Page 18 of Festive Fugitive
I might have blacked out for a bit, because once the waves of pleasure have washed over me, I’m still on top of that prone, fragrant body, and Eli is stroking me.
His fingers slide over my back, and he still has his legs around me, either not wanting to let go, or not wanting to change position so my dick is in him that little longer. I indulge in the soft kisses he’s leaving on the side of my head. I feel so… accepted.
“I’ve never gone bare before,” he whispers after a while, seeming happy to be my mattress, because he’s not pushing me off. “It’s so fucking hot to have your cuminside me.”
“Fuck… yes,” I mumble, cozy as if his arms are my personal heaven. “There’s more for you where that came from.” I’m already dozing off, so fucking comfortable and satisfied I’d rather not move an inch until morning, but some things need to be said. “I’m gay, by the way.”
Eli laughs out loud, and even that feels like a caress. He thinks I’m funny.
“Good to know. I am, in fact, also gay. Which makes this unexpected road trip infinitely better. Stay like this?” he asks, and I’m all too happy to melt into him.
It is only as I’m falling asleep that I realize the storm’s over, and I never even noticed when it passed.
Chapter 8
Eli
Ifthiswereadream, I wouldn’t want it to end.
But it isn’t. I’m awake, and the hottest man I’ve ever met is asleep on top of me. He’s heavy, simultaneously hard and soft to the touch, and the heat between my buttocks is a reminder of what we did last night.
Cesar wanted me.
He wanted me so much he initially wanted to sleep on the floor to avoid scaring me, but then I found out, and the jolts of mutual desire brought us together. It’s been so damn long since I’ve been fucked—over a year, since my breakup with Spencer—but when he climbed on top and helped himself to my body as if it was his God-given right, I didn’t have a single doubt that it was what I wanted too.
He smells like a summer breeze in the woods, all fresh herbs, with a bit of salt and musk from last night’s sweat. And while I am going to need the restroom soon, I don’thave the heart to wake him up after he drove me to safety, and then made sure to pump me full of cum.
I blush just thinking about it. And the way herimmedme? Like there was nothing he liked better. No one’s ever done that to me before, and now I know I was missing out. Such a skilled tongue. I’d chastise myself for losing my mind and going bare, but what is that in the face of me becoming a murderer and wanted fugitive?
And the things he said to me? I’d be fanning myself if my arm wasn’t trapped under his delicious weight. I can only hope he meant at least half of them. No one’s ever been that intense with me, not even the guy I planned to propose to one day. As if I’m not just someone who ‘will do’, but the only one he wants. I don’t even mind if Sullivan’s death is the main reason motivating his desire.
I’m wondering how much longer my bladder can last before it bursts when Cesar rolls off me and to his back, presenting me with yet another reason to stay in bed. I could admire his body for days. Too bad I’m no artist, because he’d be my new muse. I want to learn his tattoos by heart and find out what every scar is from, including the massive one in the middle of his chest.
It’s time though. I ease my hand from under him ever so gently, to not wake him up and run off to the bathroom for a leak.
I take a shower while I’m there too, and as I clean myself, the tenderness in my hole reminds me of how hungry this model-handsome man was for my ass. Each lick and tease sparked fireworks deep inside, and if he only agrees to rim me again, I’ll massage his feet and fan him whenever he’s tired.
No one’s ever been this passionate with me. I thought maybe that kind of stuff didn’t happen in real life, but Cesar, my savior, made me feel like I’m the hero of aromance book being ravished by some handsome prince whose darkness can be combated through love.
I’m ridiculous.
We’ve only just met.
He’s helping me out of gratitude and surely just likes gangly guys with long legs.
But that doesn’t mean I can’t enjoy it and give back.
Andohdo I want to give back. My foot, while tender, is looking less swollen today, so I’m happy to throw myself into a whirl of cleaning the cabin and preparing the most luscious breakfast I can out of the groceries we’ve got.
After yesterday’s storm, I was expecting to be met by gray clouds and dirty piles of slush, but instead, the sky is blue, and perfect mounds of fresh fluffy snow adorn the driveway.
It’s still over two weeks until Christmas day, but I’m already starting to wonder what I could get Cesar. Since I’ve got nothing, no access to internet, and barely a few bucks to my name, it’s probably my best bet to make something. We might be on the move by then, so starting on any handmade gift now is not such a bad idea, is it?
My mom taught me how to make origami angels and Christmas trees. Those could be arranged into a long ornament if I made enough of them. I could also make a papier mâché bauble, like one of those my family used to make for every Christmas. I’m not sure if it’s a practical gift while being on the road, but maybe we’ll get a van to sleep in, go off-grid, and then we could put such a garland inside.
I imagine Christmas day somewhere in the forests of Canada or Alaska, just the two of us. I could make him French toast in a skillet over a campfire outside as he prepares hot chocolate, and then we’d exchange thoughtful gifts, all to do with what we experienced on the road bythat point. Maybe we could even include my family’s old tradition of a Christmas morning snowball fight?
But I’m getting way ahead of myself. I’m not sure what time it is, since we fell asleep early in the morning. Could be midday. Could be three in the afternoon, for all I know.
