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“You have ten seconds, give it to me.” I drop to my knees, pull his dick out, and suck on his head while jerking him fast in my hand.
His body bows, and he shoves his hand in his mouth to keep the sound in. He grips my hair and fucks into my hand. I hold up my free hand, counting down the seconds. I’m breathing hard now too, lust licking my veins at the control I hold in my literal hands. The challenge I threw was bullshit, and I knew it. I knew he wasn’t going to be able to finish that fast, but he’s trying so fucking hard. There’s a small part of me that feels bad. It’s really fucking small, though. Like miniscule.
Precum hits on my tongue at nine and at ten, I pull off him, leaving him hard and throbbing.
“Noooo! Fuck!” he yells against his hand while he trembles. He squeezes his eyes closed and covers his face with his hands. The red blush of arousal has climbed up his neck to his face, and I know it’s spread over his chest as well.
It takes a minute, but he grips his hair in his hands and pulls hard. The bite of pain giving him something else to focus on, I’m sure. I wait it out, knowing my grandparents are downstairs waiting for us but not willing to leave him alone like this. His dick is still hard when I stand up and tuck him away.
“This time I mean it; I hate you.” He opens his eyes and glares at me. I smile at him and lean my forehead against his.
“But think about how good it will feel later when you finally get to fill me with cum.” I chuckle when he shivers on a gasp.
“Boys!” Grandma yells this time, and I kiss Brendon quickly, then step away from him, moving to the door to go wash my hands. It’s probably a good idea since I just had my hand on his balls, plus it’ll give both of us a few minutes to cool down. I’m hard and aching for touch, but I know waiting will make it so much better. When did I become such a masochist to myself?
My flushed face catches me by surprise in the mirror when I step in front of the sink. I’ve never seen myself heated from lust, only post-orgasmic, I guess. Interesting. I splash some cold water on my face and am washing my hands when Brendon comes in glaring at me.
I smile at him in the mirror, giving him a wink for good measure, and he breaks into a disgruntled smile. He’s trying so hard not to, but he can’t hide it from me. It’s fucking adorable.
“They go to sleep early; we have all night.” I wink again, and he grumbles something, slapping my ass as I walk past him.
At the table, Grandma and Grandpa are at each end, leaving Brendon and me on either side. The stew pot is in the middle of the table with mashed potatoes and yeast rolls with butter. It smells so good. Venison stew is one of my favorites. It’s hearty, full of protein, veggies Grandpa grew in the garden, and delicious carbs. I serve myself a bowl, layering the mashed potatoes then stew on top as Brendon comes bounding down the stairs making a “meep meep” sound.
Seymour sees him and yips, jumping off the couch to chase him into the dining room.
“Hey, monster,” he says in a baby voice and scratches the dog.
Grandma sighs and shakes her head but doesn’t say anything. I know she thinks he just washed his hands and is now touching the dog, but she lets it go. He’s an adult.
Brendon falls into his seat and pulls one foot up because he can’t sit normally for long if he’s not touching me.
He serves himself, and we all start eating.
“How was the drive then?” Grandpa asks.
“It was fine, I guess. You know, for being locked in a car for a bazillion hours with random cell service and the piss break warden.” Brendon points his spoon at me and rolls his eyes.
“Excuse me? You wanted to stop for snacks every fifteen minutes, not piss.”
Grandma chuckles, a smile lighting her face and enhancing her smile lines. She hasn’t had an easy life, and burying her only child had to have been crushing, but the lines of her face tell her story. While there were hard times and sorrow, there was also lots of love and laughter.
“I was hungry!” Brendon says around a mouthful of food.
“If I stopped every time you said you needed more snacks, we would still be in Nebraska.” I shake my head and shove more food in my mouth. “How’s Drumstick? Is she still broody, or did you feed her to the bears?”
“We got a rooster from Carol Lewandowski down the street. You remember her? Her boys went to high school with you, Jake and Timmy?” Grandma asks, and I nod.
“Shit For Brains is the dumbest damn rooster I ever seen,” Grandpa grumbles. “He gets up in them trees when we open the coop and can’t get down half the damn time. Sometimes I just leave his ass up there and hope a bear will come get him, or a racoon.”
I snort and choke on my food while Grandma sighs, and Brendon just nods along like this is completely normal. I guess it is for kids like us, growing up in the small towns around the big cities. We’re technically an hour from Muskegon in Bitely, Michigan, but it’s easier to tell people I’m from the city. I grew up going to games and practices in Muskegon anyway. Grandma worked there too.
Brendon and Jeremy were from Muskegon, though, so I spent a lot of time crashing with them, especially if the weather was bad and Grandma didn’t want to drive home in the dark during a whiteout.
“Do you eat roosters?” Brendon asks.
“You can if you butcher them at the right time,” Grandpa tells him. “Most of our chickens are laying hens, but some of them damn birds get pissy about us taking the eggs, so we have to get a rooster for a while or give her rubber eggs to lay on.”
Brendon gets into an intense conversation about chickens and rubber eggs with Grandpa, and Grandma nudges my hand.
