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And Jimbob certainly doesn’t give a fuck because a minute later, his entire body goes still beneath mine. I jerk my gaze up just in time to see his head fly back, the tendons in his neck pulled tight as he lets go, the world’s sexiest groan expelled from between his lips as his cum splashes onto my dick, his stomach, and his hand.
The sight of it, the feel of him trembling beneath me is all it takes for me to explode. My cum joins his as I lean forward and steal his mouth again, unable to get enough.
When we come down from the high, the cool air seems to hit us, and the reality of what we’re doing makes me tense up. But Jimbob doesn’t stop. No, his mouth is still gently pulling my lips between his, and in a moment of frustration, mainly for him making me feel all these confusing things, I bite down hard on his bottom lip. He hisses at the sensation, but when I pull back, I see nothing but a goofy grin on his beautiful face.
“You seem to like it rough, huh?”
“I suppose so,” I say with a smirk.
“I’m gonna show you how to like it sweet and slow.”
“Fuck that,” I murmur, even though I want it. I want that so damn bad. My whole life has been fast-paced, unsure, unsafe.
I’d love to live in his world, in his bubble.
It must be so peaceful.
My eyes roll just as he leans forward, dropping a kiss on the tip of my nose.
“Perfect end to the day, don’t you think?”
“Do you ever have bad days?” I ask, climbing off him and searching for my clothes. But Jimbob quickly stands and takes my hand. He pulls me toward the house, our briefs around our thighs making the trek slightly awkward, so he kicks his off just inside the back door and tells me to do the same.
“Gonna clean up in the bathroom, yeah?” he says as he leads me down the hallway.
I let his hand tug me forward and as soon as we’re in the bathroom, he grabs a washcloth, white and pure like him, before wetting it and handing it to me.
“To answer your question, sometimes I have bad days. Don’t all people?”
“Never seen you frown.”
“It happens. I even cry when one of the animals gets sick or dies. That’s sure hard.”
“Yeah,” I say, suddenly thinking about Abra-ham not waking up one morning. It hits me harder than I expect. I don’t want to start crying, so I focus on cleaning myself up. When I’m done, Jimbob takes the rag and rinses it out in the sink. He then uses it to wipe himself down, and the entire time, my eyes are glued to his body as he washes our cum from his skin. It’s an unreasonable feeling, but I’m kind of upset about it, to be honest. I want my cum on him. I want it to stay there, want to rub it into his skin and make him keep it.
But I don’t. That’s not normal. It’s slightly unhinged, so I let it go. I just stand there as he goes back outside and grabs our clothes, helping me tug my shirt over my head and button my pants, like I can’t do it myself.
It should be insulting, but it’s not.
It’s sweet.
It’s making me want chocolate. Marshmallows. Whipped cream.
But that’s not reality. It’s not. My reality is sitting with my mom in our rickety old mobile home.
It’s not here. Not with him.
“I should go,” I mumble, and Jimbob freezes.
“Really? I thought maybe you could stay. We could watch a movie or somethin’. You could even sleep over if you want.”
I stare at him, trying to rein in the need, the intense desire to do everything he wants. But I can’t. This isn’t how life works. I’ve learned that.
But just as I try to open my mouth to turn him down, the mini pig comes bounding in, a loud squeal escaping his little snout.
“Jesus,” I say from shock.
“Ah, he must have heard that you were runnin’ away. Wanted you to stay.”
