Page 40 of Wood

“Third,” he says eventually, not looking up. “I keep saying it and it doesn’t sound real yet.”

“It’ll sound real when the wire hits.”

“Christ, Geoff.” But he’s smiling into his glass. “I’ve never made the top five.”

I watch him turn his water glass slowly, a habit when he’s thinking something through before he says it.

“You barely slept last night,” he says. Not a question.

“Neither did you.”

“No.” He sets the glass down. “That damned photo.” I wince. “And then I kept running the eleventh back in my head. That bloody dogleg. I don’t even know why. I played it fine.”

“You played it fine because you’d walked it four times before you ever hit a shot on it.”

“That was you,” he murmurs, turning the glass again.

“That was both of us.”

He looks up at that and there’s a beat where the fire cracks and neither of us fills the space with anything. And there is so much that could be said.

“I mean it,” he says, quieter. “I wouldn’t have got near top five without you.”

I could deflect it, but something about this small room, the low light, the four days of wind and mist and nerves and honesty and intimacy behind us, makes me just say, “I know.”

He huffs something that isn’t quite a laugh, shakes his head, and for a second I think that’s the end of it. Instead, he just looks at me a moment too long.

I don’t say anything. I let the fire do the talking instead and pour the last of the wine. My face is saying it. Loudly.

Ben fucks me slow, so slow. I’m writhing under him, his bare cock sliding into me so deeply, I feel so close to tipping over that edge. This is not just fucking. My eyes flutter closed, and he barks, “Eyes, baby, eyes on me.” Ah, fuck. I try, I really do, but my back is arching, my legs around his waist, thrusting up to meet him.

We haven’t fucked since the actual tournament rounds started, just fast grinding together and glorious blowjobs that left me wrung out and sleepy. Last night, he slid his cock against mine, holding us tightly together in his fist, grinding together until we erupted on his hand. We were too wrung out both physically and emotionally from that fucking photo to do more, falling asleep before even cleaning up. My early mornings to map out pin placement left me tired early, and the grind of the rounds hadn’t left much in his tank either.

Tonight, I feel worshiped.

He started by pinning me down with orders to keep my hands above my head, legs spread, then he sucked and kissed every inch of me, probably leaving sucking marks all over me. Claimed. Sucking my cock then my ass until I was a quivering mess, my hands grabbing at the wrought iron headboard to keep them above me where he’d ordered. He ate me open then spread me with his fingers until I thought I would truly die if he didn’t give me cock.

I am so close to cumming and he isn’t even touching my cock, it is weeping on my belly, smearing pre-cum with each stroke into me. I stare into his gorgeous brown eyes, the face I have come to respect and…

Fuck. Don’t go there. It has barely been a month. Don’t go there. Can’t be first to say that. Just started using Boyfriend. Wait. Keep that locked down. My vision blurs.

My eyes close against the emotion, and he barks at me again.

“Eyes, Geoff.”

“I can’t, I can’t,” I beg, eyes on the ceiling, on his collarbone where my bite mark is a deep purple, on his lips. Can’t look into his eyes, he will see it, he will know.

Lips on mine, soft sucking kisses as he pumps into me, taking me apart. I’m shattering under him and I hear my voice keening, begging. Do I even know what I am begging for?

“God, Geoff, I am losing myself in you,” he groans. “What have you done to me? So good, so fucking good, my boy. Mine.”

My arms wrap around his shoulders, holding him tightly to me, breaking the command to keep my hands above my head, rocking together as he thrusts into me, my cock between our bellies. I feel my body start to clench, sparks flashing through me, the base of my cock clenching.

“Oh fuck, Ben, god, I can’t,” I wail, “so good, feels so good, oh fuck, please…”

“Cum for me, baby,” he groans, not changing his pace, fucking me slow and I scream, my cock spurting hot between us. And still he rocks into me, making me spurt again and again until I’m limp, sobbing, clinging to him as he finally growls and pounds into me hard, his cock getting even bigger inside of me as he climaxes, pumping his cum into me.

Neither of us are really watching Stewie burn down the neighborhood. I’m laying between Ben’s legs, my head on his belly, his leg propped up on the back of the couch. I trace the Stewie tattoo on the crease where Ben’s thigh meets his hip. His fingers rub my parents’ heart tattoo. It’s been a slow Monday morning, no rush to hit the road. Ben’s pilot will come tomorrow morning, so we are just taking the day off.