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Within moments, we were humping against each other, pressing hot cotton between us while we devoured each other’s mouths. I wanted more. I wanted to taste him and suck him, make him come and then do it all over again.
I moved down the bed and pulled the elastic band of his underwear away from his hard cock. After stripping them off him, I nuzzled my nose in the crease of his leg. Fuck, he smelled good. Traces of my own soap lingered on his skin, and I felt satisfied, like it was a sign of possession or some caveman shit like that.
I hadn’t expected to jump on him like this when I got home. In fact, I was shocked I had the energy for it. But connecting with him, pressing my skin as close to his skin as possible and breathing in his very exhales… it was like sliding into my own bed after weeks away. He was comfort, he was home. He was mine.
“Come up here,” Mikey said between gasping breaths. “Fuck. Fuck me. Fuck.”
I couldn’t figure out if it was an exclamation or a request, but I moved back up his body and kissed his soft lips again. A little bit of late-day beard stubble scratched at my chin, but I didn’t care. I could be scratched raw from his stubble all over my body and still feel giddy with the taste and smell and feel of him.
“Want you inside me,” he begged again. “Please.”
I pulled back in a daze, long enough to look down at him to see if he truly meant it. I hadn’t intended to fuck him for the first time without at least making some kind of plan, but at this point, I was ready to throw plans completely out the window so I could feel the hot, tight squeeze of his body.
“You sure?” It was all I could give him. A lame-ass escape hatch he’d better duck out of quickly if he didn’t want me inside him.
He nodded emphatically. “More than.” He nodded toward the bedside table where I noticed a bottle of lube and three foil condom packets lying in wait. The man had plans.
“I guess you’re sure,” I said with a grin, lurching to the side to grab the supplies. I was relieved to see proof this wasn’t a spontaneous decision. I didn’t want him to have any regrets.
When I got back to him, I nipped at a spot on his neck before moving down to tweak his nipple with my teeth. The feel of Mikey’s sexy legs wrapping around me and his hard dick arching up into me made my brain fog. I squeezed a dollop of lube onto my fingers and reached for his hole, brushing his balls with my thumb as I began to smooth my slick fingers on his skin.
The sounds he made—whimpers, sighs, and moans—made me feel powerful, and I wanted to pull more out of them of him. I felt euphoric. We were okay. Being back home in Houston didn’t mess everything up. Mikey was still in my bed, and all was well.
“More,” he urged, grabbing my wrist with a strong grip and pushing it into him. The move made me so hot, my dick jerked against his leg.
“Fuck, baby. God.” I squeezed my eyes closed for a second. “You’re gonna make me come.”
His channel was hot and tight. Every time my fingers brushed over his spot, his groan of pleasure was so dirty, I was surprised I hadn’t already shoved myself inside him in desperation.
When he was finally ready and we’d both ramped up to a hair trigger, I leaned up to his face again and kissed him tenderly. “Thank you,” I whispered against his lips. “Thank you for being here with me right now.”
Mikey’s eyes widened in surprise, but then they softened. “Nowhere else I’d rather be.”
I leaned back and pushed his knees up before moving my dick to his hole and pressing into him. We went slowly, which took superhuman levels of self-control because he felt so fucking good.
“Christ,” I hissed when his body tightened impossibly around me. “Fuck, oh god. Mike.”
His eyes shone as he blinked up at me, and I actually thought I’d reached the penultimate moment in my life. Here it was. I had everything I could ever want. No one else on earth was as lucky as I was.
And it was true. I only needed to hold on to it.
18
Mikey
After having sex with Tiller on Monday night, I walked around like I’d won a damned beauty pageant. Even Sam noticed when he came over on Wednesday night for dinner. Wednesday nights were usually mediterranean salad night which he loved for some reason.
“Why do you look like you just scored a multimillion-dollar recording contract from a homemade YouTube video?” He threw his leather jacket over a nearby chair and reached for one of the apple slices I had cut up for Tiller. Tiller hadn’t come in from practice yet, but he was expected any minute.
