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I’ve been wondering for so long.
His jeans hang from his thighs. His light grey boxer briefs can’t contain his surging cock, and the light drops of his cum darkening them. Shit, he’s hot. Dragging the thick, white band of his boxers down, I’ve never touched another man’s underwear, pulling it down with both hands to reveal what I never thought I’d crave.
The anticipation. The slow reveal. The deep line of his tan obliques and the line where the sun doesn’t see his skin all beckon my search. When I see the top of his trimmed dark blond patch and the base of his wide cock appear, my fucking mouth waters.
I almost hesitate.
I know what will spring before me, what will demand my mouth to taste, to lick, and I want to revel in this wonder, but my desire is too impatient. Pulling his boxers down his thighs, his cock aims at me, leaking and swollen, and I let out a primal groan as I wrap my fist around his shaft and greet this new pleasure.
“Oh fuck, yes.” He moans and helps me.
Wrapping his hand over mine, we pump his cock, his lips reaching for mine again, and we moan. We’re both seeking this. Wanting this. How I know how to stroke him. How to twist and pump and thrill him until his thighs shake for me is the biggest turn-on. He’s hard putty in my hands, and I will milk every drop from him. And lick it up, too.
“I want to taste you,” he says, pulling away from my kiss, pressing his forehead to mine while stroking my length. “I want to suck your cock, and you can take all the pictures you want. It’s no secret or shame. I want you, Redix Dean.”
“You want my cock in your mouth?” He’s swelling in my tight grip, a feeling I never want to let go of. “You want to wrap those scruffy lips around my hard cock and let me fuck your deep throat until I come in it?”
“Yes.” He’s pumping our fists faster, his shameless hips meeting our tempo. “I want you to watch me. Watch me suck your cock while you love every fucking minute of it.”
His lips are trembling. His thick vein is growing more rigid against my palm, and he’s going, and I’m vicious with my grip because I will fucking take him there.
“Show me, Silas.” He grunts. “Show me how you want me. How you come thinking about my cock in your mouth. Of my cum shooting down your throat and spilling over your chin.” He groans. His eyes drop, and watch, too, panting and thrusting into my pounding fist. “Let me see your cum,” I demand. “I think about it too. I wanna watch it shoot from your big cock into my fist.”
“Oh fuck.” He huffs, and I get my wish. “Oh fuck.” It coats my hand. It splatters across my jeans, his creamy ropes landing on my blue shirt, and I squeeze him harder for more. “Daaaammmn,” he heaves with another rush, ribbons of his cum decorating my jeans and my cock surging, desperate for him underneath.
“Fuck,” he huffs and pulls me into another kiss. A deep one. A long one while he recovers his breath, and I’m aching for more.
More of him. More of his sex. More of his big heart. I want to keep being free with him. I want to be like him. It’s more than attraction to his body. It’s like pieces of me heal with him; they get stronger with him. Only one other person does this to me.
I lift my hand to my mouth and lick his cum off for him to watch, and I’ve never seen a man look back at me this way. Helpless. Hungry. Humble. And I love his salty taste, like a new favorite dessert.
“Your turn,” he says, reaching up to cup my jaw and start another round of this intimate dance.
His other hand starts unbuttoning my jeans. I want to remember this, gazing down to watch him.
“Is this okay?” he asks.
Like he knows more about me than most. About what I’ve survived. Why I stayed drunk for so long, and why I still have nightmares. His touch is tentative. He does know. Cade must’ve told him. And he cares, too, and that only makes me fall harder for him.
“Do you think about her too?” I ask while his palm keeps friction against my shaft.
“Yes.”
“Do you miss her too?”
“Every day. I think about you both. Is that wrong?”
“It doesn’t feel wrong.” I reach for my zipper, our hands shuffling to make room for each other. “I think about her. I love her. I think about you and feel for you, and I swear I moan and come to you both.”
“We’ll get her back,” he swears before taking me in another kiss, and his lips are starting to feel like another home for me. Like another place where I’m safe and free, and I don’t have to fear what he’ll see when I drop my pants.
I’m about to tell him. To prepare him. The scar on my buttock is horrific; he’ll at least feel it, if not see it when I do. And I don’t know how I feel about that, but I trust him.
“I need to tell—”
Shit, the phone in my back pocket starts buzzing. I ignore it. I begin to tell him again, but it buzzes more, and I worry that it’s someone outside my trailer door.
“I have to check.”
