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I heard every word of that careful phone call. Saw him wince, not wanting to put that singer under pressure. No wonder people can’t resist saying yes to someone who only asks instead of demanding. He doesn’t demand a thing from me now, but I’m about to suck his dick, so maybe I’m a good example.
That music fades out and other sounds take over, like his rough inhale and my hum after pressing my face against his pelvis. His cock is hot through the thin cotton of his boxers, and I groan. I also inhale his musk, which pulls exactly the same internal trigger as him sucking on my tongue did. Saliva floods my mouth, wetting cotton as I map him, delaying the moment that I guess we both want when he grinds out a rasping, “Please, Rae.”
I free him then, pushing his underwear down far enough that I can cup his balls and roll them while taking a first taste of what slapped thickly against his belly. Then there’s only heavy breathing and the lapping of me getting him wet before sucking him down, my turn to be greedy. And I am so hungry for him, even if he’s a lot to handle. I still try, because he trembles, and not in that chainsaw-induced way.
This is him holding back.
He pushes himself up on one arm to reach for a lamp. It almost topples, but that’s okay. I almost do too at him wanting to see us like this more clearly. He takes advantage of my distraction, shedding clothes like he’s got all the time in the world.
We don’t, so I get busy, and when I next pull off, both of us breathe harshly. His chest hitches when I focus on the now slick head of his cock. On his shaft. On every vein carrying blood on a pulsing journey. That’s where I can’t resist the urge to spend long minutes, and if time ever had any meaning for me, I forget it until he touches my jaw where it hinges. His hand slips lower as I suck him again, and it’s my turn to be mapped, only heexplores my throat, feeling himself from the outside, and almost crumples each time I swallow.
His light clasp of my throat tightens, and don’t ask me why I like it. I was joking about being tied down and left waiting, but this hold? He’s got me in the palm of a hand, and knowing that it is speckled where thorns jabbed him only makes me want to take him even deeper.
I’m hoarse when I have to pull off.
My eyes blur, so I don’t see his reaction right away when I ask, “Want to do me?” I wipe dampness away and can see more, so I ask a different, more careful question. “Or do you want me to do you?”
I didn’t have him bending over the edge of a bed on my wish list for this evening. Now it’s what I’m going to remember when my mind drifts like it does so often, when it skips from what I should be doing to something more compelling. And he is compelling while I slick my fingers with supplies meant for married couples. Thank fuck for them. I didn’t come to Cornwall prepared, and PrEP isn’t for people who lose track of time like me. Now I smear lube where a swirl of dark hair circles, and I press in a finger.
His low groan rumbles.
The whole world doesn’t tremble. Doesn’t quake or shake or tilt off its axis. I still feel like I’m falling each time I press in deeper and he tells me without words that this is what he wanted—what he must have needed really badly to push back until I’m up to my last knuckle and he’s ready for another.
And all my thinking about fire? About heat? About being lit up?
He looks back at me, his eyes wild and desperate, and that’s the hottest thing I’ve ever witnessed. I’ve never ripped open a condom wrapper faster. Never sworn as loudly at fucking uprolling it on. Never paid more attention to the steadiness of his hands as he turns to do it for me.
He’s got this, and me, with no problem, and I only stop him when he starts to turn away again. Then I grasp his shoulder, a slick hand sliding across scars I wouldn’t notice from a distance.
They’re faint.
This isn’t.
“I want to kiss you.”
I do.
I want that almost as much as I want inside him, and that’s what Hayden makes happen just like he’s made everything else I’ve witnessed and then locked away to draw one day when I don’t have deadlines. He lays back and hooks a hand behind a knee, spreading for me, still on the edge of the bed, and I have to squeeze the base of my dick at the sight of him spread out like a fucking wedding breakfast.
My dick nudges where he still feels impossibly tight for a moment. Then I’m inside him, and it’s incredible. So much so that the inside of this lamp-lit tent spangles. Light splinters, swirling into fractals as I push all the way in, my vision turning into a kaleidoscope with him at its centre, and that’s where he stays.
He’s my focus now.
All that I see.
A gentle giant I didn’t know was on my horizon after staring at so many, and getting to kiss him while we fuck only makes that wait worth it.
I don’t want to stop. Can barely coordinate breathing while finding the right angle for him. I even give up inhaling or exhaling when I hit the right spot, and fuck anyone who ever said concentration was my weak point. I have no problem focussing on getting him off.
His cock is hot and hard in my hand, and slicker each time I get it just right for him. I do that until the coiling low in my belly winds too tight to stave off, but we’re on the same page, or maybe we’re just in the right place at the same time to synchronise this closely.
I thank fuck that I washed up here.
And I thank Sol too for answering a distress signal sent from outside that agent’s office. Most of all, I thank myself for taking a wrong turn in the woods. Then I get back to the business in hand—I tug on his cock while fucking him hard and fast until he clenches, coming, and I quit thinking.
I’m sprawled over him moments later. Those moments turn into minutes. And if we lay here for even longer, what does it really matter? Tomorrow will come regardless. For now, I only move when Hayden whispers, “Want me to show you something special?”
He’s already shown me plenty, but he shows me another special sight outside.
