G-Force (Commitment, a gay romance series Book 2)

by Karen Botha

  And, so here we are, more months on than either of us would like, on the brink of some quality time together and Kyle is entrusting himself to me.

  It’s with some trepidation that I step into the shower we’re taking together. I’m not about to ram balls deep into him as soon as he gives me permission. I need to think about how would be best for him and then make this special. We’ll never have this moment back, and between the two of us, it means the world.

  But that leaves me not quite knowing what to do with him now and how to behave, I’m oddly nervous with butterflies fluttering around trying to escape the caging of my ribcage. They batter me, becoming increasingly aggressive until I start to feel sick.

  “You OK?” He whispers, his teeth nipping against my skin as he sponges my naked body. His hand lingers between my legs as his tongue swirls around my nipple. I spread my legs wider and his hand swipes over the sensitive area between my balls and anus, a brief tease before returning toward my chest.

  My breath catches at his touch, and when I answer, my voice is ragged. “Sure, I’m overwhelmed, that’s all. I wasn’t expecting you to say that this morning. I was grumpy with you for getting up and leaving me. I had visions of a lazy morning and you blew it. And then you throw that on me.” I grin, my smile broad enough to reach each ear.

  His reply is cheeky, eyes twinkling, “Would you like me to blow you?”

  I laugh, “That could be a good start.” My response is pointless as he’s already on his knees, his eyes glinting and full of naughtiness. Maybe this vacation is going to be as fun after all. I just need to accept that I can’t control everything.

  My thoughts evaporate as his mouth wraps around me, sliding and sucking. I glide down his throat, hitting the back before he swallows. I steady myself on his shoulders as my knees buckle, my right foot slips out from under me on the slick surface and he wobbles, but continues. Undeterred in his mission, he engulfs me then swallows, pushing me to the very edge of my fucking control before loosening up, sending the intensity of a few moments ago washing down the plug hole; his hand creeps between my legs and the tingle from his touch sweeps up my body hurling my stomach into my throat as I groan, the wave building again.

  “Kyle,” my throat rasps.

  He tugs on me, running wet kisses against my torso as he stands, nibbling my nipple as his hands spread my butt cheeks, using the moisture of the shower to aid his exploration. My toes curl, my fingers clench, clutching him into me, rubbing my solid length against him. He moans and the heat of his breath bristles against my soaking skin.

  “Turn around,” he instructs.

  Who am I to argue? “Yes sir!”

  “Ooh, you like being told what to do. I could have some fun here.” His hands manhandle me around, although I’m turning anyway.

  I bend, steadying myself with two hands planted against the white tiled wall.

  “I want you to do this to me.”

  My heart somersaults, ‘Jesus did he just say that, again?’

  He circles his fingers around my asshole, then pulls one back, then probing in the exact position for smooth entry. He pushes, up to his knuckle, and then to the base of his finger.

  “Use your hand,” he pulls my arm, until he’s positioned my hand over my hard girth and then bends to gain more leverage.

  The emotion attached to the physical sensations from him being so totally, fucking immersed in me is overpowering, “Oh God, Kyle, yes, just like that,” I moan as my sac rises up, aching against his intensified touch. As if it were even possible, my body fires up beyond anywhere he’s ever taken me before, where anyone has ever taken me before. Sparks fly before my eyes as my heart pumps faster, keeping pace with the explosions going off inside me.

  His circling speeds up. My insides contract as I grip my throbbing erection, working it as Kyle matches my cadence, circling my prostate and pressing the center. Circling, pressing, circling and pressing. I’m panting, head arced back, legs straddled as the water beats down on us with creating tiny electric impulses against my fevered skin.

  When the shuddering explosion grasps me by the balls, I snap upright, every muscle rigid as the tirade of ecstasy erupts from every nerve, pushing through my penis hitting the wall in front of me and making me shout. “Kyle, I want you so badly.”

  He slows his flow, relaxes his hand and releases me from his power. Rotating his tongue around my rim, my body begins to melt as the tension subsides. But he’s not finished, his hand which had been working his own length in time with mine, speeds up, a rapid rhythm of pent up emotion. He powers through and within only a few seconds, he’s bucking against me, his tongue sliding away, his teeth sinking into my butt. He sucks in his breath and bites down on me as his thunderous swell takes hold.

  The bite of his teeth hurts, but in a kinky-as-shit kind of way. Something about the pain is real. This moment is real. Bare emotion, passion and love rolled into one physical outpouring.

  “I want you to take me. To own me, Elliott. I want to be yours in every way.”

  “We’ll make it special,” I reply, turning and bending to kiss him.

  Kyle

  We spend the day packing, which with Elliott in tow is no mean feat. This guy packs like a girl.

  “Jeez, Elliott, how long are we going for?”

  “Two weeks.” He looks at me as if to ask whether I’d really forgotten how long our vacation was.

  I nod. “Yes, I know, but do you?”

  “What?” He has a look of pure bewilderment in his eyes.

  “You’re taking a lot of stuff, that’s all. I thought we’d be traveling light as we’re moving around.”

  “Yeah, but I still have to look good in case I’m photographed. What if the paparazzi find me?”

  I should have known by that innocuous comment what was to come, but these are the small facets of getting to know someone that take time. Instead, I take him at face value. “That’s just an excuse and you know it. Who cares? You’re on your vacation? No one will bother if your hair is out of place, or if you’re wearing the same jeans as yesterday.” I ruffle his hair.

  “Get off.” He shoves me, shaking his head, but a smile quirks at the corner of his lips.

  “Oh, you think you can push me around now that I’ve said I’m yours?” I grin, body slamming him onto the bed, shifting my weight onto his, pinning him down.

  He shrieks, “Ow,” his hips buck against my weight, “you’re creasing my clothes.”

  “Forget the clothes, you big girl,” I tease.

  “Big girl? I’ll show you.”

  But he can’t, his legs are bound on the outside of mine so he has no leverage, and with my weight fully loaded on him, his arms don’t move either. “You’re stuck, admit it.” I plant my lips on his, on his neck, down his throat, switch so both his hands are locked in my one large palm and lift his top, trailing the tip of my tongue over the sensitive skin under his arm, down his side and across his abs.

  He laughs. I stop. “See? A big girl.”

  “Ow, you’re hurting me,” he screams.

  Shit! I stop, release my hands, “Where? Sorry.”

  With that his arms wrap around me, and my world literally spins as he tosses me across the bed until our positions have switched out. Now, I’m lying on my back with him straddling my hips. “Who’s the girl now, Kyle?”

  “Fuck! You got me!” When I laugh, it booms through the room, a real guttural enjoyment of being with a guy in a way it’s never been possible with a woman.

  “All brawn and no brains.” He’s teasing me, goading me on. “Now, what shall I do?”

  “Ah, but I have the brawn,” and we switch again, tumbling around all over the bed.

  “Shit!” I scream as we hit the edge. It’s too late. The momentum is behind us and we slam, as one heavy unit, onto the floor.

  Elliott is howling with laughter, tears streaming down his flushed cheeks. I on the other hand am not. He landed slap bang on top of me, and I’m paralyzed, gasping
for oxygen as my breath comes too fast and too light.

  I’m tapping him, but he’s unable to see clearly through his damn tears. It takes a few, long, drawn out seconds before he asks, “You OK?”

  I nod, clearly not OK as I suck in another wheeze. It’s not that he can do anything to help me, but I want him to at least notice that I’m dying here. Chump.

  I fight to refill my lungs with air, concentrate on slowing my breath, forcing my rapid fire chest to calm the fuck down. On the third attempt some air filters in, not much, but enough to pave the way for me to wheeze in a bigger breath the next time. And so, the moment passes with Elliott kneeling in front of me, with his hands on both my thighs, saying “Breathe, breathe,” like I’m trying to do anything else.

  When my lungs finally slow their spasmodic sucking and the panic disappears from my eyes, I smile. “Guess we’d better finish packing then.”

  “Sure?” He stands, holding out a hand to drag me to my feet and together we appraise the mess on the bed.

  “I need to rethink this whole packing situation. This all needs a good ironing now and I don’t have time.”

  “Or the inclination.” I throw him a look which tells him exactly how prissy I think he’s being. “You can get it done at the hotel when we get there,” I suggest. “Anyway, with what we’re doing, it’s unlikely we’ll be spotted much.”

  “You never know, we might get some attention when we go out in the evenings.”

  I shake my head. He just likes his clothes. I can’t blame him. Why shouldn’t he enjoy the fruits of his labor, but really. I have no idea how we’re going to get all of this gear from a-to-b without it turning into a mini drama.

  Before then though, we have a night out. Although Elliott is still packing, I’ve already thrown my gear in my duffel so I start to prepare for an evening out enjoying the bright lights of the West End of London.

  “Is this OK for tonight?” I ask, laying my proposed outfit of indigo jeans and navy cotton fitted shirt on the only small, clear patch of the bed.

  Elliott

  Our venue for the evening is already buzzing when we arrive with music bouncing off the walls which are also crammed with the most fashionable of bodies. It’s one of those places my protection detail is happy to approve because the bar welcomes a high turnover of celebrity guests which necessitates an innate security protocol ingrained into how the place operates. And that’s obvious as soon as you so much as stand outside. Bodies spill out onto the pavement, an array of cigarettes are placed between manicured fingers and lips painted in equally lurid tones. The pattern continues inside. Every one of the guests wears the latest brands in the latest designs. Women totter in heels which make them inches taller with way out hairdos which have the same effect.

  The guys are just as bad; everyone competes to be the coolest. Which I am not. Don’t get me wrong, I care how I look and I make an effort, but you will not catch me out in the latest trends for the sake of fashion alone.

  It’s only eight, I’m taken aback by how the place is rocking already and I’m phased by the nightclub atmosphere. With no time to adjust I’m already thinking about leaving. I don’t want to be out too late. We have an early take-off slot tomorrow and I don’t want to feel rough. Even though I have a private jet, flying with a hangover is plain shite.

  Three hours later, though and the place which I thought was buzzing when we arrived is positively thumping. It has the effect of waking up every nerve in my body as the music rocks out at full blast. I’ve remembered what it feels like to be free. To let loose, have a few beers, and to laugh. To dance to tunes which make you feel alive and to not be constricted by responsibility to my work nor to be worried about my actions being taken out of context by some tabloid hack. No paparazzi in here means this is a safe haven. Neither I nor all the other celebs here are not about to start reporting drunken behavior to the press and so it’s time to let off some serious steam.

  Kyle and I haven’t partied together yet. He’s generally quiet, happy to keep to himself in crowds. Until the drink kicks in! He’s swilling those double vodkas with what would be an alarming frequency if I weren’t meeting him measure for measure.

  “You having a good time?” I scream above the din as his hips writhe against mine, the bulge of his cock pressing into my back.

  “Sure am. This place is zinging with life.” I throw my head back, laughing, not at his phraseology, but because it’s the perfect description. The atmosphere is one of freedom and experimentation. I’m sure there’s more than the odd illegal drug floating around and while that’s not my bag, it does make for an amazing atmosphere. No one is judging anyone.

  Kyle grips my hips and locks me into him, moving in time with the beat. I drift away, the music moving me like a puppet, engrossed in nothing more than this moment in time. If I were shouting from a mountain top, I wouldn’t be more alive. The alcohol and the music combine to unwind my body and the uncoiling allows my arms to wave in time with the crowd while Kyle pushes into my butt.

  “You make me so horny.” He raises his voice to whisper above the drums. He nibbles my neck, sending a chill all the way down my spine to curl my toes.

  My body shudders against his touch and I jerk into him. My mouth turns to meet his and there we are, on that dance floor, locked in a kiss in front of everyone.

  Our mouths open wide, our tongues delve deep and we allow the outside world to see our love. My hands grasp the base of his back, pulling him closer, deeper within me, needing to feel everything he is as we lock together to allow our heated breath to mingle. The world outside us fades as jostling bodies are secondary to the intensity of our togetherness.

  When we part, no one is paying attention. The club is electric with guests more concerned with feeding off smiles and fast dancing. No one cares whether we’re gay, or bi or however the media would like to categorize us. Instead, this collection of odd individuals is engrossed in their own passions, whether that be chemical or otherwise. Our moment, our one brilliant feeling of public intimacy, of being suspended in time goes unnoticed. Ten years from now, I'll still remember tonight, because much as I love the quiet life I also relish the crazy.

  “You OK?” I return from my thoughts.

  He laughs, “I am more than OK. I love this place,” he says. “Who’d have thought it. Hidden in plain sight.”

  “Come on, let’s take a breath of air.” I pull his hand and lead him off behind me to the chill out area toward the back.

  The neon lights under the bar remain, but the volume of the music scales down as we shimmy from the purple lit room and plop on plump cushions.

  “Elliott!”

  Kyle

  A glorious example of a man glides over. “I thought it was you.” He strokes his dark floppy hair from his swarthy features. “How the devil are you?” He bends to place an air kiss on his cheek. Elliott’s face is stone as this flamboyant character somehow manages to fawn over him. All of this is focused directly on Elliott. I may as well not be here even though I’m impossible to miss sitting sealed to Elliott’s side.

  “What are you doing here?” Elliott’s voice is sharp, his words clipped.

  “I’m great, thanks for asking.”

  “I didn’t,” Elliott snarls, shifting his weight forward.

  “Oh, now now, no need to be mean.”

  “Hi, I’m Kyle.” I hold my hand out for him to shake. He glances down at it, gives it a cursory nod and a flicker, where in that moment he considers ignoring me passes behind the excitement in his eyes.

  When he takes my outstretched palm, his handshake is limp. “Hi Kyle. Aren’t you going to tell him who I am?” He directs at Elliott.

  “Kyle, this is someone you don’t need to know. He’s a no good piece of shit.”

  Whoa. Now, that is not the Elliott I know and love, so this truly must be a genuine no-good-piece-of-shit. I choose not to respond. Instead, I stand, positioning my body to half cut off this person whose very presence is ruining our
evening. I place my hand on Elliott’s arm.

  “Well, aren’t you the lucky one.” The man winks at Elliott. “If you’re fancying a threesome, then all you have to do is let me know. You still have my number, right?”

  Elliott stands, and faces up to this guy, prodding his finger into the middle of his chest, he spits, “I do not have your fucking number. Why the fuck do you think I’d keep your fucking number? Look at you, you’re a pathetic lard knob. The only place you can be yourself is within a celebrity hang out where you’re no one.”

  I get a sense of who this guy is, but he’s not what I was expecting. I jump in anyway, not liking this guy purely because Elliott is upset by his presence.

  “And we will not be having any kind of threesome with you or anyone else. Elliott is the only guy for me.” I sound possessive, but I don’t care as I angle my face in front of this stranger’s and let the meaning of my words sink in.

  “Come on, let’s get back on the dance floor.” I urge Elliott, placing the slightest pressure in the crook of his back.

  He looks at me, his eyes wide, like he’s been caught in the headlights and my heart melts. This fucker has hurt him. “I can’t think of anything I’d rather do.” And then he rounds on our visitor. “We said goodbye a long time ago, Noah,” before stalking off ahead of me.

  I follow on behind and as I grab hold of his shirt and pull him into me, I ask, “The Noah?”

  He spins around. “Yes. My very-ex boyfriend.”

  “What’s he doing in here?”

  “I have no idea, and I don’t want to know.”

  “He seemed very gay for someone pretending he’s not,” I muse to myself, but somehow over all the racket, Elliott still manages to hear me.

  “I know. He’s a dick. Probably hiding out in here away.”

  “Don’t you want to speak to him and put this whole thing behind you once and for all? We’re an item now. It might be easier.”