Page 40 of Nights Without Night
“Why? Why? Everybody deserves clean sheets.”
“Not—I don’t want them. I don’t want them!”
“WellIwant them!”
“Then fucking take them!”
“I wantyouto have them!”
“Fuck!” Isadoro flings his sheet to the side and jumps out of bed. He starts ripping the linen off the bed with such force that the mattress gets caught in the fitted sheet and bends, slamming down as it springs free. I try to grab the clean set from the desk, but he yanks them from me and starts to make the bed with such fury that it takes him several times to get the fitted sheet on.
“Fuck!” he shouts in frustration.
“Let me-”
“Don’t!” he snaps. I let him do it, watching as he fights with the pillow until it’s a lumpy mess in its new cover. When he’s done, he gets back in, pulling the untucked sheet up to his chin and curling into a ball.
I watch him breathe heavily for a minute, letting the frustration and guilt ferment in my stomach.
I pick up the dirty sheets and leave.
**********
Some days are better than others.
I come back home to see him doing push-ups in the living room. It’s a ridiculous scene. The room smells faintly of sweat as it glistens on his rippling back. He’s breathing hard, face clean-shaven.
I’ve never seen a porn video start like this, but all of them should.
He catches me looking, and the expression on my face must give away exactly what I’m thinking because his smile is immediately feral. He collapses on his front for a moment before sitting back, legs sprawled open in front of him. The sweatpants slinging low on his hips are thin and utterly perfect.
It feels like it’s been years since I last touched him like I want to right now.
He must be thinking the same thing because suddenly he’s up. I meet him in the middle. I’ve missed him, not just his body but that look on his face, that light in his eyes, his smile.
He pushes me against a wall as we kiss savagely. There is no patience, no moderation. There is only want.
My nails rake across his back as he grinds against me, his thick thigh against my hardening cock, keeping up a rhythm that is immediately maddening. He lets up just enough to get a hand down the back of my opened pants and press a finger against my hole, over the cloth of my underwear. He starts grinding against me again and I moan and bite at his shoulder and bicep, at the impenetrable solidity of him.
“Fuck you. Fuck you,” I say, and shove him off hard enough that he stumbles back.
“Get the lube,” I order. He pauses for a moment as if stuck between two equally appealing possibilities but disappears a moment later.
I rip the clothes off my body before walking over to the couch. I bend over the back of it, moaning slightly at the feeling of the material against my cock. I don’t give a shit about stains. I want to be fucked just like this.
Isadoro finds me like that, naked and draped over the back of the couch, rubbing myself off on it like an animal.
“Jesus,” I hear him say behind me, and I’m so turned on even that has a shiver running through me.
“Yeah. Come fuck me, come on,” I goad. I hear the sound of his sweatpants hitting the floor and then his big hands are on my hips, his leaking cock rubbing against my ass, slipping to the small of my back.
“Fuck. Fuck,” he says as I press myself against him. His hands are gone for a moment. I hear the sound of a condom wrapper, the lid and squeeze of lube and then one of his hands is back on my hips while two fingers of the other breech me at once.
“Yes,” I hiss, not knowing if to seek friction against the couch or if I want more of him. My decision is made for me, however, as he holds me in an almost bruising grip and pumps his fingers into my hole, stretching me mercilessly.
I forget myself for a moment, the pleasure is so bright and blinding.
“Come on, come on, come on,” my mouth is saying.
