Page 93 of Employing Patience

“What do you think I was doing up here while I waited?”

Joey whines. “Damn, that’s hot.”

I laugh into his mouth, kissing him again, as I move to straddle his waist. His hard cock drags a line of precum over my ass cheek, and I blindly reach under the pillow for the condom I stashed there earlier. I break our kiss long enough to tear the packet open with my teeth and pull out the rubber.

“Sneaky.”

I’m about to point out to him that this isn’t my first rodeo, but after hearing about how the other men made him jealous, I keep it to myself. I don’t want anything to ruin us being together, and if that means pretending I’m a motherfucking virgin for him, I’ll do it.

I roll the condom down his cock and position myself over him. Our kiss slows as I lower myself onto his dick.

Joey lets out a long groan, and I keep going until I’m fully seated.

“Is … is this okay? For you?” he asks, barely sounding coherent.

“What do you mean?”

“You said you mostly top. You don’t like bottoming much.”

I shift on top of him, loving the stretch and sting and the way his cock is filling me up. “I also told you I crave it sometimes. And since I fucked you, this is all I’ve been able to think about.”

“How do you want it?”

“Hard. Give me everything you’ve got.”

Joey crashes our mouths together as he shifts beneath me. Every movement lights me up inside, and when he’s finally in position, he gives me what I want. He bucks up into me, matching my pace, bringing our bodies together hard and fast. My fists are curled into the pillow beside his head, trying to steady myself, trying to make sure we don’t fall off-balance and end up with someone hurt. Joey knows what he’s doing though. His grip on me is tight and possessive, and I never imagined I’d want to be possessed, but when it comes to him, I’m quickly learning I want everything he can give me.

It’s terrifying and almost too much. I’m not a feelings guy. Only it turns out that maybe I am, because when Joey flips us over and pushes back inside me, I feel it. In my chest. This pressure to be closer. To need more.

He kisses me and holds me close, making me want to swoon for him. It’s a complete contrast to the pounding he’s giving my hole, and I love the two sides. The two experiences. Close and affectionate versus fast and filthy.

“Tell me you’re close to coming,” he begs.

“I’m close. Just keep going.”

It’s not even a lie. My cock hurts, my balls tingle, and I refuse to touch myself and give my cock a moment’s relief. I keep letting the pressure build. Keep focusing on the way Joey is nudging my prostate and making it sing. Every brush, every bump, zaps of pleasure hit my balls and have me rocking beneath him. My cock is desperate to get in on the action, seeking out friction, getting the occasional brush from Joey’s stomach, but I’m fighting it. Desperately. Clinging.

I always lose. Every time I try to come untouched, I always give in or walk away disappointed. But I want this. I want to have this with him, even if he doesn’t realize. Even if my balls are screaming at me to surrender. Even if my cock is angry and swollen and all it would take is one stroke for it to be all over.

Joey grunts, each one louder than the one before, signaling he’s getting close. That loose chunk of hair is stuck to the side of his face with sweat, and before I can give in and touch myself, I yank out his elastic and bury my fingers in the strands. His thrusts get harder, deeper. I pull my thighs up, and zing. He pegs my prostate perfectly, and I let go. My cock throbs as it unloads, spilling one heck of a load onto my gut, and I can barely believe I finally got there.

Joey lets out a curse. “So. Tight.” His groan is full of relief, and he gives a final small thrust before stilling inside me.

He flops down, and I wrap him up in my arms, trying to pin a name to the way I’m feeling.

It’s beyond happy. It’s beyond satisfied.

I’m just a man with a wrecked hole, holding a man I care about, completely fucking content in this world.

29

JOEY

For someone who wouldn’t even commit to a repeat when we started hooking up, Art’s becoming surprisingly needy. Every afternoon after work, I sneak upstairs, where we make each other come and then hang out in bed, talking about the most random shit. It’s nothing serious or deep, but the conversation never stops.

He asks me ridiculous questions like how the hell socks with sandals are back, whether he can buy my cock a bow tie for its birthday to end the night with a fancy fuck, and whether I think marshmallows belong in a salad. And I make him sing the alphabet backward, list the steps in the brewing process so I can fall asleep to his voice, and make him promise I can wax his chest one day, just for a bit of fun.

He’s left me covered in so many hickeys Freddy asked if I’d been in a fight.

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