“Will you fuck yourself with a cucumber while I watch?” He rumbled against my ear, his breath hot. “Please?”
Heat shot through me, and I wanted to throw the blankets away, except then he’d see my hard-on. But what did it matter? The feeling of sharing myself with him without disapproval was amazing.
“You don’t have to hide from me, baby boy,” he murmured and found my sensitized nipple with his fingers. “I want to know your deepest kinks even if they involve produce.”
I tried to hold back my moans, but it was hard. He was too sexy, too devilish, and it was difficult telling him no. If he wanted to watch me fuck myself with a cucumber, he was likely going to get his way. For the briefest of moments, I wanted to confess everything to him, including the need to wear lingerie. If he took my use of produce for sexual gratification this well, he’d likely be into me wearing slutty underwear, wouldn’t he?
But the words got caught in my throat. I didn’t want to ruin this moment. “I…”
“What do you need?” he purred and traced circles around my nipple. The touches went right to my cock, reigniting the flame that had burst to life last night.
I took his hand and pushed it under the covers where my cock was hard and leaking. He made a sound akin to a feral animal and started stroking me. His own cock was sandwiched in the crack of my ass and as he jacked me off, he thrust himself in sync to his movements. I thought I’d be completely spent after last night, but the knot in my balls tightened. I ended up spilling all over his hand, while he coated my crack in hot cum.
“Well, I can’t think of a better way to wake up in the morning,” he mumbled.
I bit my lip, the tease floating around in my mind. I decided not to hold back. “How about with your cock in my mouth?”
He laughed so hard the bed shook. “Look at you. I play with your nipples a little and you come out of your shell. I love it.”
I tried to hide my embarrassment, but he cuddled me close and kissed the back of my shoulder.
“Come on, let’s take a shower and skedaddle.”
Having grown up in foster homes, I’d bathed in close proximity to others before, but showering with him and washing away the remnants of sex was really nice. He skimmed the tinybar of soap all over me while I made use of the shampoo bottles afforded by the motel. He offered me the soap and I took it, taking my time exploring his body under the guise of getting him clean. It was surprising to me how exciting and intimate bathing with each other could be.
We left the room at ten thirty and as I waited in the car for him to return the keys, everything sank in. I’d had great sex in a seedy hotel with a wonderful guy.
I must have been smiling like a dummy because when he returned, he asked, “What?”
“Nothing. I just had a great time.”
He laughed with satisfaction and pulled me into a sweet, closed-mouth kiss.
“Can we grab breakfast?” I asked.
“Hm,” he said, a little thrill rushing through me. “We just had a big dose of protein.”
I rolled my eyes. “You are such a horndog.”
“But you love it,” he countered. “Let’s get some food.”
We ended up going back to the pumpkin farm and had breakfast at the restaurant across the street. The place was packed and as we shared waffles and pancakes, it wasn’t hard to see why. The food was delicious. They even had a healthy version of pancakes made with almond flour for Gabriel.
He didn’t stop smiling at me and I returned his grin. This was so incredibly nice I couldn’t describe the feeling. We talked a little more about what it might be like to own and operate a farm. Planning our lives together was something I never thought I’d get to do, and I couldn’t think of a better man than him to live happily ever after with. But life didn’t follow the rules of dreams. Still, it was nice to imagine. The hope of better days and happy moments was potent medicine.
“It’s weird, but I don’t even know your last name,” I said abruptly.
“Northcotte,” he said. “My family is primarily English and German. Mom has a bit of Irish in her too.”
“A middle name?” I asked.
“Arthur. My complete name is Gabriel Arthur Beauchamp-Northcotte. A bit of a mouthful but at least it sounds important.”
I tried his full name on my lips. For funsies, I thought about how my own attached to his name might sound.Jake Clark Beauchamp-Northcotte.
“How about you?”
“I’m a plain Clark. Ah, I’m not sure if my mother gave me a middle name. If she did, it wasn’t on the birth certificate.” I squirmed in my seat. It was hard talking about myself.
