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

by Karen Botha

  “Whatever the hell it is I want to say to you, it ends with I love and adore you.” He growls the words, his voice husky from desire and my cock wakes, pushing against the fabric of my shorts. Kyle cups it in his palm and presses, and I grind into him enjoying the flood of warmth that tingles through my body.

  He takes his hand and slowly guides it to my waistband, trailing his fingers around the gap between my shorts and my skin. Dipping his hand lower, he grazes his fingertips against the tip of my already wet cock, mopping my desire down and under the rim. I tense as sharp explosions make me rigid. I suck in, “Fuck, Kyle. You drive me crazy.”

  He pulls my shorts forward, grabs the button and sends them to the floor, exposing my naked bottom half. I stand proud, nudging into him, begging to be relieved.

  He sucks my lower lip into his mouth. He releases it, running his tongue over the swollen flesh as his hand glides up and down my raging erection. He presses his forehead to mine, and whispers, “You are crazy,” before raising my shirt up and bending to nip my nipples between his teeth.

  My core is on fire, one electric shock smashing against another as he expertly stimulates both ends of my torso. My neck cricks back as I rest my head against the fridge. My knees buckle as he trails kisses over my abs, down my stomach and lingers above my smoldering rod. He wraps his mouth over my tip without touching me, his breath is hot against my delicate skin and my throbbing intensifies so that the ache is all I can focus on. I thrust my hips forward, trying to wrench my stiffness between his lips, but he holds me firm. Blows cool air on my slit. My crotch lights up and I spasm, catching myself on his lip, the sting adding to the painful ecstasy.

  Finally, he relieves me, sinking to his knees before me. His lips are a deep red, slick with saliva. He connects them against my throbbing member and my pressure eases and I sink inside his mouth.

  His tongue swirls around my head before he’s dipping down and gagging, swallowing against my length, the tension sending shivers down my spine. I buck against him. He takes me, then slides up, his breath rasping as he swivels his jaw to circle my bulging head. He glances up at me, our eyes connect and the almighty pressure almost releases. I pant, holding on as he dips his tongue into my slit, his hand playing with my balls, radiating my pleasure down to my curled toes.

  His fingers rub the silky skin under my balls as his mouth continues its onslaught of my penis, which is engulfed in the most intense wet heat.

  “I’m close. I can’t hold on much longer.”

  He speeds up, takes me toward my climax by swallowing me back down his throat and sucking. Fierce waves rush over me as I grip the back of his head, one final thrust into him as he hollows his cheeks drinking everything down.

  Kyle

  I didn’t want anything in return today. It wasn’t that kind of day. I wanted to show Elliott how much I love and appreciate his devotion by giving.

  But, my shaft is rigid and now that he’s spent I need some relief.

  I stand in front of him and jack off slowly to his gorgeous face. I peel back my foreskin, revealing the head and enjoy the sensation of the cool air as it trickles over.

  I’m horny as hell and my orgasm builds as soon as my hand hits my stiff surface. I pull it back and forth, rotating around my head as I push the loose skin over it, lightly twisting and stimulating the thin piece of oh so sensitive nerves which flow from my foreskin to my head.

  I’m on fire, and as I stand apart from Elliott not touching him with any part of my body, performing my act of self-pleasure in response to his own, it’s one of the sexiest things I’ve ever experienced. Instinctively he gets it, no fondling, and instead he rubs his cock between his fist, still hard from coming down my throat.

  The sight of his hand on his length, still firm from my touch crunches my balls up high. I'm ready to expel in a jet of appreciation and my hand drives fast, my tense bicep working my forearm in long, tight strokes.

  A fire pools in my lower abdomen, and as the pulsing between my legs turns into a flood, the earth spins. Lightning grips my palm and strikes electricity from my length. Explosions thunder around my head, my ears ring with the pleasure of being on display in my most basic form for this man whom I love.

  Time slows as I pant in air, my body spasming, struggling to relax after such a thundering orgasm.

  I collapse against Elliott, our breaths mingling in a kiss before I rest my forehead on his shoulder.

  The clock ticks in the background.

  “I think you need to get a new clock,” I whisper.

  He laughs. “I agree. I’ve never heard it before but now I can’t focus on anything else.” A sound that didn’t exist within the throes of our passion is now earth shatteringly loud.

  We pry our sticky bodies apart and I take a second to stand back and appreciate this special man. “You took a risk today, one that could have gone terribly wrong. Thank you for caring enough.”

  “I hoped it would turn out OK. I don’t want you to fight with your parents because of me. How can we be fully happy when we have that hanging over our heads?”

  “Well, thank you because you know I would never have approached them first. I’m grateful to you. You’ve got balls Elliott Judd, I’ll give you that.”

  He looks down at his naked torso, his penis now dangling limp after our love making. He tips his head, “Well, you certainly found them today.”

  I kiss his lips and give his balls a friendly jiggle. “Come on; we’ll clean the kitchen in the morning. Let’s go to bed.”

  Elliott

  Heading to the hospital is awful. Kyle is tense because he is worried about his dad, but for me it’s a reminder about his dreadful accident.

  “I never want to be inside a hospital again. I thought I’d lost you the last time,” I say as I pull the car out from the electric gates and onto the country lane outside my house.

  “Well, let me be a reminder to us both that surgeries are given a bad rap and good things can happen there.”

  I hadn’t considered it from that perspective. People do go to hospitals to get better. I’d be willing to bet that more individuals come out improved than don’t. “That’s a great way of thinking. You’ve done a great job of mentally turning this around.”

  “Well, we all know how my Dad will end up if he doesn’t go for his operation, so we need to be positive.”

  Kyle’s buoyant mood starts to dissipate as our journey over extends. The traffic is, of course, horrendous and it takes us three hours to do a one hour trip. By the time I park up in the undercover parking lot with too many spaces for the size of modern cars, we’re both have to run to the men’s room and have dead legs. Kyle uncurls his and slips out through the small space between us and the next car and heads off toward the pay machine to buy a ticket.

  He grumbles when he returns. “I hate these things. How do you know how long you’re going to be at a hospital? It should be a pay on exit system. And by card. It’s so expensive.”

  He’s right, but he’s also just letting off some steam so I agree, but only minimally, not giving him the ammunition to become further aggrieved.

  We find his dad’s ward in the maze of color coded signage and head up with our flowers.

  “Sorry, you’re not allowed those.” A matronly nurse accosts our bunch of roses before we hit his bed.

  “Huh?” we both turn.

  “Some people are allergic; they're banned now.”

  We look at each other and I slap a warning on my face. Kyle gets it and lets the flowers leave with the nurse. He shrugs. “Oh well.”

  His mom is alone, the bed is empty. “They took him down early because they had a cancellation. Didn’t realize they got those?”

  I wonder what would have happened for someone to not need the brain surgery they were scheduled for and shudder at the likely possibility.

  “Shit, how could we miss him?” Kyle kicks the metal leg of the bed.

  “It doesn’t matter, love. He knew you were coming, and the
Lord made sure he didn’t have to wait without food for any longer than was necessary. He wasn’t pleased with having to fast. You know how he gets.” A weak smile spreads across her soft features.

  The time passes slowly. Six hours later and we’re still there. “They said he should be out now.” Kyle looks around for a nurse.

  “Shall I go and check?” I ask.

  “Yeah please.” He nods.

  His mom stands and walks around to place her arm over her son’s shoulder. “He’ll be OK, love. He’s as strong as an ox. Don’t worry, they’re probably just doing a thorough job on him, making sure they don’t get his cranky bottom back in here again.”

  I see him smile as I walk off, holding his Mom’s fragile hand in his.

  Kyle

  Elliott’s face gives nothing away as he heads back through the door and into the room where we’re still waiting next to an empty bed. “They couldn’t tell me anything,” he says. “They said we need to wait until the surgeon is free and he’ll give us an update then.”

  “Oh,” mom and I say in unison. She studies her knees and feet and I study her. “Mom, was this worse than you guys let on?”

  “Maybe a little, but your Dad didn’t want you to know. He just wanted things to be OK between you two again.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Well, the location of the tumor was difficult for the surgeons to reach, so they did warn us that this added a complication to the procedure.”

  “What do you mean complication, Mom?”

  “They did tell us, but I can’t remember, everything has happened in such a blur. They did mention possible increased bleeding, but I don’t know if that was during the surgery or after.”

  Elliott who has been standing by listening quietly asks, “Miriam, how was George’s heart?”

  “It wasn't too bad, why?”

  “So, he didn’t have high blood pressure by any chance?” he asks.

  My blood freezes, ice running through my veins as my heart leaps. “He did, yes, he’d had it for years.”

  “But the doctors knew about this?” Again he addresses my mom.

  “I think so. Honestly, I’m not sure what he told them. It was difficult to understand what was going on. They speak so much jargon, I lost track.”

  “But it’ll be on his records won’t it?” I say.

  “Yeah, of course it will be.” He pauses and we’re all quiet. “I’ll just go and see whether they have any idea how much longer the surgery will last.” He turns and leaves mom and me together.

  “Don’t worry. The Lord will look after him, Kyle. Everything'll be fine.”

  I want to scream at her, to berate her for not letting me know sooner what was going on. But then what good will that do? We’ll both end up more upset and it won’t bring us any more news. Instead I place my hand around her waist and pull her into me. “I know, Mom.”

  Elliott returns fifteen minutes later with some terrible looking excuses for sandwiches in an awful plastic casing. “Sorry, this is all I could get.” He holds them up. “I didn’t find out any more info either. There’s no one around to ask.”

  I have the most awful feeling that all the medical staff may be attending to my Dad in surgery, that something has gone wrong, and it’s all hands on deck. But then the rational part of my brain knows this is ludicrous. They won’t bring a load of extra people in to assist experts where no assistance can be given.

  I pick at my sandwich. The white bread is quite pathetic. Since meeting Elliott, if I’ve eaten bread, it’s been the seeded variety, filled with seeds. This looks like a plain cousin now in comparison. I eat it nevertheless, and I’m about half way through it when the same nurse who stole our flowers approaches the cubicle.

  “Would you follow me, please?” She smiles. Her face is round and warm now, the sharp business-like attitude of earlier forgotten.

  My stomach lurches at the exact moment my heart rate increases. This cannot be good. Why are we following her to somewhere else and why on earth is she being so nice all of a sudden? Elliott puts an arm on my shoulder and squeezes.

  “Come on.” His voice is soft and I just want to melt into the ice of his eyes, to float around in their calm lake and ignore what is surely coming.

  Elliott

  Miriam is the first to stand. She brushes crumbs from her clothing onto the floor.

  “Come on, Kyle.” She gives him the slightest of nudges.

  We both stand at the same time and I follow on behind as Miriam wraps her arm around her son's strong waist and leans on him for support.

  We’re taken into the family room and it’s at that point that we have no doubt about the outcome of George’s operation. No one speaks as we’re shown in. The place stinks so strongly of disinfectant it catches at the back of my throat making me want to heave. I swallow bile down and watch as the nurse bustles off to locate water.

  We sit.

  And we wait.

  The surgeon enters five minutes later.

  He has no need to speak. His face, drawn and solemn communicates the message he has come to deliver. Miriam covers her quivering lips with the back of her trembling hand and shakes her head. Kyle stands up, bracing himself for the force of the words he knows he has to endure.

  The surgeon opens his mouth and we finally hear the phrases. “Nothing we could do. His heart reacted badly to the anesthetic. Very rare.”

  I don’t pick up any more. Miriam buckles against Kyle from the power of an invisible force. An animal howl escapes her throat, a guttural wail saying what mere words could never. Kyle stoops to hold her, grasping at her, trying to ease her broken heart with the strength of a son’s love. He sits in the seat next to her and leans in, embracing her in his long arms her slender figure lost within his.

  “The operation was just too much for his body. We’re so sorry for your loss.”

  “Thank you doctor.” I move forward, shake his hand.

  “Do you have any questions?” he asks.

  No one is listening to him other than me. I have no idea what questions to ask. “Did he know this was a possible outcome?” I’m expecting the usual diatribe of platitudes, a risk with any operation, blah, blah, blah, but he doesn’t.

  Instead the consultant nods his head. “He chose to fight for a quality of life. He knew there was a huge uncertainty about the success of his operation and that there was a chance his heart wasn’t strong enough. We discussed it at length, but George wanted to try.”

  “OK, thank you doctor. We'd like to call you later with any questions if that's OK?”

  “Of course. Anything we can do to help.” He walks out of the room, leaving another family mourning a loved one they’ll never touch again.

  I wonder how good this surgeon was. If he’d been better would George still be here now? I could have paid for a private operation, but we didn’t understand the true extent of the risk. I keep my thoughts to myself and observe, somehow detached from proceedings, but my presence is still needed as Kyle supports his sobbing mother. He doesn’t shed his own tears.

  This is not a good sign.

  Elliott

  How Noah got my number is a mystery, but that is the least of my worries. I had the odd missed call from him while we were away on vacation, which I ignored. Three to be precise. A hang up and no message. So it was easy to pretend they didn’t exist. But I’m not sure that has been the best course of action. Noah’s calls are growing increasingly frequent and aggravated.

  When he first called, the number sequence seemed familiar. But I couldn’t place where I knew them from. Something I couldn’t put my finger on nagged me for about a minute after the call before drifting off, replaced by other thoughts of our happy times. It only clicked when I received an email from him whose number it was that had been causing my consternation.

  His message was rational.

  “I’ve split up with my wife, but I’ve found someone else, after all being gay never worked against your career. I won’t eve
r marry him, and I feel totally alone.”

  He tells me where he’s living now as he’s moved and signs off wishing me all the best in my life.

  I contemplate replying for a second. Actually, more than a second. I know. Maybe I’m a soft-hearted pushover, but I’m pleased he’s putting the past behind us and although I’ve harbored resentment since our split, I wish him no malice. His message was nice. He’s sorry for being a dick, and he understands my life has moved on. I even consider a fleeting notion that we could become friends again. Nothing more, but we had been close for years before anything sexual happened between us, so why not?

  And then he tried to connect with me on social media and that idealistic sentiment grew wings and flew away like a butterfly coming of age.

  That was the point I realized that I have no desire to be his friend ever again.

  The thought of him having access to my private moments sends alarm ravaging down my spine and in a fit of sweaty panic I not only decline his request, but I block him from even being able to locate my account.

  Not three minutes later my phone rings. “You blocked me!” is the outcry on my voicemail. “I was trying to send you a message, and you blocked me.” His voice is shrill, hysterical.

  Really? That ear splitting tirade of abuse drags me back to our past in an instant. Our life was always on his terms. We got together when he said, we didn’t tell anyone about us because he didn’t want to, and then he left, again, on his terms. What say did I have in any of this?

  And now, he’s decided it would be good for us to become friends again and he’s outraged when I don’t agree. I press the delete option and the message vanishes before it has a chance to create any discord. If only life were that simple.

  Kyle

  Guilt. It’s a word I’ve never considered before. But I have a lot of time to think about it now. I’m thankful we’re getting back on the road in a few days, being busy with work again will give me the chance to forget about all the raging hate I have toward myself for not forgiving earlier as I know I should.