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“Okay,” he agrees, his fingers tightening around his fork as he picks it up again. “Let’s just focus on…uh, on eating.”
But I can tell he’s thinking over what I said, the way he keeps glancing at me, and trying to suppress a smile. The comfortable silence between us extends right through dinner into clean up, when Max rinses the dishes before stacking them in the dishwasher. At one point, when I apparently get too close, he “accidentally” flicks his wet fingers at me.
“Hey!” I protest. “Watch it.”
He chuckles and does it again, and then I find myself doing something I haven’t done in years: play fighting. As the laughter dies down, Max has me cornered against the kitchen island, arms on either side of me. I reach up to cup his face in my hands, press a gentle kiss to his lips.
“You want to know why Van’s jealous? It’s because he can see I need you, Max.” I lean in, my forehead resting on his. “Ineedyou.”
His eyes darken with desire, and his hands, still wet, trace under my shirt, make me shiver as he finds skin. “Need me? Or need—this?” His hand slides over my hip, fingers dipping under my waistband.
“Both,” I tell him truthfully. “God,both, Max. And everything else that you can give me.”
His nose brushes the side of my face, and he presses a kiss to my cheekbone, moves his lips to my ear. “You’re a lot younger than I am, Bricker.”
I wait, wondering if he’ll say anything else after that, until I realize what he’s really asking. “You’re not too old for me, if that’s what you’re thinking.”
He pulls back a little. “At my age, I don’t want to do casual anymore. I want something…” His eyes search mine. “I want somethingdeep.”
Deep? I’m practically drowning in him. “I want that, too.”
“And I’m too old to play games.” He hesitates, and then says, “Am I…too old foryou?”
I almost laugh. “Have you not been paying attention or something?” But my grin dies as something occurs to me. “Wait—do you think I’m tooyoungfor you?”
“I think you could have any man you wanted, Bricker Soldano. So I need you to be real clear on this. Real clear on what you want.”
I pull him in for a kiss, hard at first, softening into something sweeter. Something…deeper. Just like Max says he wants.
When we break, I look into his eyes. “I want that depth you’re talking about. I wanteverythingwith you—and I don’t give a fuck about the age difference.”
And just like that, we’re lost in each other, the dishes forgotten, the kitchen only a background detail as we kiss, mouths moving fast and hard, his hips grinding into mine, humping me right there against the kitchen counter. And then Max pulls off my tee and strips off his own shirt. “If you want to slow down—” he begins with a warning tone, his hand on his belt buckle.
“I want you tospeed up.” I get on my knees right there in the kitchen and yank open his belt myself, then tug down his pants, his underwear, looking up to see his reaction as I rub my face into his thickening cock. And I get exactly the reaction I’m hoping for.
“Open your mouth.”
I open wide, and Max slides his cockhead across my lips, dips into my mouth, and follows my tongue to the back of my throat. I give a happy gargling moan and reach up to pull his hips closer, urging him deeper. He lets me move him into position, although I have to let him out of my mouth for a second as we try to get aligned. I look up at him again, my head resting back against the cabinet door just below the sink, and I open my mouth again in a wordless invitation.
He pushes in. I encourage him, wriggling into place until he’s all the way in to the root and I can’t breathe, his warm belly a cozy cushion for my forehead, his pubic hair tickling my nose, filling up my senses with his scent. I swallow as fast as I can, the spit streaming out of me like someone turned on a faucet, but then I choke, and he pulls out.
“No,” I cough. “Iwantyou deep. Deep as you can get.”
“Yeah you do. Okay, open up. There you go, that’s my good boy—” And he pushes back into my mouth,deepin, as the flood of pleasure at his praise makes me pliant, malleable.
He gives me exactly what I’m craving: a deep, slow face-fuck, his hips rocking under my hands as I try to get him further into me. I really do want to drown in him, grabbing at his ass to make him pick up the pace, his pants down around his thighs and the zipper scraping here and there against my chest, an angry little sting that only makes me hotter.
I let my lips tighten around him, moaning encouragement as he fucks a little faster, his breath coming in quick little gasps, my mouth filling up with his flavor, the tang of his pre-cum, the clean salt of his sweat—
And then he pulls out, making me whine, a flood of spit running down my chin as he looks down at me fondly. “You’re a mess,” he says roughly, tipping my head back with a handful of hair.
“Come in me,” I demand. “Come on.”
His eyes go darker, if that’s possible, and his fist in my hair tightens to just this side of painful, but then he lets me go and yanks me to my feet. “I plan to. But I want to hear you beg me for it, and you can’t do that with your mouth full. So get your pants off.”
I try to rip them off so fast I just about fall on my face, and Max has to steady me with a chuckle, even as he kicks off his own shoes and pants. But then he pauses, his eyes going up toward the roof, to the bedroom overhead, and I know exactly what he’s thinking.
“Don’t worry about that. Fuck me bare. Please?”
