Grant covers me again, slides his arms under me, loops them around my shoulders, and unleashes all his desires on me. I grind up against him, and he pushes down, pumping and thrusting. I make room for him, legs open, hips jerking, dicks rubbing.
He doesn’t say a word, but he can’t shut up. He’s all grunts, and sighs, and moans. It’s the sexiest song I’ve ever heard. His noises, his breaths, his growls of desire.
But I know he likes it when I talk. Good thing I’m a chatty guy in bed. “Mmm. You feel so fucking good like this, rookie.”
“Yeah?”
“So good,” I say, gripping his ass, tugging him tight, letting my finger drift down his cheeks to the seam. “Tomorrow, I’m gonna play with this perfect ass.”
“Oh God, yes, please, yes,” he pants as he grinds and thrusts, and we are covered in sweat and lust, in longing and lube. It’s intense and exhilarating and so damn good.
“I’m close, Deck,” he grunts.
That’s my cue. Another bit of lube in my hand, then I shift our weight, sliding out from under him, moving us side to side. I reach down, grab our cocks, wrap my hand around our pulsing shafts.
His eyes are glassy, lost in another world as he swings his gaze down to our dicks, shiny and hard. I jerk us together, my hand a blur, my fist a tight, hot machine. I am aching to come. But I want to come with him. I want him covered in him, me, us.
My balls tighten. Pleasure twists and writhes in me as Grant grips my hip, his fingers curling tight.
“Give it to me,” I rasp, urging him on.
His lips part; his face contorts in exquisite torture. He twists his hips, spearing his cock into my fist.
“Gonna come,” he grunts, thrusting in my hand and growling in my ear.
That’s enough for me too. My nerve endings are on fire. My climax marches through my body, storms through my cells.
He unloads on my stomach in hot, white jets, and seconds later, I return the filthy favor, spurting all over him as wave after tsunami wave of pleasure wracks my body.
“Fuuuuuck,” I groan as I shoot onto his chest. “Yessssss.”
He answers me with a shudder, an oh God, and then a long, satisfied sigh. A pause, a breath, then he says, “Holy fuck. Did that happen?”
I can’t talk yet. I’m still basking in the orgasm. In the shudders. The shockwaves. My eyes are closed, and my body is floating, and I feel incredible.
When my eyes open, I am looking at the most gorgeous man I’ve ever seen.
And he looks like all my dirty dreams, with eager questions in his blue eyes.
I answer them instantly. “You were perfect,” I tell him.
“I was?”
I nod, then jerk him against me, so our release smears together.
He rubs that hot body against mine, getting in on the action.
When I stop, I slide a hand down, swipe a finger across his abs, dragging it through the mess.
I bring it to my lips and suck off the taste of us. Then I stare at the man in bed with me. “Want to know what we taste like?”
He trembles, his eyes shining with a fresh new round of lust. I lie on my back, gently bring him onto me, and give him my lips.
He sinks down, our two spent dicks resting now as his lips find mine and he tries something else entirely new.
This kind of a kiss.
Grant is more tender. He’s soft and sensual. He lingers, exploring my mouth like it’s the first time he’s kissed me.
These kisses feel like they’re happening to me for the first time too.
22
Grant
Declan waves a hand at my right pec. “So, what’s the story with the arrow? Were you an archer in a past life?”
Laughing, I park my hands behind my head, but don’t answer right away. I’m kind of amazed he’s still here ten minutes later.
What’s the protocol on that? Are we screwing around more tonight? Is this pillow-talk time? Pillow-talk-before-more-sex time? I have no clue how this post-hookup stuff works. But we’re still naked in bed, albeit cleaned up, courtesy of a washcloth break.
I thought he’d leave after that—tug on his shorts, give me a tip of the cap and say, “See you tomorrow, rookie,” then wink and shut the door, leaving me to my thoughts.
That’s what most of my hookups have done.
They’ve been quickies.
Trading BJs in college.
Quick hand job for quick hand job.
But they never lasted. I didn’t have the time or the inclination to pursue anything more. Or the skills, to be honest. I don’t do relationships because I’ve never done relationships.
I’ve never had a boyfriend.
Is this arrow question normal post-hookup talk? Or maybe post-sex-Sherpa talk?
What am I supposed to make of this guy lying next to me asking about my ink, wanting to know me?