Page 86 of Hot Mess Express
Hearing him say that—those words, those exact words, with that crackled and needing tone of voice, looking at me with those dopey blue eyes—it makes it nearly impossible to resist.
“I brought condoms,” he says. “In my backpack. I don’t know why I did. But I did. I packed lube, too.”
“Lube, too?”
“Please just do it. Please fuck me. I don’t want anyone else on God’s green earth to do it. I want to feel you inside me. I want to … t-to know what it’s like. I want you to do it. Please.”
How the hell do I say no to that?
Why the hell would I say no to that?
“Look, Anthony …” I start.
He sits up at once. “Don’t tell me I’m not ready. Don’t tell me I’ll regret it, or it breaks some rule of yours, or you think I should think it over. If I hadn’t jizzed in your eyeball, we were on our way to havin’ sex already. It was gonna happen. I … I still want it to happen. I ain’t drunk either. Not even a little. I know what I’m …” He swallows hard. His eyes drop to my chest. “… what I’m askin’.”
I kiss him.
Maybe just to shut him up.
To not hear how badly he wants me.
The more I hear him talk, the less in control I am. I can’t make a sound decision. I can’t think through the pros and cons of going all the way with this guy, what it can mean down the road, taking his virginity.
Especially when the day comes that Pete and I have to go.
Where does that leave Anthony?
“Fuck me,” he moans against my lips. “Please.”
I can’t even shut him up with a kiss.
Every single groan that squeezes out of his throat undoes me further. Like his words are little keys to every lock inside me. Tiny crowbars slipped into my door, prying it open, twisting, cracking the doorframe, splinters everywhere.
“Fuck me, Bridger.”
His backpack gets turned over the next instant.
An explosion of clothes I don’t fold and items I don’t see.
Added to that pile I just made: the condom wrapper I just tore open, rolling the condom down my rock hard dick. And the bottle of lube I just squeezed from, slicking myself up.
Anthony flips himself over, his legs hanging off the bed, ass up, apparently having selected his preferred position already. Those pretty blue eyes of his peer back over his shoulder at me, excitement glimmering in them.
I need a minute to appreciate what’s happening right now.
His “cute bubble butt”, borrowing Pete’s words. Mostly firm, with the slightest bit of jiggle to them to draw the eyes. The shape of those two pert globes is exquisite, giving way to his tight thighs beneath them, legs slightly spread. His back is smooth and tapers to his wider shoulders. It’s not the chiseled back of some fantasy cowboy runway model who doesn’t exist. It’s Anthony’s back, real, dimples above his ass, shallow canyon down the middle, otherwise featureless, save for a birthmark near his right shoulder blade and a short scar by his left shoulder.
And over that shoulder, Anthony’s eager face, his eyes shining and excited.
Then: “Come on, man. The hell you waitin’ for?”
I smirk, enjoying his impatience. I stand right behind him and watch those eyes melt when my lubed fingers unexpectedly slide between those cute, plump ass cheeks of his. He groans anddrops his head to the bed, muffled now by the sheets. I gently work in one finger, which intensifies the noises he’s making—an instant reward for my efforts. Then I let in one more finger, sliding the two of them in and out with ease, coaxing his ass to open for me.
“Oh myfuck,” he breathes, barely intelligible. “What are you fuckin’ doin’ to me? Fuckin’fuck…”
“Exactly what you asked,” I answer, surprising him when my voice comes right by his ear. I’ve crawled over his back, my fingers still teasing his hole. “Rough, you said you want it?”
“Think I can’t take it?” he asks, all his sass back. “Come on, Bridger. I already came, and I want you to come, too. I want you to come so fuckin’ hard. Even if it’s inside me.”
