Twenty
Porter
Sitting in bed, I mindlessly played with the ties on my lounge pants as the television played some show.
I wasn’t paying any attention.
I had less than twenty hours with Asher left until she flew back to Wisconsin. Aside from the minor fights, this week had been fucking fantastic and already I could feel the void that would be there when she went back home.
My gaze snapped to the door when she walked in, oversize shirt hiding the bike shorts I knew she wore underneath. Cradled to her chest were her clothes from the day. We’d been all domesticated this week and every other night, she’d deposited her dirty clothes in my hamper, but tonight she walked to her bag in the corner and knocked it down with her foot before bending to lift the top and dropping her clothes inside.
“It went by really fast,” I said, finding my voice. “The week.”
She glanced up at me before rising to stand. “It did.” She quickly pushed her hair behind her ear. “I’m sorry for some of my moods this week. Today,” she added with a shrug. “It’s your birthday. I shouldn’t have even threatened to leave.”
I reached for the remote to turn off the television, and patted the bed beside me.
Her spot.
Before Asher, I was a sprawl-out, middle of the bed, guy.
After Asher?
If I woke up on her side of the bed, I’d probably be holding her pillow. I wouldn’t put it past me.
She crawled up the end of the bed, moving to sit beside me. I pulled the covers down and she slid under them, sitting against the wall beside me. I took her hand and, after lacing my fingers through hers, lifted her hand and pressed a kiss to the back.
“Growing pains, I guess,” I offered, with a squeeze of her hand.
“It doesn’t really excuse—”
“It’s fine, Ash.”
Her eyes searched mine before she shifted, leaning into me, placing her head on my shoulder.
“We’re going to have to figure out how to get you back down here.”
She laughed lightly, the sound airy in the otherwise quiet room. “It’s not cheap, Porter.”
“Well I can’t make it to Wisconsin as often as I’d like to see you, so you’re going to have to come here. Tomorrow, when you get home, we can Skype and go over your schedule. Then I’ll buy tickets. Maybe once a month, minimum,” I said. Now that the idea took root, I was rolling with it. “Heck, maybe mom could spare you every other week. A weekend and a week, you think?”
“Ok, Dr. Seuss,” she said, moving to sit up again. She turned now, her legs drawn to her side. “You can’t pay for everything.”
“Asher, it’s just money.”
“I will not be a kept woman.” The stern look she gave me cracked though.
“Are you trying to be funny?” My lips lifted in a grin.
“Yes and no.” She settled against my side again and I wrapped my arm around her shoulders. “When does the season end?”
“April, but then postseason can go well into June.”
“And then you come home for how long? Late September?”
I nodded, turning my face in to brush my lips over the top of her head. “Yeah.”
Her answer was a simple, “Hm.” Was that a good hm? A thoughtful hm?
“Maybe I can come out mid-March. That’s about halfway.”
“Or you can come out in two weeks.”
“Porter.”
“Asher.”
“You’re going to bully me into this, aren’t you?” Her voice had that little laughing lilt it got sometimes.
“Would that be a bad thing?” I chuckled into her hair.
“Terrible, really.”
“Smartass.”
“You’re going to have to come up with a better one-liner, Porter. It’s not the first time you’ve called me a smartass today.”
“If the shoe fits.”
She punched me in the stomach and I grunted, not expecting it. But then she smiled and with her hand over the spot she just maimed, she leaned into me and kissed me.
Second time tonight she did it.
We were getting somewhere.
And honestly, I wanted to see how far we could go.
Her lips were light on mine and as much as I enjoyed these kisses, I craved more. Hoping, God did I hope, this wasn’t the wrong move, I took her hips and moved her to settle on my lap. Her knees were on either side of my hips and she was settled right on top of me, her core open and her heat engulfing my covered but hardening cock.
Asher stilled above me, her lips still pressed to mine, but no longer moving.
Fuck. Wrong move, Prescott.
I could feel a flutter of breath leave her lips. When she pulled her face back, I was expecting…
Well, I didn’t know what I was expecting, but it definitely wasn’t for her to lean back in after looking at me. But she did, and then her tongue was in my mouth, and I was a fucking goner.
Her hands were on my face, her fingers bracketing my ears as she held my face still. She had complete control of this kiss and was doing a fucking phenomenal job of it. I was hard and aching under her, and as badly as I wanted to focus on her mouth on mine, my cock needed more attention than it was getting.
I was on edge. I needed her to move over me, to grind against me. Just the slightest movement from her had my blood rushing.
Putting my hands on her hips, I applied the smallest amount of pressure, just enough to move her over me a fraction of an inch.
Good fucking Lord.
Heaven.
Fucking heaven.
Her mouth again faltered over mine, but she began moving over me. Stiffly at first, but eventually with a slow, teasing dance that was sure to have me exploding in my pants.
I was so fucking close to coming. I hadn’t been on this edge since, shit…fifteen, sixteen maybe. It had to be the build-up; the fact that Asher and I had been playing this game for months.
Anticipation.
I banded an arm around her and flipped us so she was on her back. At the last moment, I remembered her claustrophobic claims and made sure to angle my body to her side. I moved my arm from her back to her neck, pulling her close, even as she was on her back and I, my side.
My cock cried at the loss—well, it twitched and I nearly cried—but I wasn’t about to get mine and leave Asher hanging. There were some things that I learned about sex when I was with Mo exclusively.
Before that time in my life, sex was sex, and I didn’t give a shit who got off first. Through the two years Mo and I were together though, she put me straight a time or two, and that anticipation thing I thought before with Asher? I knew it could make the end so much fucking sweeter.
I kept her shoulders lifted and brought my lips back to hers, allowing my hand to trail over her stomach.
Her stomach clenched when my fingers slowly lifted her shirt, my fingertips brushing the golden olive skin there. When she lifted a hand to put it on my forearm, I thought she needed me to stop, but instead, she slowly brushed her fingers up the corded muscles there. Her hand continued to move up until she grasped my elbow, her thumb brushing over the sensitive skin on the inside.
Her other hand went up to my face and I realized I really liked her hands holding me to her.
I changed the angle of our kiss, my tongue sweeping deep in her mouth as my fingers played with the band of her black bike shorts. They were tight.
I moved my hand back to her stomach, under her belly button, digging my fingers under the band. Her lower stomach clenched this time and I kept my hand still, the tips of my fingers so unbelievably close, but giving her a moment.
A moment to get lost in our mouths again, in her thumb caressing the inside of my elbow.
I broke my mouth from hers and pressed sucking kisses to her cheek, down to her jaw, trailing them to the curve in her neck. The hand on my face moved to the back of my head and she held me in place as I nibbled on the sensitive skin there.
When her body relaxed under mine again, I slowly slid my hand into her shorts. My hand raked through her curls there, meeting wet ones when I reached the bottom of her mound. My index finger slid over slick flesh first and her body jerked under my hand, her hand on my bicep, squeezing.
I kept my hand lost in her shorts, my middle finger over the top of her hooded clit and my other fingers gently pulling back her folds, but didn’t progress further. I lifted my head to stare down at her though.
Her eyes were wild.
And not all with pleasure.
My heart kicked in my chest but as I started to move my hand away, she let go of my arm and grasped my wrist, holding me in place.
I watched as her pupils dilated.
As she took a deep breath.
And then she reached up, pulling my face down, and kissed me again.
Asher
It’s just Porter.
Just Porter.
When the fear dissipated, when the tunnel vision cleared, I took in his concerned expression and I knew, without a doubt in my body, that he would stop if I asked him to.
But I didn’t want him to.
So I brought his face back down to mine.
The moment our lips met, I felt as he slowly circled his finger around my clit.
Carefully.
Cautiously.
And then he dragged the tip of his finger back over me and my hips jerked. Now his tongue was dancing over mine as his fingers played softly below.
Slow circles with one finger, then eventual added pressure of two fingers. He played with my clit like he didn’t have a care in the world, nothing waiting for him, nothing but the hope of an orgasm.
I shifted my bottom in the bed, moving my hips so the pressure of his fingers hit me just so. His fingers began to quicken, moving double time to my rocking hips.
My lips trembled under his. I was close to my peak.
So close, so close, so close.
And then suddenly…
It was gone.
I tried not to focus on that, instead focusing back on his mouth over mine. I clenched my lower muscles in the hope that the tightening, along with his fingers, would bring the rise back. But after a few more minutes, I realized it was no use, and the more he rubbed, the more the sensitive nerves there, hurt.
Finally, I reached for his wrist again, and he stopped. Pulling his lips from mine, he looked down at me.
I offered him a smile I didn’t feel. “It’s sore.”
I could see the questions in his eyes, but I just shook my head slightly, hoping he understood and wouldn’t press. I couldn’t handle that.
Not tonight.
Not right now.
Not when I knew I was truly broken.
***
I woke with a start.
As I did every time, I took assessment of where I was.
Porter’s room.
Porter’s bed.
On my side with Porter wrapped around me, spooning into me.
After my failure, I offered him a hand job and he, in not so many elegant words, told me no. He wasn’t pissed, but it appeared that he was refusing to come if I didn’t. I told him that was ridiculous but he just shrugged it off, turned me on my side, and pulled me close.
I’d been able to feel how aroused he was behind my bottom. He was rock hard and pulsing, and I hated myself for not being able to give him something in return for his attempt.
My body was broken.
The nightmare that woke me was a blatant reminder—my body shuddering under me as my foster father stiffened over me. My eyes burned with the memories, but rather than let the tears fall, I squeezed my eyes shut and willed sleep to come back to me.
***
The next time I woke, it was to Porter kissing my neck.
I’d like to say I woke up pleasant and happy, but the reality was I woke with a rapid heartbeat and fear in my gut. Waking up in his arms, waking up with him kissing on me, was going to take getting used to.
Waking up in bed with him, while he was on his side of the bed and me on mine, had been fine. But this new development of waking in his arms, was going to eventually give me a heart attack.
“You alright?”
Nothing got past Porter.
“I’m fine,” I answered. “Disoriented.” I turned in his arms to face him, readjusting my head on my pillow, my forearm sandwiched between it and my cheek.
He put his hand on my hip, his eyes not wavering from my face. “Someday you’ll feel safe enough to share with me what really goes on through your head.”
“You already know so much,” I whispered honestly.
“But not everything.”
I didn’t bother denying it.
“I’ll drop it. I will,” he repeated, before adding, “But I want you to know that whatever it is you’re keeping locked to yourself won’t change a damn thing I think about you.”
I shook my head lightly but whispered, “Maybe, but you don’t know.”
He rubbed his hand over my hip. “I promise.”
And oh, how I wanted that to be true.