then worked its way inside. With slow, gentle strokes, Carlos found a steady rhythm that bumped up against Andy’s prostate. Andy clawed at the bed sheets, buried his head in the covers, writhed beneath Carlos’s mind-numbingly slow fuck. Beneath him, his cock hardened again. “Yes,” he gasped, “Yes, yes, yes.”
Afterwards they lay twisted in the sheets, arms and legs tangled together, bodies pressed together until they were one. Carlos held Andy close against him, his chin resting on Andy’s shoulder, his steady breath growing slow and even after sex. Two weeks, Andy thought, entwining his fingers with Carlos’s and settling back into his arms. Jesus, this IS paradise. I’ll never want to leave.
Turning in Carlos’s embrace, he whispered, “I’m so glad you changed your mind.”
“I couldn’t let you have all the fun, now could I?” Carlos gave him a tender kiss.
On the bedside table, the phone rang.
With another kiss, Carlos commanded, “Don’t answer that.”
Andy ha
lf-turned toward the phone. “It’s probably my friends.” He was surprised to find he wasn’t mad at them anymore. Hell, he should probably thank them, because if he hadn’t been pissed he would’ve gone to the island and missed this second chance.
But Carlos held him tight, kissing his neck and shoulders, and the phone rang undisturbed beside them. Into Andy’s ear, he breathed, “Then I really don’t want you to answer it.”
As his hand drifted to Andy’s crotch again, Andy agreed. “Let it ring.”
THE END
Speed Trap
Mark Peters saw the flashing blue lights in his rearview mirror and stepped on the clutch to slow down his BMW. A glance at the speedometer showed the needle on the wrong side of 90. Jesus. I wasn’t going that fast, was I?
It was late afternoon, one of those gorgeous autumn days where the sun was still warm, the breeze faint and cool, and the trees just turning colors. There was no one on the highway but him—he had the radio cranked up, the windows rolled down, his sunglasses on and the seat back, nowhere to go and all the time in the world to get there.
And now I’ll be late.
Behind him, the police car wailed once. Even though he was alone on the road, Mark put on his turn signal, crossed the other two lanes, and slowed to a stop on the shoulder of the interstate. He’d never been stopped before, never.
First he checked his seat belt. Buckled. Thank God. Then he reached for his wallet, praying he had remembered it in his haste to get out of the house earlier. He had. As he fumbled for his license, he wondered if maybe it was too late to hope the cop might have stopped him for something silly, like a blown light or expired tags… hell, just to chat, even.
Um, hello? The sign back there that read 95? That wasn’t the speed limit, dickweed. He didn’t pull you over because he likes your car. And where the hell is your registration, hmm?
Mark had no idea.
Leaning across the passenger seat, he popped open the glove compartment and began digging through McDonald’s napkins and Wal-Mart oil change receipts and Taco Bell sporks, looking for something that might vaguely resemble a tiny registration card. He could’ve sworn he had stuck it in there when it came in the mail, all those months ago. He pushed his shoes off the seat into the floor and wondered if it were illegal to drive barefoot. Did he have enough time to slip on his sandals before the cop showed up? And where the hell was his registration? It had to be in the glove compartment, right? Where else would he keep it?
“Fuck,” he muttered, scooping out a handful of junk and tossing it onto the floor.
Someone tapped on his shoulder. Mark jumped and turned, already smiling the disarming grin he used when the shit was about to hit the fan and it was probably his fault. “Hey,” he said, hoping he sounded nonchalant. “Just looking for my…”
The words dried in his throat as the police officer pushed his hat back, revealing light brown eyes the color of wet sand and a few strands of wispy red hair. Damn. Mark stared at the eyebrows that arched above those eyes like faint lines drawn above the tide line. At the full lips a shade of pink that should be illegal on a boy. At those eyes. Suddenly he forgot how to speak, what to say, and what was he looking for again? Where was he?
My God.
“Can you turn off your car please, sir?” the police officer asked.
Mark stared, his mouth slightly open, his mind unable to make his body perform the simplest command. The car. Off. Yes. Why?
What’s he want me to do? Mark wasn’t sure but he definitely wanted to find out.
“Sir?” the officer asked again. Above his badge was written Lt. W. V. Tench. “The car?”
This time he frowned a little, and the way his lower lip pooched out excited Mark. He wanted to catch that pout between his teeth, nibble on it, suckle it.
The car.
“Right.” Mark took his foot off the clutch and the car leaped forward, throwing Lt. Tench back from the window. Smooth one, Peters, Mark thought, his ears heating with embarrassment as his car stalled. Just run him over while you’re at it, why don’t you?
With an angry twist, he yanked the keys from the ignition even though part of him wanted to speed away. Then this cute cop could chase him down, pull him over a second time, and they could start all over again.
For a moment he considered doing just that. But when he took his foot off the brake, the car started to roll forward on its own and he had to tug hard on the parking brake to stay in place. Just give me a ticket already, will you? I’ve made an ass of myself, I look like a dork, just please let’s get this over with, okay? No need to stand there and rub it in.
“God,” he muttered.
Whatever Lt. Tench might’ve thought about his antics was kept carefully hidden behind the mask-like expression on his chiseled face. “Can you take off the sunglasses?”
Mark complied, folding the glasses into his lap where his wallet still rested. Picking up his license, he handed it to the policeman and smiled. See? that smile said. I’m not a complete idiot. I remembered the license part. Just don’t ask about the registration, okay?
Taking his license, Lt. Tench asked, “Do you know why I stopped you?”
“Because I’m cute?”
The words escaped before Mark could think about them, but the cop’s faint smile made his confidence return. “You know,” Mark said, leaning on the door frame and resting his chin on his arms, “if I had known you were the one chasing me, I would’ve stopped sooner.”
The policeman laughed. “I get that a lot.”
That wasn’t quite the response Mark had been hoping for. Something along the lines of “Where have you been all my life?” was a little more appropriate, he thought. Not this nonchalant manner. Mark let his gaze linger as it trailed down the cop’s body. The dark blue shirt hugged a broad chest and was tucked into a tight belt cinched around a narrow waist. Did I mention you look good in that uniform? Because seriously, you’re one of America’s finest.
Lt. Tench studied Mark’s license. “Peters?” Mark nodded. “Can I see your registration?”
Mark sighed. “Well,” he said, turning back to the open glove compartment, “I’m glad you asked that. See, and this is funny, it really is…”
He trailed off and dug through the papers again. “Do you know what it might look like?” he asked, hopeful. “Because I’m thinking it’s in here somewhere, you know? I didn’t steal the car, honest. I just never clean the bitch out.”
God. Was cussing at a cop a crime? He looked over his shoulder, chagrined. “I didn’t mean…” Another sigh. “Oh fuck.”
“Your registration, please.” Lt. Tench watched Mark rummage through the mess from the glove compartment. “There,” he said, leaning into the window slightly. “Isn’t that it?”
Mark brought the pile he held into his lap. “Where?”
He held his hands up as the cop picked through the papers gingerly. You’re just inches from paradise, dude, Mark thought, watching those nimble fingers pick over the napkins and receipts. He felt a stirring in his groin and wondered what this Lt. Tench would do if he thrust up into his hand right now. Still give him a ticket? Arrest him? I’ve got a few kinky ideas that involve your handcuffs and the back seat of my car. Might be worth an arrest just to have you touch me there.
“This,” the cop said, extracting the registration card. “This is it.”
“That’s all you were looking for down there?” Mark asked coyly. “If you keep digging you might find something else you’d like—”
“This will do.”
The tone of his voice, so abrupt, so authoritarian, made Mark lower his head, nervous again. He’s a cop, he reminded himself. If you don’t watch it, he’ll slap your ass with a harassment charge and won’t that look good on your record? What kind of fines do you get for hitting on a policeman?
He didn’t think he wanted to find out.
Looking up from the card in his hand, Lt. Tench asked, “So what’s the hurry?”
Mark shrug
ged. “Oh, no hurry. Take your time.”
When the cop raised a questioning eyebrow, Mark busied himself with gathering together the papers in his lap. “Oh, you mean… I don’t know.” His cheeks burned and his eyes stung. He’s talking about my speeding. How humiliating. “I was just cruising around, I guess.”
“At ninety miles an hour?”
Was that slight smile back on Lt. Tench’s face? Mark wasn’t quite sure. At least one of them was amused. He shrugged again. “I didn’t realize I was going that fast.” Was it too late to make up an excuse? His mom was pregnant, he was keeping up with the flow of traffic, anything? Would the cop buy it?
For a long moment the policeman studied him, and Mark kept stealing glances up at him, his face, his hands, his waist. Why couldn’t I meet you at the mall? At the club or hell, at the grocery store even. Not here. Not when I look like a fool. Anything I say, you’ll think I’m just trying to get out of the ticket.
Finally Lt. Tench cleared his throat. “I’ll be right back.” Then he turned and Mark leaned out the window, watching in the side mirror as the cop walked to his patrol car.
Golden afternoon sun winked off the flashing lights behind him. He grinned at the way those pressed blue pants pulled taut over the cop’s round ass, accentuating each cheek and the outlined hint of briefs at the top of each thigh. Mark liked a guy with a full ass and he could just imagine taking this one in his hands, kneading the flesh until it pinked, parting it with his fingers, driving into it over and over again as Lt. W. V. Tench arched against him.
Did I tell you yet you look good in blue? The cop opened his car door and climbed inside. I like a man in uniform—though in your case, I think I’d like you better out of it.
Settling back into his seat, Mark adjusted the rearview mirror so he could see the cop. Once inside the car he had taken off his hat, and now he smoothed his errant bangs down with one hand. But they sprang up stubbornly and Mark’s hands curled into fists in his lap, his fingers aching to plunge into those disheveled spikes. Is there anything I can say or do to stand out in your mind? he wondered, watching the cop. Something that will make you remember me tonight? Make you dream about my touch? Make you wish you could see me again?
