Page 10 of The Men of Summer
I shudder at the memory and comply. Head on the pillow, I close my eyes as his knees press on the squeaky mattress and lodge between my inner thighs, widening my stance. Slowly. Teasingly. Tenderly. My eyes pop open when he croaks, “—while I finger your gorgeous ass.”
Incapable of restraining myself, I wiggle my perky butt and part my legs to allow him better access. His hand slowly kneads my butt cheek. “It’s all yours.”
“Mine.” In between licking, kissing, and nibbling my shoulders, his finger probes my entrance. “Always.” Circling. My ass cheeks strain. Rubbing. My face tenses. Breaching. My hole clenches. I gasp. “I’ll make it good for you.” His words have a soothing effect, and I’m able to relax. He knowsthisis a first for me as well; I can’t be the only gay guy who hasn’t fingered himself—or let others do it for that matter, right?
With that, he gently enters me. Catching my breath, I slowly adjust to the foreign feeling. “Is that okay?”
“It’s more than okay,” I huff, making a point to keep my voice low, although he just found my prostate and is rubbing it. The sensation is so intense that I can’t breathe for a second. “Oh, fuck, do that again, please.”
He does. “Told you you’d be begging.”
Again. “Pleeease!” And again. Eyelids fluttering, I writhe under his ministrations as he alternates between scissoring me and continuing his relentless yet sweet torture.
Another finger joins the fun, but I’m already too far gone to really notice. I purse my lips, willing my thumping heart and fidgeting frame to calm down, but it’s fruitless.
He works me quickly and efficiently, yet I hiss when he inserts a third finger. My heart skips a beat.
He’s never going to fit.I discard the fleeting thought.Of course, he is.
I heave a shaky breath, and soon enough, I’m a quivering mess. “More, Dante...” I know the drill, but experiencing it is a whole new ball game. “Ohhh, fuck,” I moan. “Let me turn around so I can see you fuck me.”
“Why don’t you ride me to control how much you take?”
My mouth waters at the prospect, but I remain cautious; bottoming has never been my thing, although Dante kept claiming that I was missing out. Who knows? If we enjoy the experience, I might indulge on occasion to please my lover. “What about good ol’ missionary? I’m not feeling adventurous tonight.”
“I never said missionary was boring. Different positions, different sensations, as you well know.” My lover winks, places a pillow under the small of my back, and licks his lips. His heated gaze takes me in.
Knees bent, skin ablaze, and legs spread, I urge, “Hurry up, please. I can’t take it anymore. Give it to me… Give your dick… now.”
“Always so bossy. I love it!” He positions himself, and a bead of sweat trickles down my temple. “Relax for me,” he cajoles, his hand roaming across my skin. Then, he plunges upward.
I humph. “Holy shit, you’re—” he patiently waits for me to adjust rather than finish my sentence— “big.” I nod to encourage him to proceed. “What’s next?” We laugh nervously at my lame joke. “Well, move,amour.I’m ready… So ready for you.”
So he does. The burn, the fullness, and the novelty sink in. My eyes roll to the back of my head. Displeased when he almost withdraws completely, I clamp harder around him when he drives back inside of me.
Once we find our rhythm, his moves turn frantic. Eager for more, I arch my back and meet him thrust for thrust. It’s the right blend of pain and pleasure. My hands roam over his sweaty skin.
His breathing is erratic. My heart is hammering. Our bodies are trembling.
“Thank you for letting me take control like this.” He kisses me sloppily when burying himself to the hilt, hitting my prostate yet again.
I groan, nodding without breaking the kiss.
In a flash, pleasure coils low in my belly. I’m not ready for it to end, but my balls tighten, and my impending climax follows. The friction of my shaft squeezed between our bodies manages to push me over the edge without either of us jerking my dick. If his goofy smile is any indication, this makes him ridiculously proud.
Minutes later, he bites his lip to suppress the sound of his own release. Some of it shoots on my hairless chest before he collapses on me like a rag doll. “I love you.” My fingertips draw patterns on his damp back. We’re a sticky mess, too spent to move.
“Je t’aime tellement, mon amour.” I hold him flush to my sweaty self, unable to let go. Still, a part of me feels compelled to capture this unique circumstance. Hence, I extend my arm, snatch my phone from the end table, and oblige, angling the lens so it remains PG-13—above the chest. Warm embrace. Lazy smile. Blissed-out face. It’s perfect, and his knowing smile grows. He pecks my temple.
A few hours later, when we wake up with our limbs intertwined, I force myself to grab my phone and take a selfie to immortalize the blatant happiness of a crazy in love couple. It’s a way to remind us of this milestone. On this very day, Dante took a huge step and showed that we’re still in this together. In turn, I reciprocated and proved my commitment to him as my life partner. About to doze off, I mumble, amused, “I can’t wait to feel my sore muscles later.” Only time will tell if this turns outto be a one-time thing. What matters is that our pledge to one another is a permanent marker. “Thank you.”
“My pleasure.”
CHAPTER 8
WE CAME, WE SAW, WE CONQUERED
Dante
