22
STEFAN
“Take your shower while I get dinner ready.”
I lift an arm and give my pit a sniff. “Got a problem with my funk?”
Ryan pulls out a pot and sets it on the stove, then shoots me a look over his shoulder. “Get that shower or you’re not getting any of my angel hair primavera.”
I lick my lips. “Well played, bro.”
“Shower.”
I walk past him on my way to the hallway and give his ass an unforgiving, full-handed swat. He probably jumps ten feet in the air, and I accept each of those feet with pride.
In the shower, the filth from Terry Creek washes off my body and swirls down the drain. The warm water is therapy to my skin, but it’s going to be nothing compared to what Ryan promised me when I had him in a head scissor between my thighs.
Maybe I have the heart of a bully, but the brain of a lover. Maybe that’s why I love tackling Ryan to the ground, claiming dominance over him, then getting my way.
And I do it because I know he wants it. I want it, too.
And I do it knowing that no one else does it. He’s mine to take to the ground and no one else’s. He’s mine to fling over my shoulder and carry out of Terry Park, still damp from our accident in the creek, and struggling to get free.
He’s not fooling either of us; he doesn’t really want to get free.
And he won’t.
Of course it’s when I start soaping up my junk that I spot Ryan through the transparent shower curtain. He’s by the bathroom door, which I left wide open because the steam builds up too much when it’s shut.
Maybe I had ulterior motives.
I watch through the curtain as he leans against the doorframe and crosses his arms. Even though my face is likely a fuzzy flesh-colored blur, I know he’s watching me, too.
Then he turns to leave.
“Not so fast.”
He stops at the sound of my voice. “What?” he calls out over the noise of the gushing shower.
“In.”
He takes a step into the bathroom. “What?”
“Get your ass in here.”
“I’m … I’m in here.” I watch Ryan’s blurry shape through the curtain as he shrugs. “What do you want? Am I out of soap?”
“You need a shower, too,” I point out.
“I know. I’ll take one after you do. Vegetables and the sauce are cooking right now. Then I can drop the pasta in the pot after my shower, and—”
“Take off your clothes,” I order him, “and get your ass in this shower before I drag you in here in those clothes.”
He snorts. “C’mon, Stefan.”
I love working him up. “I mean it.”
“Seriously? I have to watch the food in the kitchen.”
“I’ll drag your ass in here.”
“You wouldn’t dare.”
He just said the words. I peel back the curtains and stare him down hard. His eyes flash with surprise. “Was that a dare?”
Ryan glances down my body, apparently rendered speechless.
I take his silence for answer. “Alright, then. Dare accepted.”
“Wait. Stefan, wait.”
Too late. I step right out of the shower—totally wet, dripping all over his floor—and grab him by the neck of his fitted orange t-shirt like a bad kitty. Ryan protests half in laughs and half in curse words. He didn’t think I’d really do it.
Or maybe he was hoping I would.
“Stefan!”
I pull him right into the shower with me. He shrieks once as he stumbles inside, then gets pushed right into the hot stream of water. His clothes soak through all over again, gluing his t-shirt to his body along with his already tight over-the-knee denim shorts and even his socks, which he still has on.
“I told you not to dare me,” I tell Ryan, who now looks like a drowned rat in his wet clothes, still under the pounding water of the shower.
He scowls up at me through a black mop of wet hair. “And I was just starting to feel totally dry.”
“Don’t be a little bitch. You know your clothes need a wash, too, after being in that nasty ass creek.”
“It’s called a washing machine, and I happen to have one. A shower is not a washing mach—”
I shut him right up with a kiss. Gripping the front of his wet shirt, I pull his face into mine deeply, as if he’s just a piece of meat to me for my own personal use. Ryan is my kissing toy. He’s my playground victim. He’s my bar of soap and my sopping wet washcloth and my shower loofah.
I wanted him in here with me, and I got him.
I’m too horny right now not to get my way.
As we kiss, my hands trail down his wet, clothed body, then rest on his tight little ass. Skintight denim feels so different when it’s wet—heavy and thick, like armor. Chasing my curiosity, I let my hand slide around his thigh and come right up between his legs, taking a big handful of his crotch.
He’s throbbing.
I give him a squeeze. Ryan moans against my face in response, which I find to be such a fucking turn-on. I don’t know if it’s some sadistic part of me that enjoys this bully-buddy dynamic between us. I love making him beg for my affection even when I teasingly deny him. I love doing things like pulling him into showers against his will or sitting on him when we wrestle. Having power over him fulfills a part of me that no other woman or man can.
Is that my real sexuality? Is bully-sexual a thing?
I grab the bottom of his shirt and start to pull it upward, peeling it off his body. It isn’t easy, but it gets done, and then it just becomes an orange jumble of wet fabric I just threw over the shower curtain. It slaps the tile on the other side where it lands.
Ryan and I stare at each other through a veil of steam as I pop open his denim shorts and unzip them for the second time today.
Then he reaches for my cock.
I bat him away—also for the second time. “Not yet, bro.”
“I’m fucking hungry for it.”
“I’m hungry, too.” I lean into his ear. “For angel hair primavera. Shower first. Then dinner. Then dessert.”
“I don’t have a dessert,” he protests, face wrinkled.
“Yes, you do,” I continue to whisper into his ear. “And it’s me.”
When I pull away, his eyes have gone wide, his hazel irises shining with wetness and yearning.
Then I thrust down his shorts.
When he’s finally naked, my first instinct is to pull his slick, exposed body against mine. I fight that instinct and, instead, act like I’m entirely uninterested in anything sexual suddenly; my only motive is getting the dirty pair of us clean.
“Turn around,” I tell him.
He obeys, likely because he thinks I’m going to do something naughty to him.
Nope. As if this is an everyday thing, I grab the soap and start lathering it up on his back. Even when I reach his ass, I go right up the crack with the sole intention of just cleaning him. He squirms a bit and gasps in surprise, but I go about it like it’s just business.
Again, I’m fulfilling my incessant desire to torture Ryan and mess with his already-horny-enough head while knowing full well what I’m doing.
Maybe I’m just evil-sexual.
Sadist-sexual.
“Turn around,” I order him again.
He does. Facing me, he looks up into my eyes, almost out of breath.
And then I start soaping up his hard cock. Ryan’s mouth shoots open as I lather him all up with the indifferent care I’d give when washing mud off a shoe. I even stare into his eyes while I do it, watching as all the sensations play across his face—emotions both tortured and pleasurable—as I thoroughly wash his privates.
Very, very thoroughly. What’s the rush?
After a quick rinse, I flip off the shower, grab both our towels, then proceed to dry off next to him. It’s just another day in the locker room, showering after a tough game in the merciless sun.
Except Ryan’s got a boner where he could hang his towel to dry if he wanted.
So do I.
“You’re a punk, y’know that?”
“Yep,” I answer. “And now it’s dinnertime.”
Thirty minutes later, we’re eating his delicious meal. Naked. And we can’t seem to stop staring at each other, no matter how many bites of succulent pasta wrap around our forks and slowly find their way past our lips.
Ryan can cook. My belly is happy.
Soon, I’m setting my fork down on an empty plate, then I fold my arms and lean on the table, watching as he finishes his dinner. Ryan lifts his brow at me as he chews. “You just gonna stare?” he mumbles through his mouthful.
“I’m just thinking about dessert.”
After his initial surprise, a pinch of smugness twinkles in his eyes. He swallows his bite, then lifts his chin. “You’re only getting dessert if you’re good.”
“I’m getting my dessert no matter what.”
“I have to make it first.”
“I’m right here.”
“But you’re not ready to be served.” He smirks superiorly. “Before I can bake the cake … I need to … knead the dough.”
I squint at him. “You don’t bake cake from dough, dude. Even I know that.”
“Don’t give me lip,” he shoots back. “I’m not finished with my dinner yet.”
“Take your time.” I rest my chin on my hands and continue to stare at him.
He takes one more bite, then helps himself to a sip of wine. After he sets down the glass, he tilts his head and murmurs, “How the hell did we get here?”
“Where?”
“To this. You and I eating pasta primavera and drinking wine, naked.”
I shrug. “Does it matter?”
“This isn’t us.”
“It is, now. And that’s all that matters.”
“But does it?” He fidgets with his fork, poking at a strand of pasta. “I mean, what is this between us, exactly? I know it’s only been a matter of days, really. But it’s also not been. This thing between us … maybe it’s been brewing since the day we met. I don’t know. Are you having any of these feelings, or is it just me?”
I reach across the table and put a hand on his, ceasing his fidgeting at once. His eyes flick up to meet mine.
“You think too much,” I tell him, “for a guy who’s not wearing anything at his dinner table.”
He swallows. “Y-You think?”
I smirk. “Yeah, bro. I think you think too much.”
“So what should I do?”
“Whatever you want. As long as it involves no thought at all.”
His gaze drops idly to my chest as his tongue runs along his bottom lip. Then his cheeks flush and he asks, “You sure?”
I tighten my arms over my chest, waiting.
The next instant, Ryan ditches the last three bites of his angel hair and descends under the table like a snorkeler. I experience half a second of confusion before there’s someone between my already-spread thighs.
And hot breath on my cock.
“I thought you had to ‘knead the dough’ first?” I taunt him under the table.
Just his soft breath wakes my cock up. I’m sure it’s pointing right at his face and his parted, expectant lips.
I’ve never had another man’s lips around my cock. Even with all my prodding and bravado, a part of me wasn’t expecting to experience this so soon. Maybe I need him to give me the massage first. Maybe, despite acting like an overconfident shit, I actually do need a bit of reassurance and comfort first before diving all in. Maybe we’re moving too fast.
I mean, there’s really no turning back after another man’s got his lips around your dick, right?
I think that ship sailed when Ryan plunged his tongue up my ass.
Without warning, the flat of his wet tongue slaps against the underside of my balls, which are tight and sensitive as hell, then drags a path up to the base of my dick, but never quite goes up its length. Over and over, Ryan licks my balls, making me crave his mouth on my dick worse by the second.
Should I grab his hair and steer his mouth right where I want it? I’m genuinely fighting that urge for the mere sake of not being a total animal.
Is it considered rude or a thank you to gag someone with your dick after they’ve cooked you dinner?
Unexpectedly, his tongue traces the rest of the way up my now-throbbing dick. When he reaches the head, he circles it, and I clench all my muscles as the sensation instantly drives me crazy. If he isn’t careful down there, I just might knee him in the face on accident; I can’t seem to control the reaction I’m having to his tongue, which reads my mind.
And that’s exactly what it feels like. Ryan is intuitive as fuck, knowing precisely where I want his tongue to go, or how much pressure I want him to apply, or how to work me up with just the right tempo. I wonder if he’s as good with his whole mouth.
I hope I’m about to find out.
He flattens his tongue on the head of my dick, licking up the bead of pre-cum he’s earned from all that frustratingly perfect cock-teasing he’s doing down there.
Did I mention I’m clinging to the tabletop like it’s trying to run away from me? Like a cat in a panic, I’m clawing the surface with my shoulders hunched and tight as I endure the whirlwind of nerve-tickling sensations under the table. It’s maddening, how the way he works my dick gets me right on the edge and yet isn’t quite enough to help me spill over.
If he doesn’t swallow my whole dick soon, I’m going to make him take every damned inch of it myself.
Then he stops at once, pops off of my dick, and comes out from under the table.
“Come here,” he tells me, just like he did the night he gave me that life-changing massage.
Change of scene? I don’t hesitate, especially if it means I’m about to get the prize he’s made me desperate for. I get right up from that chair and follow him back to his room.
When we reach the foot of the bed, he gives it a pat. “Lie down. On your back.”
“Time for my massage?”
“If that’s what you want to call it.”
I climb up onto the bed. As I crawl into position, Ryan smacks my ass hard, which probably hurts his palm more than it does my ass. I get on my back and shoot him a superior look while I enjoy watching him nurse his hand and work out in his head what kind of steel my buns are made out of, I’m sure.
“It’s time for my dessert,” I tell him when I’m in position, then proudly hump the air a few times, my iron-hard dick ready as ever to resume.
A devilish sort of defiance darkens all of Ryan’s features as he circles the bed and pulls open a small drawer of his nightstand. “A promise is a promise,” he tells me, then produces an oval bottle that looks like the lamp of a damned genie. He doesn’t give it a rub and make three wishes, though; he twists open the top like a cork from a wine bottle, then tips it over his cupped palm. Oil. He sets the bottle down, then comes back around the bed and climbs on top of me, his palm upright and holding all the oil in it.
Ryan straddles my thighs with his dick hovering over mine, which looks like it’s trying to stretch up to kiss the end of his. He lifts his palm over the center of my chest, then slowly tips.
The warm oil pools between my pecs, some of it rushing up the crevice to the base of my neck. Ryan brings his hands together to give them a rub, then he lowers them to my chest to begin gently massaging the oil in circles.
Despite my impatience to finish what he started on my dick, I close my eyes and give in to the pleasant feeling of Ryan giving me a firm and soothing rubdown. The exotic aroma fills the room, something like burning wood mixed with some kind of spice. Ryan’s hands put me in a trance as he rubs my chest in large, slow circles, kneading me into a state of pudding.
The only thing not relaxed on my body is my dick, which still incessantly throbs, desperate for more attention.
Not that Ryan seems to know it exists anymore.
“What you’re doing,” I tell him, “feels really nice.”
“Not so bad for me, either.”
I hump the air again, making his whole body hop. “However, my dick doesn’t like being started up and then ignored.”
“He’ll get some attention soon.” Ryan moves his focus to my arms, rubbing them from my shoulders to my hands, his fingers bumping along my biceps and forearm muscles along the way.
I narrow my eyes at him. “You sure are taking your time.”
“Can you blame me?” He smiles down at my body. “When was the last time I got to say I straddled a body that looks like yours and got to put my hands all over it?”
My eyes drift down his body, down his slender waist to his firm, flexed thighs that still boast of the days he’d run at my side across grassy fields under a scorching summer sun.
I let my hands slide up those thighs, coming to rest near his hips where I hold him. “Speak for yourself,” I mutter.
“I am.” He bites his lip. “I imagine most of your experience has been girls straddling you.”
“Try all of my experience.”
“How …” He tilts his head, reconsidering whether to ask me a question, then decides on it anyway. “How do I compare?”
“You don’t.”
“I don’t?”
“You don’t compare.”
His hands return to my chest and graze over my nipples, and I shudder in response. He notices, a mischievous glint in his eyes, and then he brings his fingers right back to my nipples.
“Ryan …” I warn him.
“Now that I know your weakness, I’m going to have to exploit it every chance I get.”
“You do that, and I’m gonna shove my dick so far down your throat, you’ll taste my babies for nine months.”
His face wrinkles up.
Alright, not the best threat.
“I’m trusting you, Caulfield,” I warn him.
His hands hover threateningly. I can visibly see all of the evil thoughts racing past his eyes.
Then he shifts, his face plunges down, and he sucks my dick right back into his warm, wet mouth.
I buck, and I gasp, overwhelmed at once.
Didn’t see that coming.
And then his fingers clasp on my nipples at once, pinching with the force of a guy who’s bent on torturing me to the max. He clearly wants to see how much I can take.
Answer: I can take as much as Ryan dares to put down.
I can take it.
Ryan’s mouth is a miracle on my dick, sucking and twisting with such constant strength and precision that I’m racing toward the edge at an alarming rate. If he doesn’t slow down, I’m going to come right down his throat, and I’m not sure I’ll have time to give him a proper warning.
Then he applies torque to my nipples, twisting.
“FUCK!” I can’t help but cry out, bucking under him, which doesn’t stop him at all; it only succeeds in shoving my dick even deeper into his mouth.
The more I moan and thrust my hips up and flex my body, the stronger he twists and works my already sensitive nipples.
I don’t know when I did it, but I’m gripping the back of his head, my fingers tangled in his black hair, and I’m pulling him up and down on my dick. Maybe it’s my need to feel like I’m always in control all the time. Maybe I need to feel like I’m the reason all of these explosions of ecstasy are coursing through my body.
One of his hands, still slippery with oil, slides down the side of my body, mercifully abandoning the nipple it was busy twisting. His hand keeps moving down my hips, over my thigh, and finds a new home under my balls.
I feel a finger graze over my butthole.
“Nope, no,” I sputter right away, tightening up and coming out of the trance he’s got me in.
He lifts off of my dick, my fingers still laced through his hair. “What?”
“No butt stuff.”
“Really?”
“Really.”
“Dude, I had my tongue up there just the other night,” he reminds me, “and you had no problem then.”
“Tongue’s one thing. Fingers and dicks and dildos is another.”
“Just try it. It’s like tongue, but gets twice as far in there and feels eight times better. Your dick is gonna want to explode. The feeling is insane. Even straight dudes do it.”
“Anything up the butt is gay.”
He wrinkles his face, fighting off laughter. “What the hell kind of ‘not gay’ shit do you think we’re doing right now, bromo??”
I smirk. “It’s a bro-job.” I thrust my hips, stabbing his lips with my dick. “A bro-job that you keep interrupting.”
“When I make you come with my finger slipped up your tight, sexy ass, you’re going to realize what the hell you’ve been missing all your life.”
“Not gonna happen.”
But then he dives right back down on my dick, sucking and twisting, and his slippery finger continues to graze and tease my hole. Overtaken by the masterful blow job he’s giving me, my body relaxes as I continue to lose myself to Ryan all over again.
It isn’t long before the teasing at my hole feels good. His finger is so slippery, it’s almost like a tongue, anyway.
I grip his hair more tightly as I race for the edge again.
His finger teases and tickles my hole.
I can’t deny how fucking good that feels.
It’s a battle, giving myself to his will and not resisting what he wants to do, but surrendering is becoming easier by the second the more my system floods with surges of ecstasy from his warm mouth, his slippery finger, and the relentless pinching, pressing, and twisting of my nipple.
I can take a hell of a lot. Didn’t I say that? I’m a fucking sexual juggernaut here.
Then the tip of his finger slips inside.
“Fuck,” I hiss out.
My dick throbs urgently in response, swelling even more than I thought was possible. He wasn’t kidding. I get so hard just from that small insertion of his fingertip that I feel like my dick could explode from the pressure—and it’s made all the worse by his incessant, nonstop sucking from the base of my dick to the head.
Right after my initial explosion of good feels, my body starts to fight it. My butthole tightens right up.
Ryan doesn’t push back, keeping his finger there until I relax. Meanwhile, he lets go of my nipple—now sensitive and pulsing—and wraps his hand around my cock. Now his mouth and his hand create a sort of warm, fleshy sheath I’m fucking, which brings me so close to the edge that I feel seconds from losing control.
My hole must have relaxed, distracted as I was by Ryan adding a hand job to the blow job, because unexpectedly the finger of his other hand slips even farther inside my ass with no resistance.
I moan automatically, unable to hold back my reaction. I feel every little flinch of his slick finger in my tight hole that all I know are the waves of sensitivity rushing up and down my body.
I can’t believe I’m letting him do this to me. And I can’t believe how incredible it feels.
His jerking-and-sucking motion speeds up as the finger he’s got up my ass pushes deeper. I clench again, feeling myself reach the brink. I can’t hold off any longer.
I grip his hair tight and pull his mouth off of my dick, trying to delay the inevitable.
But he doesn’t stop jerking me.
Then I come. My body shudders with my orgasm as I shoot all over Ryan’s face and parted lips. Still gripping a fistful of his hair, I stare down at his face as I cover it with my cum. He slows down his jerking on my dick, which makes my orgasm all the more intense. My toes curl somewhere behind him and my ass tightens around the finger he’s still got deeply lodged up there. Every small movement of his finger, I feel, and it sends another wave through me, melting me into his will.
I don’t realize the trance I’m in until he slips his finger out of my ass, and I come back to life.
Then I’m reminded anew the special treatment Ryan just put me through—and the payment I left all over his face. “Damn, bro.”
He grins, all my cum across his face, then wraps a firm hand around his cock to address his own stiff situation. It doesn’t take long before he leans back and shoots his own load all over his chest, grunting from the effort.
After catching his breath, he opens his eyes and grins again. “I didn’t realize I was redeeming my coupon that gave me a free facial with your full-body massage.”
I give his hair a little toss, then bring my hands behind my head, lacing the fingers there. “More where that came from.”
“Duly noted, Mr. No Butt Stuff.” Ryan winks, then rises off the bed and heads to the bathroom.
Even with him out of the room, I still feel his finger inside me, and his other hand kneading my nipple, which throbs dully from his relentless working of it. I’m in a state of complete relaxation, staring at the ceiling and wondering how the hell I got here.
I don’t even realize I’m drifting off on his bed until he comes back into the room, shuts off the light, and climbs onto the bed next to me. I experience one short moment of wondering whether I should go to my room before feeling his body nestling up by my side. With my hands still clasped behind my head, Ryan’s face nestles near my chest and armpit, and it isn’t long before I hear his long, slow pull of breath.
Still trapped in thoughts, I close my eyes and let myself go. I don’t have to figure myself out right now. In the space between these four walls, it doesn’t matter what any of this means.