He stops abruptly and pulls away. “Is this okay? Oh my god, what am I thinking?”
I fist the front of his Team Boss shirt and pull his mouth close to mine. “We can just be friends who occasionally snog and cum on each other’s faces.”
Lando laughs. “You’ll be the one doing the latter, but I’m very much looking forward to it.” He kisses me again. This time it’s a teasing, gentle kiss. “Hey, do you want to see your surprise?”
“Does the pope clap asses in the woods?”
“It’s on my bed. Come on.”
“What the hell?” I say, frowning down at Lando’s black cotton sheets and the two items placed in the centre.
One of them is a plushie. It’s about seven or eight inches long, about an inch wide, green, has a little smiling face, and is shaped like an asparagus. The other . . .
“Is that what I think it is?”
Lando picks up the second object, flicks a switch on the side, and it buzzes.
Yep, it’s a vibrator. Also shaped like an asparagus, with a bulbous green head and knobbly bits all down the shaft. Thankfully, this one doesn’t have a little kawaii face.
I burst out laughing.
“Thought we could continue our lessons tonight?” he says.
“I . . . um . . .”
“Have you ever had anyone massage your prostate before?”
I’m still smiling. “Not with an asparagus, that’s for sure. Also, aren’t we supposed to not be touching each other?”
“Fuck that,” Lando says. “New plan: I want you to be as loud as possible.”
I sit down on the side of the bed. “Why did you tell him I was your boyfriend?”
Lando simply shrugs, but it’s okay, because I think deep down I already know why. Emails as the main communication method, no hello hug, the three-week pit stop, wanting a picture taken with a semi well-known guy instead of your own son, the fake smiles and apologies . . .
Lando’s attention starved. That’s why he said we were a couple. He was trying to get a reaction out of him.
Suddenly all of Lando’s nighttime escapades make a lot more sense. Why wouldn’t he seek attention from other guys when there’s nothing at home for him?
“Okay, yeah, let’s do that. Show me what that magic button can do.”
We shower together to start, and scrub away the sweat and mud from today’s match. I wash Lando’s hair because I’m desperate to be nearer to him and to feed that human contact he craves so badly. It’s the most intimate thing I’ve ever done, even more so than painting his face with my jizz outside Owen Bosley’s pub.
I wash my hair, which is much shorter than Lando’s and takes a fraction of the time, then I scrub his back with the loofah.
“You can’t smell it, but this shower gel is heavenly,” he says with his eyes closed.
The rainfall water hits the back of his bent neck and rushes down his chest and abdomen.
Lando has an incredible ass. I reach my hands out and cup his cheeks, and I wait for some kind of approval sign before I explore. He moves his head to the side, as though saying, “Yes, it’s okay,” but my anxious mind needs the verbal confirmation.
“Can I?” I whisper.
“Yes,” he says.
I begin softly stroking his buttocks, feathering my fingers along his lower back, down his thighs. Then I press between his shoulder blades, guiding him forward, bending him over a little. I drag my hand up between his cheeks and work my thumb over his hole.
The instantaneous urge for more is almost crippling. I stumble into him and moan and have to bite down on my fist to stem the noise. I need more of him, to be closer to him, to wrap myself up inside him.
