Page 171 of Bad for Me

9

HENRY

Alright…so apparently, I’m a bottom.

A damn needy one at that.

Since the moment Ian stretched me open and stroked my prostate, I've been on him like a cat in heat. It's everything I can do not to bend over and present myself at every opportunity. We've barely left the bedroom for anything other than hydration and to accept food deliveries. It's become a challenge to see who can get each other off more times, although Ian has an unfair advantage, considering I apparently have the most sensitive prostate known to man. We’ve spent a long time getting very comfortable with each other's most intimate parts, and he walked me through not only how to find his prostate, but my own.

Two weeks ago, I would have never even considered sitting in front of another man, spread eagle, fingering my own asshole. Or begging a man over twenty years my junior to fit yet another finger inside me, because I crave the stretch. But I'm a fiend.

I was already getting a little needy after he took care of me so well when I pulled my hamstring. I got used to his touch and attention, and just like that, I started craving it whenever he wasn't around. He's like a drug. I'm really not sure who I am anymore, or where this sudden need for physical touch came from. I'm addicted to his fingers, his mouth, his skin on mine.Him.

What's even more, is that somewhere along the way, I’ve started craving him on another level than just physically. His smell calls to me, and I miss it when he's not around. If I don't find an excuse to get him in my bed for the night, I end up with my nose buried in whatever pillow he had his head on last. A couple of times I even wore one of his carelessly discarded shirts while he and Michael went to work and I was stuck at home. The smirk on that cocky bastard's face when he came home unexpectedly to see me stuffed into one of his too-tight tank tops is engraved in my mind.

The personality traits that used to rankle my nerves have become endearing, and I have to force myself to pretend to be irritated with him. Especially when Michael is around. But the last day and a half, since Michael went out of town, we've been free to just be together without the pressure of anyone finding out. It's been peaceful. Comfortable.

It's been a long time since I enjoyed the companionship of another person, aside from my son. I've never been romantically inclined, or even tempted to spend so much time around another person. The mere idea of having to share my space, my free time, mybedwith another human being has always felt like a chore. I've gone out on dates and had the occasional casual sex partner, but really only because it was something I felt like Ishouldbe doing. Not to say that the sex wasn't good, I always got off and took the time and effort to make sure my date did too, but it never felt like this.

Is it because I was gay all along and didn't know it? Am I sexually repressed? It's not as if I have any qualms with homosexuality, but I've never had any indication that I was attracted to men.Until Ian.

I'm man enough to admit that I hated him because I wanted him, even if I didn't understand that at first.

Watching him now, as he saunters across my room wearing nothing but that signature smirk, I have zero issue admitting that I'm fucking obsessed.

It's a problem, really. Because at the end of the summer, once he and Michael finish their project and my son nails that interview, Ian will move on to somewhere else. I haven't asked him about his plans. Not because I don't care about him or his life, but because I'm not ready to burst this bubble. I don't want to think about moving on or what life will look like after they leave. I don't want to think about what a sad, old sap I've been living as or what an even sadder, older sap I'll be when they're both gone.

For now, I'll follow the scent of coconut and chlorine. And when he winks before disappearing into the bathroom, I've dropped my pants and taken off the compression sleeve around my thigh before he's even got the shower running.

Like magnets, our bodies plaster themselves together. My hands come up to grip the sides of his face, moving into the nape of his hair, pulling him in to kiss him harder, deeper. I no longer hide my need for him, moaning and panting as every cell in my body lights up with his touch. He walks backwards, pulling me into the large walk-in shower. We've spent so much time in here over the last thirty-six hours, it’ll probably take years for me to not get an erection at just the sound of the shower cutting on. My ass clenches just looking at the shower attachment.

The steam fills my nose with Ian's coconut body wash that I made him bring in here.

"God, I love this," he says, lathering up my chest hair and raking his fingers down to my stomach. "And this," he says, massaging the soap into the trail of hair below my navel, following it down to the dark hair on my groin. Funny how much he likes my hair, even asking me to grow out the scruff on my face, when nearly every inch of him is waxed or shaved. Then again, I'm completely enamored with every hairless inch of his body, so maybe it's an opposites attract thing. Or maybe Ian has a kink for older, burlier men and I'm just an old pervert lusting after his young, supple body.

Whatever the case, I'm hard and dripping for him within moments, groaning at the sight of Ian dropping to his knees. He looks up at me with that devilish smirk, touching, washing, massaging me. All around the base of my cock, my balls, the insides of my thighs, my taint and ass crack, massaging his fingers over my greedy hole. Everywhere except my desperate cock, bobbing inches from his face.

"You're a fucking tease," I growl playfully.

He snickers, because we both know who is in charge here. Even when I'm fucking his face, hard and rough, using his mouth for my pleasure, he owns me.

Ian reaches out a hand, and I automatically remove the shower attachment from the wall and hand it to him. He rinses me methodically before adjusting the head to the massage feature, and I nearly whimper. The anticipation is building already, and he hasn't even started. Prep is the most wicked kind of foreplay.

"I'm going to wash you, suck you, and stretch you until you're a quivering mess, begging for my cock to take your virgin ass."

I really do whimper then, because I've already resorted to begging. Hell, it took me less than an hour for me to recover from the prostate milking he put me through yesterday afternoon, and I was already raring to try taking his cock.Oh, how far we’ve come.

"I'm a big boy. I can take it,"I begged. But he wouldn't give it to me, torturing me with his fingers and mouth instead.

"We have to work up to it,"he said."Besides, I like hearing you beg."

And beg I did, while drowning in what felt like buckets of cum as we pleasured each other over and over. I'm insatiable for him.

My intrusive thoughts keep me from being as open as I’m tempted to be. What if Ian doesn'twantto fuck me? What if he thinks that I'll get even clingier once he breaks this last barrier between us?

Honestly, there's a good chance that will happen. I don't want this to end. Michael comes home tomorrow, and we'll have to go back to hiding. Then, before we know it, he'll be gone. And then what? I'll pine over him until the next time Michael brings him home with him? Or will he make things easier on me and keep his distance?

"Turn around, Daddy, let me see that sexy ass." I do what he says, because I'm a blithering, whimpering fool for him.

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