Chapter Thirteen
Then
I’m so nervous when we reach my room that I actually fumble the key card in the slot and then drop it before I can even get the door unlocked.
Before I can reach for it, Chris easily dips his knees, plucks it from the floor, and smiles. “Allow me.”
Of course it fricking unlocks for him the first try, because of course it does.
He opens the door, standing there and holding it open with his hand splayed flat against it, looking down at me with a simmering heat in his gaze that I’ve never seen anyone wear before. Not when they were looking at me, that is.
For someone only a couple of years older than me, he feels…sophisticated, controlled. In charge.
Comfortable in charge.
“After you,” he says.
I scurry past him and into the room.
Once the door swings closed after him, he flips the deadbolt and security bar and makes sure the little cover is firmly in place over the viewfinder.
He looks around before setting his bag down next to the dresser. “This is nice.”
“The sunset view is great.”
“Hmm.” He walks over to the sliders, where I’d left the curtain open earlier. “Nice.” Without preamble, he tugs the curtains closed. “Maybe we can watch that tomorrow night, if you don’t get sick of me by then.”
The playful smile he casts at me over his shoulder makes me laugh. I set the bag holding our two containers of tiramisu onto the dresser. “Should I put these in the fridge?”
“Probably.” He toes off his sneakers while I do that. Then he walks over to the closet, where the room safe is located, and messes with that for a moment before testing it by closing and locking it and reopening it. “Don’t want to have to call the front desk to have someone come get my gun out,” he says with a smile. “I’d never live that down.” He unclips his badge and holster from his belt, puts them inside, and locks it.
“D-do you want me to turn on the TV?” I nervously ask.
“No.” With that, he goes to his bag, digs through it, and comes up with a small speaker and his phone charger. He takes them and his phone over to the nightstand between the beds, sets it up by plugging the speaker into the phone, and the sound of Queen’s “Bohemian Rhapsody” starts playing just loudly enough to help cover sounds from outside the room.
Christopher sits on the bed closest to the bathroom and pats the mattress next to him.
I’m torn between wanting to launch myself at him and trying to look chill as I make my way over. I’m sure from the way the corner of his mouth quirks that I’m failing miserably in appearing anything other than completely out of my element.
I remove my glasses and lay them on the nightstand. Once I’m seated next to him, he holds out his hand again, palm up.
“Do you trust me?”
I nod and lay my hand in his. I want this.
I want him.
His fingers close around mine, warm, strong, and his thumb strokes the backs of my fingers. I can’t focus on anything but that.
“You’ve never done anything with a guy before?” he asks.
I shake my head. “Just girls.”
“Why do you think you’re gay?”
I take a deep breath. “I guess I’ve always known I was, but I didn’t really…think about it until college. I couldn’t, not at home with my dad. And when I was with girls, it didn’t do much for me.”
I tell him about my experiences with women, how I discovered gay porn, and then gay BDSM porn. How it really drove home that I’d been avoiding the conscious mental discussion with myself.
That admitting I’m gay finally brought a small measure of relief to my heart even through my terror.
Throughout all of this he continues holding my hand, stroking my fingers, making no other move, his focus totally on me as I talk.
“I’m bi,” he admits. “But tend to prefer men. Has to be an amazing woman who hits certain buttons for me to want to be with her.”
“Like what?”
The smile returns. “Like she wants to be tossed over my lap and spanked before I fuck her.”
My mouth goes dry. “Oh.”
“We can try that, too, if you want.”
I nod.
Do I want?
Ooohhhh, you have no fucking idea how much I want.
With his free hand, he cups my head and leans in for another kiss. This one has more heat to it and makes my cock immediately fill and throb in my slacks. I softly moan as the tip of his tongue lightly traces the seam of my lips, which part for him.
I definitely want this. I want more.
I want it all.
While he’s taking his time kissing me, he places my hand on his bare thigh, easing my fingers up, under the hem of his shorts. With that hand now free, he brushes slow touches up and down my arm.
Beneath my palm the hair on his thigh is softly coarse against warm flesh stretched over firm, sculpted muscles. I’m in shape, but he makes me look like a slacker. Unlike a body builder, his form is leaner, like he’s used to doing a lot of running, not a bit of fat on him. A thrill rolls through me as I slide my fingers father up, the tips brushing the crease between hip and thigh, and I realize he’s gone commando.
“That’s it,” he whispers against my mouth. “Whatever you want to do, baby.”
Tendrils of need are making my cock twitch and jerk against the restraint of my briefs. Which I now feel a little stupid for wearing, because they’re just plain tighty-whities.
Hell, I didn’t feel this nervous when I lost my virginity to Connie Shaw in her bedroom one afternoon after school in tenth grade. She wasn’t a virgin, and we only dated for about a month, but she’d pursued me with an energy I didn’t even try to resist. I thought maybe it’d be the answer to swirling doubts in the dim recesses of my brain that, at the time, I refused to take out and look at in a brighter light.
The problem is, right now, I want to do everything. I’m desperately afraid I’m going to shoot my load the second my pants come off, if not before.
As we kiss, he deepens it, exploring my mouth with his tongue, his lips gently tugging and sucking on mine, soft nips that grow more insistent as he realizes I’m still all in.
The hand cupping my head slides farther back, fingers threading through my hair and gently gripping. I don’t expect the moan that rolls from me, unbidden, when I feel him taking that control of me.
He lifts his lips from mine so he can look me in the eyes. “More?”
“Yeah!”
At some point he eases me onto my back, and we’re still kissing, on our sides, my hands stroking his body, through his clothes, under his shorts, everywhere I can reach while he still kisses me.
Desperation grows within me as I worm my way close enough to him to feel the warm friction of his body against mine through my clothes. He rolls me onto my back, kissing me down my jaw, to my throat.
“We’ve got all week, baby,” he softly assures me. “As much or as little as you want.”
I hook a leg around his and I’m trying to grind against him, but he firmly pushes me back onto the bed.
“No,” he says, a sexy smile giving him dimples that will be my damned undoing, I know it. “Slow, this time. I don’t want to be the asshole who fucked you for the first time and made you regret it.” When he sits up, I try to pull him back down on top of me, but he takes my hands in his, kisses the insides of my wrists, and then pushes them up, over my head, pressing them against the mattress.
“Stay,” he firmly orders. “Be my good boy.”
I fucking whimper.
That makes his smile grow.
“Yes, Sir,” I say, hoping that’s the right thing to say, because it sure as hell feels right.
Apparently, it is. “Good boy.” His gaze narrows, dark and hooded, and he stands. “Don’t move.”
I don’t even twitch.
He turns off the big lamp in the far corner, and the one fixed to the wall over the nightstand, leaving only the the small lamp on the desk.
Returning to stand next to the bed, he reaches for my left foot, pulling off my shoe and sock, then the right. I can clearly see the outline of his cock pressing against the front of his shorts. He steps between my legs and pushes my knees wider apart so he can crawl up my body and kiss me again.
Lowering his body over mine presses our hips together. He’s braced himself over me with his hands, almost like pushups, slowly grinding against me. I don’t know what’s going through his mind right now, but he feels like he’s as hard as I am, so I guess I can’t be horrible.
“You ever get a blowjob before?”
I nervously nod. “Just from girls.”
The sultry smile returns. “I guarantee you I’ll top your list by the time I’m done.” He sits up again, catching my hands and sitting me up where he kisses me again. My hands are free to roam once more, and I’m barely aware of it as he unbuttons my shirt and slides it off of me.
With his hands no longer separated from my flesh by my shirt Christopher caresses me, waves of heat trailing in his wake as he explores. Then I start to work on the top button of his shirt and he gently nips my lower lip.
“Not yet, baby. This is about you.”
I guess in a different context I might take umbrage at his use of that term, but rolling from his lips, in a voice growing deeper and hoarser by the minute, it sounds sexy as hell.
And I start to think maybe having a sneaky relationship in DC might be totally doable.
Because I don’t know how in hell I’ll let him go when this little bit has already embedded him deep inside my soul and makes me crave doing anything for him.
He shoves me back onto the bed and stands, hooking his hands behind my knees and easily manhandling me where he wants me, stretched diagonal down the bed so he has room to climb up and I can pull a pillow under my head. He quickly unfastens my belt and pulls my slacks off. They’re discarded on the floor and his fingers hook around the waistband of my briefs. My cock’s tented the front of them, no doubt leaving a wet spot there.
But his gaze is fixed on mine as he slowly runs his fingers back and forth inside the waistband without sliding my briefs down. “Ask me properly, boy.”
I swallow, because I can barely breathe, much less speak. “Please, Sir.” In the background, his phone plays on, we’ve gone through Aerosmith and ZZ Top, and are back to Queen. I know for the rest of my life anytime I hear these songs I will think about this night and this man.
That evil damn smile—what a sexy damn sadist. Chris watches me as he slowly lowers my briefs, until he can pull them totally off me and discards them to the floor with the rest of my clothes.
Even as he lowers his lips over the tip of of my cock, his breath searing me as I watch him, his gaze remains fixed on my face.
Like he can’t get enough of watching me.
The tip of his tongue flicks out and slowly traces the slit, tasting me, and it’s suddenly hard for me to draw in a breath. I never knew I needed a man so much before.
This man.
His fingers encircle the base of my cock and my balls, pulling a gasp from me. He knows what to do, what I want—what I need.
When the head of my cock slowly disappears between his lips, a low moan rolls from me. This…
I can’t think, can’t process anything beyond sheer ecstasy.
Nothing has ever felt like this before, and he’s barely done anything yet.
Torn between fascinated and overcome with pleasure, all I can do is watch, breathless, moaning—gone.
He shoulders my thighs apart—did I mention the guy has broad shoulders?—and settles in like he’s challenge-accepted an all-you-can-eat buffet. He deep-throats my cock down to the balls and up again, then licks and sucks down the sides. He’s everywhere, fingers and lips and tongue. Fire caresses me, and I both want to explode and hold back to prolong this.
I never want this to end.
Secret relationships are kind of normal in DC, aren’t they?
It’s looking more like a winning option by the minute.
Even with my cock in his mouth I can see the smile on his face. I’m beginning to think it’s a smile of conquest, like an I have you—you’re mine, kind of smile.
I want to be his.
My hands! I’m not sure what to do with my damn hands besides holding on to the sheets with a death grip.
Chris grabs my right hand and puts it on his head, and that’s all the prompting I need. I run my fingers through his hair, trace the lines of his jaw, reach down and touch his hand where he’s cupping my sac with his other hand.
He tilts his head and mouths at my finger, sucking on it with playful, sexy sin in his gaze as still he watches me.
Like I’m His.
There are hours and hours of porn on my laptop that I’ve saved, and dozens of bookmarks for others. Of dominant men taking their boys in hand and doing dirty, sexy things to them, pain and pleasure mixed together.
Christopher blows all of them out of the water.
Literally.
Time disappears. He brings me to the edge several times, dangling me just over the brink only to haul me in with a firm grip on the base of my cock and letting me cool down for a moment. When he finally takes me to a point where I can’t hold back any longer, I’m gasping for air, with need, and it’s like he reads my mind. He goes deep on my cock again, hot, pulsating suction taking me over the edge like I’ve been drop-kicked onto an out-of-control bobsled that’s gaining speed.
He swallows, demanding every last drop, even spinning me out just to where I think it’s too much, too sensitive, only for him to read me that way, too.
Sitting up, he crawls up the bed and kisses me. I grab hold tightly, only realizing I’m crying when he reaches up and brushes my tears away with his thumbs.
Concern creases his brow. “Are you okay, baby?”
Unable to form words or give voice to what I’m feeling, I nod and pull him in for another kiss. Because in this moment, there are two things I know beyond everything else—
Well, I’m definitely gay…
And I’m deeply in love with this man.