by Anna Martin
“Yeah. She asked if you were going to be home for Christmas.”
“I’m sorry I missed it,” he says. “She texts me sometimes.”
“I didn’t know that.”
“She tells me about her competitions and I tell her about our gigs. Then a couple of days later, I text her to ask her how she got on, and she texts me to ask how the gig went. That’s about it really. Sometimes she mentions you.”
This catches my interest. “Really? What does she say?”
“That would be an invasion of her privacy,” Chris says, and I can tell he’s smirking. “She was worried about you for a bit.”
I think back. I probably gave them all cause to worry at some point over the last few months. It feels like a lot to admit how badly I failed at keeping up appearances while he was away, and by the sounds of it he’s already been filled in by my daughter. I decide it’s something he doesn’t need to know.
“It’s better now you’re back.”
“For me, too.”
My head naturally finds a dip on his chest, and I allow my cheek to settle there, listening to the regular thump-thump of his heartbeat and drifting on the warm feelings that come with good sex with beautiful men. From this vantage point, I can see his penis. I haven’t really studied it flaccid before, and it lies heavy on his thigh, gently snuggled in a nest of light blond hairs. I’m not nearly as comfortable with my nudity as Chris is, and I like to have a blanket pulled up to my waist, but he just lets it all hang out, unafraid. I envy that about him.
I must drift more than I intended to as I wake with a start.
“Hmm?” I demand. “What time is it?”
Chris shushes me and runs his fingers through my hair.
“You were only sleeping for about twenty minutes,” he says in a soft voice. “I couldn’t bear to wake you up.”
I settle again, my cheek now feeling hot and sticky from being pressed so tightly against Chris’s skin. Sighing deeply is just an excuse to bring his scent back into my lungs.
“Ready to go again?”
“You are joking,” I tell him.
“Not at all.”
His cock is stirring with interest, and I let my fingertips stroke its length cautiously, exploring to test its responses. Chris rolls onto his side, reaching out to grab his Boy Butter and taking another generous scoop of it, easing it into himself.
I slide my index finger in alongside his, surprised to find that he isn’t as tight as when I prepared him the first time. Then I wonder why that surprises me, since he has already been fucked once. I didn’t even know I’ve got this kind of recovery time, but I’m nearly hard again, and his kisses and my finger tangling with his just inside his anus is enough to take me all the way there.
Chris tucks his knees up to his chest.
We sleep in this position with me cradling him back against my body; the echoes of that most intimate position resonate as I line my body up with his and once again push into him.
The second time it’s different.
This time it feels like we have all the time in the world, and really, now we do. I’m no longer questioning if this is real. And although there are still so many things that need to be answered, they can all wait.
This is much more important.
My hand closes around his, and together we take hold of his cock, stroking it in time with my easy rocking inside him. There’s no pressure, no rush, no time for anything but this beautiful connection between us.
I feel like I could spend all day, or maybe forever inside him.
“We have a lot of making up to do,” he says, giving my hand a squeeze and unconsciously echoing my thoughts.
“I can’t believe how much I need you. Missed you so much.”
“I missed you too. Tell me.”
“I love you.”
I can feel him melt at my words. It’s like he has nothing left to give me and lets me take what I need from his body. That doesn’t mean he stops moving, or seeking his own pleasure too; instead it’s a different kind of submission.
It feels like we haven’t kissed in hours, and the gentle brush of my lips over his makes my heart thump painfully in my chest. His tongue slides easily into my mouth, and I want him so badly, want more even though it’s impossible, I’m already inside him as far as I can go. The taste is him and me and the something unique that will only ever exist between us together.
When my second orgasm is torn from my body, everything hurts, and I cry out his name, over and over, safe in the knowledge that this, too, is only ours. No one else can ever have a piece of it.
“Rob.” My name is on his lips too as his sticky release floods my hand, and I press my face into his back.
I am never, ever going to let him go again.
Chapter 15
THERE’S something about the atmosphere in my home office that is far more conducive to working than my office at the campus. And since it was at this desk that I wrote my manuscript, with the cat sitting on my feet and an endless supply of tea and biscuits to keep me going, it feels right that this is where I should sit to edit the damn thing.
Although it’s yet to land a publishing contract, my name and reputation and impressive resume have been enough for an agent to agree to represent me. That’s enough, for the time being.
From this room I can hear the front door to the building slamming shut and the sound of Chris’s distinctive, heavy footfalls as he races up the stairs. It feels good to expect him home, even if he seems to completely keep to a schedule of his own making.
“Rob!” he yells as he closes the door behind him. I roll my eyes. The apartment is small enough that he doesn’t need to shout.
“I’m in here,” I say in a perfectly reasonable talking volume.
“Oh.” He sticks his head around the door and grins. “Are you working? I can come back later.”
“It’s not important.” That’s not strictly true. But it can wait. “What’s up?”
“I have something for you. Well, for me, really. For us.”
“Oh?”
He comes through and hands me a sealed envelope. While standing behind me his arms wrap loosely around my neck, and his chin rests on my shoulder as I slip my thumb under the seal and pull out two typed sheets of paper.
It takes a few minutes for me to interpret the list of abbreviations and numbers, but his name at the top of the sheet, and the name of his doctor, gives me some indication.
“Are these… blood tests?”
“Yup.”
I check the date. “From six months ago.”
“Just after we met.”
“And… from last week.”
“I’m clean,” he whispers in my ear. “I was clean six months ago, and I got checked again to make sure there was nothing nasty lingering. You’re the only person I’ve been with since then.”
It dawns on me, and I laugh. “You’re still hung up on the bareback thing.”
“Damn right I am,” he says emphatically. “I knew I’d be okay, I’ve always been careful. But this is the proof so you’ve got more to go on than my word.”
“I would have trusted you,” I say, feeling a little stung. “This wasn’t necessary. And you should know I can’t reciprocate.”
He kisses the side of my neck wetly. “Okay. When was your last test?”
I think back. “About eighteen months ago?”
“Was it all clear?”
“Yes.”
“And how many people have you slept with since then?”
A long pause. “One.”
“Is that one person me?”
“You’re not beyond being put over my knee for another spanking,” I say, but he’s already laughing, and I can’t help but join him. Chris manages to slide around onto my lap, and I search out a kiss. Our lips are like magnets these days. If we come within a certain distance of each other, kissing is inevitable.
“So will you do it?” he asks, and I have no reason to say no.
He straddles me, a
nd even though his jeans are ridiculously loose, there’s still a strain across the front of them. In these and a plain white shirt, he’s more handsome than ever, and of course I can’t keep my hands off him. He’s beautiful and he’s mine.
When he starts to unbutton his shirt, I realize that he means right now, and the thought makes me smile. He’s so damn impatient, impetuous, and it’s going to get him in trouble one of these days. I can’t say that I mind, though. He’s been making my life interesting for far too long for me to care.
His shirt is tossed over my monitor, effectively cutting me off from my work, which is all the excuse I need (did I need an excuse in the first place?) to ignore the work I should be doing and focus all my attentions on him instead. And Chris is a much, much more interesting subject than editing.
I could spend hours on him.
“Come on,” I gasp, pulling back from his kisses. “Let’s go to bed.”
“No.” He is quite effective at pinning me to the chair. “Right here.”
“Kinky,” I manage before he bites my earlobe and makes me gasp. “Kinky bastard.”
“Yeah. Oh fuck, yeah.”
The thought—fucking in my office—is all I need to make the space in my jeans uncomfortably small. There’s no way we can do it in my office at work—and if I know Chris, which I think I do, that’s probably what he wants. This is a good substitute, though.
“Lube,” I say. “It’s in the bedroom.”
But he’s already shaking his head. “No. Bare. Rough. Like this.”
“No fucking way,” I tell him. “I’ve got no interest in making you bleed, Chris.” I adopt my Scary Teacher voice. “Turn around, put your hands on the desk, and spread your fucking legs.”
“Yes, sir.”
A pair of jeans, not mine, get flung across the room, and a cat disappears out the door in a blur of grey fluff. It’s his own fault for getting between us.
Chris is still toeing off his socks, and somehow he’s naked again while I’m fully dressed. I rectify that situation and leave him waiting for me as I carefully remove the last of my clothes, folding them and placing them on the desk next to his right hand. It’s a test—to see if he’ll disobey me. Part of me hopes he does, just so I have an excuse to spank him again.
Unfortunately he’s being incredibly well behaved, and as I sit down again, the leather feeling nice against my thighs, his ass is now at the perfect height for me to get to work on him. Since I know what’s coming next and that this has the potential to not only hurt him but do some damage, I take the responsibility of adequately preparing him very seriously.
My tongue laps him from his balls to the base of his spine a few times; then I close in on his hole and lick it with soft little jabs. He’s making noises that aren’t quite whimpers but almost, his hips rocking back to me as I knead his cheeks in time with the rhythm of my tongue. I can tell when he’s almost ready to come. I’ve listened to those sounds a countless number of times and ease off a little before he gets there.
“Shit. Shit.” He’s laughing as he straightens up. “You’re going to make me come before we even get started.”
One look at me makes his eyes darken and the smirk drop from his face. I’m not sure what he’s seeing in me, but it makes him drop to his knees and take my cock in his mouth.
It’s moments like these when I know I’ll be the only man to ever feel Chris’s lips around his cock ever again, because there’s no way in hell I’m letting him go. He’s mine now, and this feeling belongs just to us.
Spit isn’t really good enough to use as lubricant, and in nearly every other situation, I would insist on using the real stuff. But this is something that he’s wanted for a long time, and clearly something that he’s waited to share with me. And on some level, I understand his need.
“Are you sure you’re ready?” I ask as he resumes the position astride my thighs.
“Yes,” he says, cupping my cheek in his palm and kissing my lips softly. “I’ve waited so long for this. I’m so glad it’s you.”
“I’m glad it’s you too,” I whisper.
Since he got back, making love more than once a day has become the norm for us, like we actually are trying to catch up on the time spent away from each other. Of course, there are other ways we’re reconnecting too, but nothing quite brings forth the rush of warm, fuzzy, loving feelings like sex.
He keeps one hand on my face and reaches back with the other to guide my cock into him. I hold his hips, keeping them steady and maybe gripping too hard as he sits back on me.
As the first inch slides home, I wrap my arm around his waist, wanting him to feel loved and cared for while this happens. He’s incredibly tight, and I force him to go slow. There’s no rush; we can spend hours doing it if necessary.
Our eyes are locked together, and I need that, I need to keep a close watch on him because God knows I love him and I really desperately don’t want to hurt him. He seems to understand that even though I’d count having sex in my office as slightly kinky, that doesn’t mean I won’t make sure I’m making love to him.
“Fuck,” he whispers, and I immediately grab his hips.
“If this is hurting you, we should stop, right now,” I tell him. And I mean it. Nothing is worth him being hurt, and we can always try again later.
“I’m okay,” he promises, although his eyes are a little glassy. “I’m okay. You’re just stretching me. It feels good.”
“Yeah?”
“Oh God, yeah.”
Despite this, I force him to go slow with my hands tight around his waist and slow, lazy kisses setting the pace. When he sits down and his ass hits my thighs, he throws his head back and groans unashamedly, his fingers now gripping my arms so hard it hurts.
“All the way,” I say with a little breathless laugh.
As his fingertips cup my cheek, I kiss his palm, and we seem to find our rhythm moving together. At a glance down, his cock is thick and heavy against my belly, red at the tip and swollen. I can feel his heartbeat rushing, his breath now shallow and urgent.
For all the times we’ve had sex in the past, this is the first time we’ve done it in this position, and it does take a few minutes for me to find the right angle for him. When I do, that brush against his prostate that draws curses and whimpers from his throat, my cock twitches deep inside him.
There is nothing, nothing quite like watching him like this. There’s already a red flush spreading through the black ink on his chest, and he’s too tight, too perfect, and I’m close….
“Chris.”
And I’m there. His fingers reach back behind himself to feel where we’re joined, and I take over the job of stroking his cock with a grip erring on the side of too hard to get him over the edge with me.
I can feel that this is an emotional release for him just as much as a physical one when he lays his head down on my shoulder. Although there’s no sound apart from his breathing, his shaking shoulders tell me all I need to know about the ragged sobs in his chest.
I’d love to carry him through to bed, to cross the threshold with him in my arms, but my knees, back, arms are too weak. Our clothes stay scattered around my office as we silently make our way through to my bedroom, where we collapse on the bed in a tangle of liquefied limbs.
“Chris,” I whisper.
“Mm?”
“Can you remember, back ages ago, when I asked you if you’d wear my ring?”
“Yeah.”
“This is probably a bad time to ask….”
He twists his shoulders so he can look me in the eye. “Rob, did you buy me a ring?”
I blush and shrug. “Maybe. Do you want it?”
“Yes. Of course.”
“Are you sure?”
“Rob. Give me my fucking present.”
“I can’t reach it from here,” I say, secretly loving that he’s still exactly as I remember him. “You can, though. Top drawer.”
I’m silently blessing my tiny bed as he reaches f
or the drawer and retrieves a small suede pouch.
“Is this it?”
“Yeah.”
I prop myself up on my elbow so I can better see him as he tugs open the strings and pulls the silver ring out.
It was bought when I was Christmas shopping months ago. I was in the mall with Chloe, helping her pick things out for her brother and sister and Lu and Mike, when we passed the jewelry store. In the window was a display of men’s rings, and my eyes were immediately drawn to a selection of wide silver bands inlaid with strips of beautiful dark wood.
The contrast appealed to me, and when we were done and I’d dropped Chloe home, I went back and bought one for him. Even though he was miles and miles away. That didn’t seem to matter for some reason.
While Chris runs his thumb back and forth over the ring, I suddenly feel a spike of rejection in my stomach. It was the wrong time to do it. He feels like I was pushing him back into the relationship. It’s too soon.
“Oh, Rob,” he whispers and rolls over into my arms.
“You like it?” I dare to ask.
“It’s perfect.”
“You don’t have to wear it all the time,” I rush to explain. “I won’t be upset if you don’t want to.”
Silently, he hands me the ring. “You put it on,” he says.
And now it’s up to me. I took a guess when picking the ring size, but I was thinking of his fourth finger when I did. All I want to do is be a part of him again, so as I nudge him back onto his side, I take his right hand in mine and slide the ring onto his finger.
Then the rush of worry comes.
“Are you sure this is okay? I don’t want to be the one who ties you down….”
“You’re not tying me down,” he says, rolling the ring around on his finger with his thumb. “Why would you think that? And if you say it’s because I’m young, I might have to smack you.”
I wonder for a moment if he really will. “But you are young.”
When it comes, it’s a stinging slap to my ass. Not that I mind.
“I’ll do absolutely anything for you,” I vow. “If you want the moon, I’ll get them to gift wrap it.”
“You’re such a romantic,” he says, and I can hear the smile in his voice. “Thank you. For all of it.”
