Page 46 of Comforting the Grump

“No, you won’t. Keep fucking me.”

“But—”

“It’s okay. Keep fucking me.”

It felt all kinds of wrong, and at the same time, I was enthralled by the reality of fucking him raw. I’d never done that, not since my very first time, which had been with Tiago. I’d used condoms ever since.

It took me a few thrusts to get back into it—and to get my cock back to its previous state, as it had flagged a little—but all I had to do was look at Ennio’s sweet hole and picture my cum dripping out of it. Fuck, I couldn’t wait.

He pushed his ass back and, with legs spread wide, encouraged me to fuck him hard. And even though he’d come already, he was making sounds as filthy as the squelch of my cock sinking inside him. The sound of his pleasure was my undoing. With a few more powerful thrusts, I reached the edge and tumbled over it, my release tearing through me in shuddering waves.

For a moment, there was nothing but the sound of my labored breathing and the slow return to reality. I remained inside him, savoring the closeness, the aftershocks of pleasure that coursed through me.

“Thank you,” I stupidly said, my brain not fully back online yet.

Ennio giggled. “Right back atcha, champ, but you’re welcome?”

With reluctance, I pulled out and stood up straight, stretching my sore muscles for a moment. “Let me clean you up.”

I grabbed a handful of tissues from the box on the coffee table, but then had to take a moment to admire the sight of that gorgeous ass…with my cum dripping out of it. Damn. If I were a painter, I would’ve immortalized that right there. Maybe mot Louvre-worthy but it would’ve been one hell of a memory.

After taking my fill, I wiped Ennio down with a gentleness that contradicted the harshness of our earlier actions. My hands were steady, but my pulse was still racing from the intensity of what we’d shared. The logical part of my brain urged me to back away, to reestablish the boundaries I was so accustomed to guarding. Yet, as I cleaned myself off, watching Ennio’s chest rise and fall with each satisfied breath, I hesitated.

“Thanks,” he murmured, his blue eyes soft with gratitude. He reached for the remote, fingers brushing mine in a lingering touch that sent another jolt through me.

“Sure,” I managed to say, betraying none of the turmoil inside.

The movie flickered back to life on the screen as Ennio pushed a few buttons to bring us back to where we’d gotten distracted. I should’ve been planning my retreat to the other end of the couch, but Ennio shifted closer, tucking his legs under him and leaning into my side with an ease that felt disarmingly right, even though we were both still naked.

“Keep watching?” he asked, head tilting toward me, lashes casting shadows over his flushed cheeks.

“Okay,” I said, more out of reflex than decision. I wasn’t sure why I agreed so readily—perhaps it was the warmth radiating from his body or the way he looked at me.

We watched in comfortable silence, the characters’ lives unfolding before us, their trials and tribulations a stark contrast to the simple moment we were sharing. Ennio’s laughter filledthe room at intervals, a melodic sound that made the corners of my mouth twitch in response.

Without quite realizing it, I relaxed against the cushions, allowing the tension to seep from my muscles. Ennio’s head eventually came to rest against my shoulder, his breaths evening out as sleep claimed him. His presence was soothing, an unexpectedly welcome deviation from my usually solitary existence.

As the credits rolled, I turned off the TV but didn’t bother to move. The night had grown quiet around us, the only sounds the distant hum of the city and Ennio’s gentle breathing. I let my eyes close, inhaling his scent—soap and something uniquely Ennio.

“Stay,” a part of me whispered, not to Ennio, who was already lost to dreams, but to the half of myself who wanted to push him away. And for once, I listened.

Under the cover of darkness, with Ennio’s warmth pressed against me, sleep took me too.

16

ENNIO

The familiar clatter and sizzle in the kitchen at The Lodge felt like a foreign language I’d forgotten how to speak. My hands moved on autopilot, chopping carrots with mechanical precision, but my mind was a thousand miles away—or precisely, an hour east, in Seattle, where Marnin’s touch still lingered on my skin.

“Focus, Ennio,” I muttered, shaking off the memory of how his hands had moved over my body with a confidence that left me breathless, how his cock had filled me so good, how his kisses had made me feel almost high. And we’d fallen asleep together on the couch. Instead of leaving me there alone, he’d stayed with me until we’d both woken in the middle of the night and made it to the bedroom. Together. In his bed.

I tried to keep my thoughts centered on the dinner service at hand. Still, his scent—a mix of sandalwood and something uniquely Marnin—clung stubbornly to my senses, refusing to be ignored.

As I seared the filets for the evening’s special, I replayed every moment of our weekend together. It wasn’t just the sex—though, holy hell, that alone could’ve set the Skykomish riverablaze—it was the new closeness between us that had never been there, the way he’d looked at me during the orca watch, how he made me laugh with his sarcastic, cynical wit, even when I tried hard to stay mad at him for some quip or another.

“Ennio, table three asked if you could… Are you all right?” My sous chef’s voice cut through the fog in my head, and I realized I’d been staring at the sizzling pan without really seeing it.

“Yeah, yeah, I’m good.” I gave him a tight smile before turning back to the stove. I plated the dish with careful attention, trying to channel all my turbulent emotions into the presentation, making it look as perfect as possible.

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