Page 126 of As the Years Pass
I press his cock to his stomach, holding it there so it doesn’t bounce while I fuck him.
“Come on,” he whines. “Fuck, Adam.”
I fuck him slow and hard, hitting his prostate and driving him wild. I feel his precum leaking from the head of his cock and onto my hand. I’m tempted to stroke him, but I don’t want him coming until I do, and I know how close he is.
He’s rock hard and hot in my hand, so thick and needy.
“Almost. I’m almost there,” I tell him.
Emmet whimpers in response, and I shift my feet to fuck him deeper, moving a little faster. His hole squeezes my cock perfectly, so warm and tight and perfect. And it’s mine, all mine. Always has been. That thought has me nearly feral, knowing that no one else has been in here but me. Ever. Not a single person but me.
He really is all mine.
When I’m nearly there, I wrap my hand around his dick and stroke him slowly, squeezing the head. He shakes more, moving his hips to fuck into my fist while also riding my cock at the same time.
“Fuck, Adam, I’m going to come!”
I jerk him faster, feeling him throb with his release. I come too, filling his ass.
We’re both panting and covered in sweat, and I take a moment to get myself together before pulling out of him. I step back, watching my cum drip from his hole and down his thighs.
“So fucking beautiful,” I say.
He steps back, eyes on the wall. I can’t help but laugh, when I see the mess he’s made there. His cum drips down the wall all the way to the floor.
I go into the bathroom to clean up and get a towel for him. I wipe his cock, then his ass, then the wall.
“You think a lot of people come on that wall?” I ask as I toss the towel into the bathroom.
Emmet chuckles. “Maybe. It’s a good-sized wall.”
It really is, though. Perfect width to fuck against.
“Come on. Let’s get to sleep.”
Tomorrow we head home to start our life together.
Chapter Fifty-One
Emmet
One month later…
“Are you sure you’re ready for this?” Adam asks.
“Are you sureyou’reready for this?” I ask in return.
“Yeah, I’m fine,” he says, running a hand through his hair.
He doesn’t look fine. He’s pale.
“You look like you’re about to pass out.”
Adam gives me a dirty look. “I’m fine.”
The balloons tied to the porch railing sway in the wind, a mix of green and blue—Ian’s favorite colors. We’re still sitting in the car, and I’m waiting for Adam to make the first move to get out. Or do something that tells me he wants to go inside. I don’t understand what he’s so nervous about or why this is an issue for him, but he’s convinced he’s fine and he won’t tell me otherwiseuntil he’s ready to. I wouldn’t call it a flaw, but it’s certainly frustrating.
“No one’s even here yet,” I say.
