Page 24 of Down My Chimney

“No. I don’t think you do.” He stared at me until I met his eyes, then stared some more. “You are who I want. Not as a second choice, not as agood enough for now, and not because I’m secretly wishing I could be with someone else. You. It’s all you.”

He seemed to be waiting for something, so finally, I whispered, “Okay.”

“Okay,” he repeated, before kissing me again. “Good.”

Good.

The word echoed in my head. I wanted to believe Blake, but that was the problem. It was so good, I had trouble believing it was real. And even if he did like me now, would he still feel that way in the fall, if I was an ocean away from him?

All I could do was hope.

6

Blake

“Dude, hurry up!” Dev shouted, sticking his head back in the car where I was searching for my phone. “I’m starving.”

My phone had fallen in between the seat and center console while I was driving, and now that we’d finally paused for a break, I had time to look for it. We’d stopped at Renegade Rick’s Roadside Emporium, which appeared to be part gas station, part diner, part antique shop, and part petting zoo.

A weird combination, but honestly, I’d seen stranger. Right now, my focus was all on finding my phone anyway. This was the last time we were going to have service before heading up into the wilderness around Mt. San Jacinto State Park, and I wanted to talk to Henry one more time.

“Just go in without me,” I told Dev. “I’ll catch up.”

I finally found my phone underneath my seat, and couldn’t help smiling when I saw the string of texts I’d missed from Henry. With a glance to make sure Dev really had gone, and that none of the other cars in our caravan were close enough to see, I opened up my messages.

HENRY: Okay so I know you said you weren’t going to have service all week

HENRY: And I know you also said that you’re not *actually* interested in Matty

HENRY: But I can’t stop thinking about all of you guys up in the mountains, running around half-naked in the sun and then probably taking communal showers and jumping into each other’s sleeping bags when it gets cold at night

HENRY: So I thought I should at least *try* to stake my claim by sending you some things you can download and look at whenever you get horny

My stomach dropped approximately ten thousand feet when I saw the pictures he’d sent after that.

First, there was one of his dick. It made me ache just looking at it. He was hard, and he’d drawn his cock up to his stomach. A bead of precum was dripping down from the tip, kissing the soft skin of his abdomen. I wished I could run my lips right over that spot.

The second picture was of his hole. His entire ass, actually. He was on his hands and knees, the camera behind him, and he’d clearly been fingering himself because his hole was slick with lube, gaping open just a bit. His cock hung down heavy between his legs, more precum leaking down to the sheets.

But the third picture was the one that made me stop breathing. Henry was on his back, his legs bent and parted, the camera focused on his hole, which was flushed and slightly flared, a pool of cum collected just inside it. A few drops had dribbled out onto his ass cheek.

He’d texted more after that.

HENRY: That’s my own cum, just to be clear, courtesy of my mother’s second-best kitchen funnel

HENRY: I didn’t go out and get some random guy to rail me just so I could send you pictures of my freshly fucked hole

HENRY: And I do apologize for breaking our no-masturbating-unless-it’s-together rule, but I figured if it was in the service of sexting you, it was okay

HENRY: Besides the whole point is to give you something to jerk off to instead of all your hot sweaty teammates

I was rock hard. I looked out into the parking lot again. It was still empty, and I had a good view of the front door. This was a bad idea on so many levels, but I didn’t care. I unzipped my jeans, sliding one hand down my boxers as I dialed Henry’s number.

It rang five times, then went to voicemail. Fuck. I checked the time. He was probably in class. I debated hanging up and responding by text, but decided to stay on the line instead. When the voicemail beeper went off, I spit in my hand and began to stroke myself.

“Fuck,” I groaned into the phone, my hand working my cock. “Henry, you’re gonna kill me. Do you have any clue how hot you are?”

My fingers circled the head of my cock, sensitive and needy. “I hate the idea of you worrying that I’d cheat on you, but fuck, if it gets you to send me pictures like that, that’s definitely an upside.”

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