Page 36 of Touch of Innocence
For the moment, it was a place where he could take Sam and molest his gorgeous body. Gunner wrapped his arms around Sam and tugged him through the door, already busily stripping off the younger man’s clothing. The trick was to keep them both busy, so no more talking could happen.
And it was working, too. Sam was so wonderfully responsive to him, and the moment they got to the bed—both of them naked now—Sam was pushing Gunner down onto it, much stronger than he looked with all of that lean muscle.
Gunner let himself fall, let the bed embrace him as he landed gently on its soft, cushiony surface. Sam’s hands found his hips and wrapped around them, tugging him insistently to the side of the bed, so that his ass was just barely on it and his legs were hanging over.
Between Gunner’s legs, Sam fell to his knees, and Gunner felt a hot mouth engulf him. He groaned and reached down, his fingers sliding into soft strands of hair which gleamed golden even in the low light. He tugged gently, enjoying the sounds that Sam made as he slid his lips all the way down the length of Gunner’s cock, right to the very base of it.
“God, baby,” Gunner moaned. This had all started off as a distraction technique, but it had worked too well, maybe. It was distracting the hell out of not only Sam but also Gunner, who rocked up into the embrace of that heated, slick, wet mouth, sliding between tight, talented lips.
It was exquisite. Like sliding into heaven. Gunner looked down at Sam, meeting those bright green eyes, feeling the way that Sam’s strong, big hand cupped his balls, rolling the sensitive skin gently as Sam worked on Gunner’s cock.
There was never any chance of it taking very long for Gunner to come. Not when he had such a beautiful young man servicing him, and a man that Gunner hadn’t been able to resist from almost the first moment that he’d met him. But when he saw a quick, furtive movement when he looked down between his own legs, when he saw the swollen length of Sam’s dick as he stroked himself, it became not just inevitable but also urgent.
“Fuck! Sammy, touch yourself for me,” Gunner groaned, fighting off the waves of pleasure, the undertow that threatened to suck him right under and into an ocean of bliss. “Make yourself come.”
Sam shuddered, and without being told with words, Gunner knew that Sam was finding this just as unbearably hot as Gunner was. Sam touching himself and jerking off while having his lips wrapped around Gunner’s cock, it was one of the hottest things that had ever happened to Gunner.
There was this sense of urgency to it, too, though maybe only Gunner felt that. Like this might be one of the last times that they were together. Like the expiration date on this crazy interlude between them was coming up fast.
When Gunner locked his eyes on Sam’s, it seemed like somehow they might be able to push through with this. If they both tried, maybe they could make this into something real, something that lasted. How that would happen, Gunner didn’t know, but even though it seemed hopeless, he couldn’t help but have some hope regardless.
Somehow, Gunner managed to hold off until Sam’s body stiffened up, and the hot, sharp, sweet smell of fresh cum filled the air and Sam choked himself on Gunner’s cock while pleasure wracked his body.
Sam coming was all that Gunner had been waiting for, and he let out a soft whimper of his own, a sound that he would have been ashamed of himself for if he hadn’t been so busy with the sensations racing through his blood. Sam’s brilliant, jewel-green eyes filled his entire field of vision, still fogged with his own pleasure, and Gunner never looked away even as he came.
Neither of them spoke, then. Gunner didn’t know about Sam, but for himself, he was nervous about what he would even say.I love you. I’m sorry. I want to stay, but I’m not sure I’ll be able to.
He couldn’t say any of that, because it would lead to questions. Questions that he wasn’t at all equipped to deal with. So, instead of speaking, he tugged Sam up off of the floor, wrapped him securely in his arms, and clung to him like he could somehow keep everything from going as badly as he was too terribly afraid that it was.
Don’t let go of me.
He wanted to say those five words, wanted to more than anything, but what right did he have to demand something like that? Especially when he was fairly certain he was going to have to be the one doing the letting go?
