Page 19 of After Hours

Although it was the last thing I wanted to do, I pushed him away and caught his gaze. “Naked. I want to feel all of you, Oscar.”

It took only a split second for him to smile and nod. He wiggled out of his jeans, and I shucked my sweatpants and boxers at the same time. Seeing my beautiful boyfriend laying on my bed in nothing but a pair of basic briefs practically bursting at the seams with what looked like the perfect-sized dick was almost too much for my brain to compute. I stroked my palm down his chest to his belly, the hair there just as soft as I’d imagined.

Before I had a chance to ask for consent again, Oscar tucked his thumbs in the waistband and slipped the last remaining boundary between us off and away. He rolled right back into me, letting out a lovely groan when our fully naked bodies came together at last. Our cocks lined up, sensitive heads catching and sliding in a slick of mutual precum.

There was nothing graceful about our rush toward orgasm. We didn’t move with any finesse or have some master porn-worthy plan. Mouths slick, we tongued and tasted each other as if we could never get enough of the connection. Of sharing air and heated gasps. Oscar clutched my ass cheek and pulled me closer as our hips rocked in a rhythm that had us both hurtling toward the finish line.

“Zane,” he breathed with his lips against my neck. “I’m gonna…”

“Come on, baby. I’m right there with you.” I didn’t have time to get a hand around our lengths or do anything but hold on tightly to the most adorable, hottest, most amazing man I’d ever know.

His whole body shuddered, and he cried out as he shot. Heat spread between us. I thrust through his slick twice before I joined him. It took a while for our breathing to return to normal.Our arms stayed wrapped around each other, our mouths moving lazily against heated skin.

Finally, he rolled onto his back. “There’s an answer to your question,” he said with a teasing smile. Our combined cum smeared across his belly and soft cock. “Now you know one way to make me feel good.”

The laughter surprised me, and I followed him across the bed to give him another kiss. “The feeling’s mutual, baby.” Joy bubbled out of us as we tussled around, smooching and simply enjoying each other. Eventually, things got too icky to avoid cleanup any longer – there’s nothing fun about drying cum – and we snuck into the bathroom together.

We were on our way to round two in the shower when Wyatt called from the hall. “Guys, I have to take a piss!” The vibe totally destroyed, we wrapped up in towels and ignored his teasing grin and eyebrow wiggle on the way back to my room to fetch our clothes again.

“I should get home,” Oscar said before squeezing me tight one final time. “Goodnight, boyfriend. Let’s not wait too long to do this again.”

I couldn’t even stop grinning long enough to kiss him properly. “No way, baby.” I watched him get into his tiny car and drive away, totally satisfied, totally smitten, and planning to ask my boss for a schedule change the next time I saw him.

Chapter 11

Oscar

The eight-week job at Camp Rocky Cove turned into twelve with no end in sight. As the trees grew bare and the leaf peepers stopped coming, overtime disappeared and the hours dwindled from eight to six and, on some days, only four. A few of the other employees left, but Holly kept finding things for me to do. Clearing paths and restocking supplies turned into office work as the place emptied out and the weather turned colder.

I knew there was no way I could stay on permanently. Bookings trickled in for the winter months. Some people liked hiking in the snow, it seemed, but only a few of the fancier cabins had wood stoves. No one wanted to stay in a pretty plywood shack in the New York winter.

Carter kept me on for the usual ten hours at the inn, which helped with gas and food, but I knew that wouldn’t last forever either. Zane’s schedule change would give us more time together, but there was no way I would ask him to pay for all our dates.

I booted up my ancient laptop to check out local job boards. Carter helped me put together a basic resume with all the skills and responsibilities I had at the family business, but they’d never give me a reference, and that was a problem. Holly would, but a twelve-week verifiable work history didn’t look good.

A few fast-food places on the highway looked for part-time workers. A telemarketing firm in the city offered commission work. A used bookstore in town, Fallen Leaves, wanted to hire a full-time clerk. That sounded more interesting. I scrolled on.

Creative Assistant Wanted. The bold black text caught my eye, and I clicked to view the whole ad. A Rafael Milton, mosaic artist, needed a creative assistant for light labor, finishing work, and general business services. Interest sparked, I followed the links to his professional website and gallery of work. Colorful mosaics of stone and tile covered floors, walls, and outdoor paths and patios on expensive properties around the area.

“I could do this.” Swallowing down most of my nerves, I sent my resume and a cover letter introducing myself. At the bottom, I typed “They will not provide a reference as they disowned me for being LGBTQ+.” Was it better to get that right out in the open and avoid any unpleasantness? Who knows? I wasn’t going to risk another scathing text from my father about my life path.

On a whim, I clicked through to the little website I started making months ago. OO Stone Designs, after my name Oscar O’Donnell. The logo was an icon of a carved stone bird, a representation of one of the first charms I’d ever made. I copied the link to my application and clicked “Send.”

As long as it had nothing to do with the family stuff, I liked working with stone and making creative things. More interesting things than rock walls and garden paths for sure. No one but my little brother Declan knew about my stone-carving hobby. I snuck cast-offs and broken chunks of rock away from jobsites in my pockets, and only used my rotary tool when no could hear it.

The rotary tool still lay wrapped in the bottom of one of the boxes I brought with me to my new home. If I wanted to start carving again, I’d have to find another source of rocks. Working for the family masonry business served that purpose well, at least.

The potential job with Rafael Milton and my website were sparks of ideas entwined with the idea of freedom that I’d always kept tucked away deep inside back home. I liked carving pretty things out of rock, and I was pretty good at it, too. My fingers toyed with the stone Celtic knot bracelet charm around my wrist. Maybe the mosaic artist would give me a chance. Maybe I could create things again and make extra money that way.

The laptop landed on the blanket, and I tumbled off the side of the bed to pull the box from underneath. I set the few books aside, shoved my childhood stuffed owl onto the nightstand, pushed the still-wrapped dildo I’d never got up the courage to use to the side, and pulled out the tool case and box of projects.

I knew exactly what lay inside the plastic case: the worn old rotary tool and an assortment of diamond-tipped bits, grinders, and polishers. I opened the old shoebox instead. On one side, a jumble of rough chunks of marble, limestone, and more sat in a pile of chips and dust. On the other, a small plastic case held the things I’d carved any time I could get some time to myself. A gray heart with a swirl design etched into it. A broken Celtic knot. A delicately carved white stone wing pendant. A smooth black marble disc with a sunburst in the middle.

The more I held the smooth pieces, and the more I glanced at the sad old website, the more the idea of trying to build a business took over my mind. Any money from sales would help me save up for my own place. The idea of creating again, though, that was the real draw.

The memory of Dec watching me carve and rambling about all the stuff he did in school that day somehow summoned my favorite brother into reality. My phone vibrated on the nightstand, and I dropped the stone heart to check it.

Dec:Hey, Oscar. I’m not sure where you are and it’s kinda freaking me out. I overheard Dad talking with Mom about you the other day and it made me think maybe they’re lying about you being away at school on a scholarship. Let me know you’re okay.

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