He kisses the salty path and whispers gently in my ear, “If this is too much right now, we don’t have to do anything. Honestly, if I could just sit here and kiss on you, that’d be more than enough.”
I shake my head, too overcome to use words, and my mouth clamps shut because to open it now would be to invite more emotion than I can currently process. I peek up at him, and he’s looking at me in that way of his, smiling, so gentle, and the tears come faster and faster.
“Okay then.”
His kisses are light and sweet, and his beard feels soft against my face. Kissing had started to feel like a lost art, because you don’t get a lot of that in hookups. Sure, some aggressive tongue to get things going, but real kissing? Not a chance. And that’s what this is—real kissing. I feel like I’ve slipped beneath the surface, going deeper and deeper as he kisses me in his deep, gentle way.
Oh, I think to myself,this is how you fall in love. Not with flirting, or deep fucking, but with real emotion and soft, insistent kisses. I know it to be true because I’m in the act of falling now, and if it were a drug I’d be hooked.
He pulls away from the kiss and looks into my eyes. “Wow.”
“Yeah,” I say breathlessly. “Wow.”
I reach my hand up and run my fingers through that beautiful beard of his, grasping along the way. The way he closes his eyes makes me think that he likes it very much. I want something, so badly right now, but I feel embarrassed to even ask. He sees the question in my eyes and silently encourages me to tell him anyway.
“I…Will you make love to me?”
I don’t really know what I’m asking for, but I think… I think maybe I need it. And I suspect he knows exactly what to do.
He kisses me again, this time for a very long time. He pulls back again, a sensual smile on his lips. “Yes, I’ll make love to you.”
With that, he pulls my shirt off over my head and calmly unfastens my jeans, slowly pulling down the zipper, removing my jeans and underwear in one go. His eyes scan my body, and an unreadable look crosses his face as he leans forward and slips his beautiful mouth around my cock, all the way to the root, deliberately, carefully.
There’s not one damned thing wrong with a quick fuck and suck in the back of an alley, but to have a large, beautiful man make love to you with his mouth, surrounded by clean sheets and bright light filtering in from the window… I’ve been missing out this whole time.
He’s not just blowing me, he’s consuming me, releasing my dick to kiss the junction of my hip, to taste and suck on my balls, to nip at my inner thigh, to shove his nose into my armpit and inhale me, as though that is the most important scent to him in the world. Everything about the way he’s touching me, handling me, is lush and decadent and unhurried. It’s intoxicating and disorienting in the best way possible. Feels like I’m floating, adrift on his touch, and I’ve never been so masterfully handled in all of my life. He is sensual down to his toes, and experiencing this with him feels like I’ve uncovered a secret so special that I dare not share it with the rest of the world.
When he was hate-fucking me, impaling me with ferocious velocity onto that body-splitting dick of his, I thought that he was one of the best lays I’d ever had. I was wrong. That was fun, but it has nothing at all on the man who is with me in this moment.
* * *
Heath
This version of Roly underneath me, his mask falling apart before my very eyes, is unlike any version of him I’ve ever seen before. To have him under me like this, responding so beautifully to every kiss and touch, to see him truly unself-conscious makes me realize how much of his past was with him every day.
His truth feels like a component to which only I have the key, and his body is the visual representation of that mastery.
“Fuck, I really love your body,” he says in a heated rush against my lips. “I like how you feel on top of me, how furry and strong you are.” He pushes on my shoulders, and I lie back on a stack of pillows, watching as he runs both hands over my entire torso, making patterns of the movement, pushing out to the edges, the swirling back to meet in the middle before pushing out again.
His eyes darken and shine, and I know that this is turning him on as much as it is turning me on. I can see why they call him Bear Killer, because the sincere desire stands out in sharp relief to the “um, sure, this is fine” that I’ve experienced with other lovers. Even my ex, who genuinely likes me, never looked at me the way he does.
After a few more minutes of this, of him touching me as he rocks back and forth against my insanely hard dick, I have to make a move. I pull him toward me, then flip us so that his back is on the bed and I’m on top of him, kissing, kissing him. I grab the lube from the side table, using only a spare amount on my dick, remembering that he likes to feel it. I drag his hands above his head, holding him with one hand while I open him up with the other, nestling my bare cock against him.
His sex sounds pitch up as I stroke into him, a little rough, a little give, more friction than I’m used to. I tighten my hold on his hands and push in, my belly rubbing against his weeping cock at the top of each stroke, and we make love to each other, deliberate, unhurried, and as deep as he can take me. I kiss his neck and rub his chest and whisper possessively into his ear, “You are so beautiful, and your beautiful, perfect ass belongs to me now.”
“It’s yours, Heavy. It’s always been yours for the taking. Own it, pleasepleaseplease.”
It’s the first time he’s said that nickname that I didn’t cringe or rage at its use, because hearing it in a moment of passion, it hits me. I’mhisheavy, I’m the one who makes him feel grounded and safe, and it is a feeling of satisfaction that detonates in my chest. I pick up speed, just enough, and bury myself even deeper.
He’s practically sobbing for relief, so I grab his cock with my free hand, stroking it two, three, four times before his muscles, all of those beautiful muscles, seize in a powerful orgasm. I wait until the tension leaves his body, and then I slow it down again so that I can see the desire and affection on his smiling, silly, beautiful face. I rock into him in an almost lazy cadence until he clenches down on me, and I can’t hold back anymore. I come apart, shaking and unsteady over him, and rest my forehead on his while I catch my breath.
“Fuck. That didn’t suck,” he quips, smiling up at me, that dazzled expression in his deep brown eyes.
No, it didn’t. Not even a little.
Chapter Twenty-Six
Roly
