Page 44 of Mine

The entrance was a sliding glass door, and the back opened out onto a little pier that had five steps down to the water. In the summer, it had to be beautiful, but now that it was slightly chilly, I had no desire to dive in.

He flung his luggage down in the living room and pivoted around to face me. I walked by him into the bedroom, put my duffel on the wingback chair, took off my jacket and scarf, draped both over that, and then dived into the bed.

“What are you doing?”

I lifted my leg. “Take off my shoe.”

“What?”

I grunted, letting it fall. “I’m being an idiot because this is fucking with me. I’m sorry, I know you’re on a budget because it’s not mine, it’s ours. We’re working on building our life together, and this belongs to your parents, not you. So we’ll visit for the next week, and then we’ll go back to our shitty little apartment until we can buy our tiny dream house and live happily ever after.”

He was shaking.

“Oh.” I grinned at him, sitting up to unlace my wingtips, ready to put my Nikes back on because my dress shoes scrunched my feet. “You wanna fight instead?”

“No.” He rushed over to the bed, swatting my hands away, sitting with my feet in his lap, working the laces himself. I noticed that he had dumped his scarf and peacoat in the outer room.

I cleared my throat. “Your brother says you didn’t leave because you were gay but because your parents thought you were crazy.”

He continued what he was doing, dropping first one shoe and then the other to the floor before he finally turned and looked at me. “And you think what about that, since you wanted me to see a shrink a while back?”

“I was going with you; I’m just as fucked up as you are.”

He went to move, but I pressed my legs down, making them heavy, trapping him beneath them.

“Lemme go.” He sounded disgusted.

“Uh-uh,” I said, moving fast, flipping around and putting him on his back under me on the bed. “I need to get laid.”

“Well I don’t need—oh.” He gasped as I bent and licked a long wet line up the side of his throat before biting his neck. It tasted and smelled so good, like Landry. When I inhaled deeply, he jolted under me.

“You need me,” I said flatly, noting the goose bumps, the flutter of his lashes, his hands fisted in my jacket.

“Yes,” he hissed, bowing up off the bed, trying to get closer.

I yanked his hands off me, which made his eyes spring open wide, all big and beautiful, and I attacked him, his belt, his zipper, rough with him because I was frantic to connect, to be reminded of who I was.

He whimpered and whined, and when I yanked down the thong he was wearing and his cock sprang free, I deep throated him in one decisive movement.

“Oh fuck!” he shouted, hands on my head, gripping my skull hard since there was no hair to pull and fist.

I held him tight with one hand on his hip, the other squeezing his ass as I sucked and stroked with my tongue and mouth, swallowing down precum, making him wet.

“I can’t… I’m too…,” he rasped, pumping in and out of my mouth, holding me tight against him, knowing that I had no gag reflex at all.

I took him down the back of my throat and swallowed around his engorged shaft as he babbled and made a litany of my name. “Trev! I don’t wanna come, I want you to fuck me!”

No. He wanted to come.

“Trevan!”

I made the suction too good, too strong, and he came hard, yelling my name, filling my mouth before I drank him down, gulping the hot, salty fluid.

He clutched at me, my shoulders, tried to move, but caught between me holding him down, his dress shoes, and his pants, he was at my mercy. I held him as his orgasm consumed him and he moaned loud and long. His convulsions made him buck against me and slam his spewing cock against the back of my throat.

Sometimes Landry needed to be reminded that I owned him body and soul.

“You’re an idiot!” he yelled at me.