Every Saturday Night (Firsts and Forever 6)

I whimpered as he began to tongue-fuck me. My cock was throbbing and leaking pre-come by now, but I ignored it. If I started jerking off while he was doing that, I’d end up coming in two seconds flat, and I wanted this to last.

By the time he stood up, I was shaking. He picked up the bottle of lube we kept in the shower and worked some into me as he leaned in and whispered in my ear, “I think the neighbor invited some of his buddies over for a barbeque. How many men do you think are on the other side of that fence? Ten? Twelve? Do you think they’d enjoy watching you take my big cock up your tight little ass?”

Another whimper slipped from me as I began rocking back, trying to fuck myself with the two fingers buried in my ass. He liked that. A low hum of pleasure reverberated in his chest as he twisted his fingers inside me. When he grazed my prostate, it was a damn miracle I didn’t scream.

Fortunately, dragging this out was torture for him as much as it was for me, so he slid his fingers from my ass, lubed his cock, and pressed the tip against my hole. A month ago, we’d both gotten tested and come up negative, so we skipped the condoms now. I didn’t want to sleep with anyone else, and I trusted Lucky when he told me he didn’t, either.

I reached back and spread my ass while he grasped my hips and leaned in. After a moment, I opened up enough for him to slip inside me. He slid almost all the way out before plunging back in, so deep that his hips pressed against my ass. I sighed with pleasure.

He slid in and out once more. That feeling of being stretched was so satisfying. Then he began fucking me, slowly at first.

If his goal was to be quiet, he failed pretty quickly. Within a minute, he was pounding my ass, and the sound of his body slapping against mine made it pretty clear what was happening in our yard.

Pretty soon, I forgot about the people on the other side of the wall and began making all kinds of noise as he took me. This just felt way too good to hold anything back. I grumbled and stood up when he pulled out, but when I turned to face him, he picked me up and pushed me against the wall. Then he shoved his cock right back in my ass and started fucking me again.

I wrapped my arms and legs around him and used the wall as leverage to bounce on his cock. Now that we were face-to-face, he pushed his tongue into my mouth, and I moaned against his lips.

The sentence I managed to string together came out in a staccato rhythm. “Fuck. Me. Harder.” I ran my hands down his back and felt his muscles tensing as he did what I asked. The entire shower enclosure rocked as he slammed into me again and again. Then he reached between us and began to jerk me off, and seconds later I yelled as I came.

He muttered, “Fuck,” as he thrust harder still, and then he shot his load deep into my ass. My body shuddered as I rode out my orgasm and his. Finally, I slumped against the wall, and Lucky leaned against me as we both caught our breath.

A moment later, someone yelled, “Yeah!” Then a chorus of applause, cat calls, and cheers rose up from the neighbor’s yard.

We both laughed, and I blushed so hard that it felt like my face was on fire. Lucky eased out of me and put an arm around my shoulders to keep me steady. Then he turned the water back on, and we cleaned up quickly before hurrying inside.

We’d forgotten to take any towels with us, so we dripped our way to his storage closet and dried off there. “That was a new one,” I said, as I wrapped the towel around my waist. “I’ve never had sex with an audience before.”

I expected Lucky to say, “Me, too,” but instead his response was, “Oh?” Then he wrapped his towel around his hips and followed me to the kitchen, where I grabbed the snack bag from the fridge.

“So, I take it you have,” I said, as we went to the couch and got comfortable.

“There are several clubs in this city with rooms in the back where people gather to have sex. I may have participated a time or two.”

“And did you like it?”

He thanked me for the mason jar of homemade lemonade I handed him, and as he unscrewed the lid, he considered the question. Finally, he said, “I liked the added thrill of knowing people were watching me. But as was often the case with anonymous hookups, public or otherwise, I was mostly just left feeling empty afterwards.” He took a drink, then set aside the jar and added, “Thank you for saving me from a life of meaningless hookups.”

“You’re welcome.”

He grinned at me as he stretched out on the couch and rested his head on my thigh. I began to stoke his damp hair, and he asked, “How was your week, mi amor? And how’s our little man?” The word “our” didn’t go unnoticed. I thought it was very sweet that he and Owen had developed such a strong bond over the past couple of months.

“He’s amazing. He’s currently obsessed with that children’s book of Cuban folk tales you gave him. He brings it to me at least ten times a day and insists that I read him his favorite story, The Bossy Rooster. I don’t even have to look at the pages now, I have the whole thing memorized.”

That made him smile. “That was my favorite too when I was little. I’ll take a turn reading it to him after dinner tonight.”

“He’d love that.” As I continued to stroke his hair, his eyelids started to get heavy, so I asked, “Do you want to move to the bed and take a nap, Lucky?”

He sat up and shook his head. “I slept on the plane, so I’m not tired. This is just exceptionally relaxing.”

When he held his arms out to me, I straddled his lap and kissed him. Then I rested my head on his shoulder and asked, “So, how was your week?”

He didn’t really like to talk about his job, which I understood. Coming here was a chance to leave it all behind for a couple of days. But he loved telling me funny stories about his dad, and he exclaimed, “He’s making us take up golfing! Have I mentioned I hate golf with a passion? The thing is, he does too, but he says that’s just what you do when you retire. Tell me, where’s the logic in that?”

I sat up and told him, “I’m going to need pictures of you in plaid pants and one of those silly golf caps with a pompom on top.” He still sent me daily texts, most of which were him complaining about being stuck at his desk. Since he was there a solid twelve to fourteen hours a day, no wonder he felt the need to vent.

He grinned at me and said, “Oh, you’d like that, wouldn’t you? He did drag me to the pro shop and coerced me into getting some ‘appropriate’ golf clothes, but I’m sorry to disappoint you—plaid pants and pompoms were avoided.”

“That is disappointing. Have you two actually golfed yet?”