Page 62 of These Secret Years

“Oh yeah. Barely hanging on here.”

“Can I come like this?”

I don’t know what he’s asking. Whether it’s for permission or about whether it’s generally possible, so I answer him with one of my usual questions, but in this case, I’m not trying to be evasive. “I don’t know. Can you?”

“I don’t know.”

I kiss him again, this time managing to slip him about a second’s worth of tongue as I grind inside him. “I’ll make sure you do. You still hard?”

“Yeah,” he breathes, nodding vigorously. “Yeah.”

“Let’s turn you over, then.”

“Mm…no, don’t go.” It’s a pathetic line, and for the first time, it resonates how desperate he is for this. How much he needs it, and there’s even a glimmer of what it means to him. He wants the experience. The full and complete memory of what it is to have sex. Which is exactly why I need him on his back now with his legs in the air and his cock between our abs.

I sit back, pull out, and shove his hip to the side. He moves easily like he isn’t two-hundred and twenty pounds of muscle that should be as sturdy as a concrete slab. Now, on his back with his cock flat against his eight pack, I get a look at his face. He’s both pale and flushed. His hair is damp, and he’s got this glazed, fucked out look as he stares at me that I’ve never seen on a person before. He licks his lips, not like he’s trying to be sexy but more like he’s not loving how perceived he is, adorable freckles and all.

I don’t waste time. I crowd him again, pushing my body between his legs and coming in for a deeper, longer kiss. He grabs at my head and I allow it, pressing one hand over his to show him he’s okay to touch me here. It makes his kiss more aggressive. Our tongues fuck each other in long thrusts and rolling waves.

Without thought, I’ve got my other hand behind his knee, and I’m hiking it up, pushing it toward his shoulder so I can get back inside him.

I slide in without any resistance, and he chokes back a groan. Everything about this new angle is more stimulating. His chest rising and rubbing against mine. The feel of his hard cock between our stomachs. The wrecked look on his face. I pull back to breathe and find the best angle, which takes a few experimental thrusts, and when he gasps, “Fuck, oh fuck,” I feel it, too. This delicious closeness, the way my cock drags along the more sensitive side of his hole.

I also feel the need to seal my mouth to his and fuck the rest of myself into him for the duration. “Kiss me.”

He has to lift his head and use his magnificent abs to crunch up, maintaining his grip on my hair and head, but he does it. We kiss furiously as I use every lower body muscle I have any control over to go deeper and harder, to keep his dick smashed between us.

A surge of wild lust and an urgent desire to come has me picking up the pace. I lose some control as I move faster and rougher. He’s using his body, too. His hips rising to take me and fuck back against me, and it feels like we’re suddenly in this together.

His kiss breaks, but his mouth remains on mine as he gasps. I feel him come. I feel everything, the spasm of his cock, the resulting jerky ejaculation spilling hot cum between us. The sounds he makes, the way they vibrate my lips, and the way his ass clenches in strong flutters around my moving dick break through my ability to resist what’s been building since I first popped through his rim.

An achingly pleasurable cramp has me groaning just before my own cock throbs and spills. I freeze at the top of a thrust inside him and let my shaft be milked by his ass as I come and come and come.

We’re both lost to it, mouths resting on cheeks, panting and grunting and still smashed close and sweaty and messy against each other. I don’t so much as collapse on top of him as I melt against him, spreading my arms out to catch some air on my overheated skin.

He places a tentative hand on my lower back as his legs relax, falling to the sides.

Coming inside a condom is a relatively disgusting feeling once the aftershocks wear off, but I’m not ready to move yet. I’ve got my face against Knight’s sweaty neck, and he smells incredible here. Leather and amber and the clean fresh scent of cut grass. But he also smells like sex, and it reminds me of that night in the woods. There’s something uniquely him about this scent. The sense memory is incredibly specific to the first time I kissed him against that tree.

Does it bother me that the memory of his scent has stuck with me this long? Maybe a little, but I can chalk it up to that night. One amazing night. No other night or day I spent my entire freshman year ever managed to compete with how completely good that one was. Our perfect night where I pictured an entirely different year for myself than the one I actually had.

In my post-orgasm haze, I allow myself to remember with no small pinch in my chest that I thought Knight and I would hook up again. That I’d get to be his favorite secret and even his best friend. It was all stupid. An immature desire to bond deeply with someone who felt like he wanted that, too.

But he had the football team, and in the end, who the fuck was I except some dude who gave him head and was along for the ride, swept up into a night full of hope and nostalgia for everything we had to look forward to and all we were finally leaving behind.

We all knew we’d become different people. Independent and free for the first time ever. I assume we all had ideas of who that person would be, and I guess that version involving Knight ended up being mine.

It lasted about a week.

A week of him seeing me in passing occasionally at the dorm, vaguely acknowledging me, never alone, and giving me the impression he appreciated my existence and what we’d done, but that was about it.

Honestly, it didn’t even feel like a rejection. It made sense. Two different worlds and all. Gabe did his best, and there was never any friction for two whole semesters between anyone on our hall, but in terms of more bonding experiences with all of us involved? No, there weren’t any more of those.

If that night at the abandoned house hadn’t happened, I doubt we would have even run into each other this summer, either, or sought the other out.

In the weird morass of my thoughts, I dislodge my dick from his ass with a careful hand on the condom and roll away from him. “I’m gonna take a shower if that’s okay.”

“Sure,” he says weakly from behind me. I don’t look back as I head into the bathroom where I ditch the condom and step into the warm spray of water.