Memphis might have fought harder, over thought it more, but then Preacher was working his cock in his tight, rough grip, thumb sweeping over the head on every upstroke, twisting in a maddening pattern that had Memphis hurtling toward orgasm almost too quickly. “Slow down. You’re going to make me come too fast.”
Preacher’s responding purr was like a physical touch. “You can do it, baby. I have faith in you. You wanna come with my load inside you, right?”
Fuck. Why was that so hot? He shifted position slightly until his calves flanked Preacher’s thighs and he could drop all the way down onto Preacher’s cock. He was past thought or reason or shame. He just rode Preacher hard, finding a rhythm that put Preacher’s cock just where he wanted it. He gripped the arms of the chair, head thrown back, lost in the pleasure of being fucked and stroked at the same time.
“That’s it, baby. Take what you need. Fuck, you look so good like this. So hot.”
Preacher’s voice drove him harder, faster, sent him sling-shotting closer to his release. Memphis wasn’t sure he could hold back. He wanted Preacher to come first but he could feel his spine tingling, his balls tightening. “Preacher…”
Preacher’s hips stuttered beneath him, the muscles of his thighs clenching, a hoarse cry falling from his lips as he surged up to capture Memphis’s lips. He couldn’t feel Preacher coming inside him, not really, but he could feel the way his cock pulsed within that tight ring of muscle as he spilled inside him, and that was enough. He cried out, his mouth still pressed to Preacher’s, his release sending a full body shudder through him as Preacher just kept working him, milking every drop until his cock lay spent between them.
Memphis fell forward, dropping his head on Preacher’s shoulder. “Wow.”
Preacher’s chuckle warmed Memphis from the inside out. “Wow doesn’t begin to cover it.”
“I’m not going to be able to walk for a week. My thighs are shot.”
“That’s alright, I’ll carry you. You’re kind of scrawny.”
Memphis sat up, poking Preacher’s nipple. “Take that back.”
“Ouch.”
Memphis did it again. “Take it back.”
“Okay, okay. You’re not scrawny. You’re a monster. Totally swole.”
Memphis glowered at him until they both began to laugh. “Did you just say swole?”
Preacher grinned. “Is that not the word?”
“Debatable. Please, never say it again.
“Who do you think comes up with these photoshoot ideas?” Memphis asked, his head resting on Preacher’s chest. They lay on the couch, tucked under a throw, Memphis blanketing Preacher, his body nestled between Preacher’s sprawled legs.
Preacher stared at the photo of a girl dangling precariously over a city street in an ugly suit with hair and makeup that would have made David Bowie proud. It had probably cost thousands, but Preacher didn’t get the appeal. “Whoever they are, they seem sadistic.”
“Mm,” Memphis agreed, his hand sliding under Preacher’s shirt to splay across his chest.
Preacher dipped his head to kiss Memphis’s head, content to watch this silly show in the dim light of the treehouse, with the dogs lying before the fire. He let his gaze stray to the television. No matter the photoshoot idea—spiders, under water, in a grave, dangling from a building—there was always a model having a meltdown somewhere.
Two weeks, six days, and a handful of hours hiding out in the isolated Oregon wilderness had taught Memphis and Preacher to not be so picky with their choices of entertainment. Though, if Preacher had to choose, he’d most definitely prefer the entertainment where the two of them were naked and Preacher was buried inside him, but there was a limit to even that.
The microwave dinged, indicating the bag of popcorn he’d put in had finished. When he went to move, Memphis clung to him. “No. Don’t go.”
Preacher chuckled. “You managed to make it when I walked to the microwave three minutes ago. I’m sure you’ll be fine until I walk the twenty steps to the kitchen and back.”
“You don’t know that. You were gone forever last time. I was terrified. What if something happens right when you reach the kitchen? What if you get lost on the way back? What if you trip and break a hip? You aren’t getting any younger.”
Preacher pinched Memphis’s side, and he jumped with a laugh.
“Just for that, I’m not sharing my popcorn with you.” He wriggled from under Memphis, padding barefoot into the kitchen, tugging the popcorn bag free and shaking it a bit to displace the steaming kernels.
“Babe, hurry up. I think Tyra is going to make a girl cry…again. Oh, and bring me a beer.”
It wasn’t a request. Preacher shook his head. When Memphis wasn’t swimming in childhood trauma and existential dread, he was feisty and funny and more than a little demanding. Every day, he came out of his shell a little more, and Preacher was enjoying meeting each new part of Memphis.
Preacher was reaching for a bowl overhead when he saw it, the faintest hint of movement in the darkness outside. It was there and gone so fast he almost dismissed it. It could have been an animal. A deer or bear, but the hairs on the back of Preacher’s arms stood on end, his pupils dilating, his pulse picking up pace.
