“Feel better?” An hour and a half drive in a truck for Chris feels a lot different than it does for me.
“Yeah. A little bit.”
Moving to the side of the bed, I pat the top of the mattress. “Come here.” The look he gives me doesn’t change my mind. “No arguments.”
His shoulders sag with a defeated sound, and he crawls onto the mattress, settling on his side so his back is facing me. I’m curious to see his reaction tomorrow when we go home and he opens the Christmas stocking I made up for him. Santa had time to track down some flavored massage oil this year.
I set to work on his shoulders. Little bells of victory ding inside me when he sighs. I’m afraid to ask him about his talk with his father, but I don’t have to remain in suspense too long.
“It went all right,” he murmurs against his forearm.
That information does as much to relax me as any massage. Bending down, I press a kiss to the back of his neck.
“I’m glad.”
I had asked him if he’d ever brought a man home before, to which he replied that he’d never brought anyone. He said he suspected his father may have known about his sexuality all along, but that it had been one of those unspoken things that became more difficult to broach the more the years went by. And then, of all things, he apologized to me, as though he’d been hiding me from Vince for fifteen years, and asked if I was sure I still wanted to come to his family’s Christmas. I told him I’d ride into any battle with him, and I don’t think I let go of his hand for the entire drive.
“He just stood there…not saying anything,” he adds, the words cracking something in my chest, hearing what he just went through. “I got more and more pissed off, even though I didn’t want to be. And then…” My hands still in the middle of his back as he makes a disbelieving sound. “I found out he’s just asfragile as me, just as fragile as anyone else.” His ribcage heaves, and he reaches back, squeezing my hip. “I love you, Remy.”
I think I understand now why people adore fairy tales. You can’t help but want a happily ever after for the hero when they have to fight so much. I rest my hand in front of him on the mattress, leaning down to kiss his shoulder.
“I love you too.”
Chris doesn’t let me get away, though. I don’t mind at all when he turns his head, cups my face, and tastes me like I’m the last drop of water in the desert. His skin is still warm against my palm from his shower as I make soothing passes across his chest and down his stomach. His hand covers mine, redirecting it to a bulge at the front of his towel. He tightens his grip, making me hug what’s underneath the terry cloth fabric. A grunt spills over his lips and into my mouth. That is certainly one way to ask for what you want.
“Does your door lock?”
“Oh, yeah, but they won’t come up here.”
I’d feel better if it were locked, but I take his word for it, slipping loose the knot in his towel. It falls away, leaving him looking like a Greek god who was meant for loving. This was supposed to be a massage. I make up for the deviation by trailing a path of kisses down his spine, cascading my palm across the velvety skin of his ass. I know he scoffed at me for saying that taking care of him is like an addiction, but making him feel good does as much for me as it does for him. It’s why I don’t stop when I reach the seam between his globes, too tempted by the work of art he is that he’ll never see.
The first kiss I land on that tight dark crevice is followed by Chris’ deep exhale. He reaches up for one of his pillows, brings it to his stomach, and rolls onto his stomach. Clearly, he was full of shit when he once insinuated he’d like his belly scratched.Smoothing my hands down the uncharted territory, I wet my lips and drag them in a slow kiss between his cheeks.
“I think I like this massage,” he whispers, shifting his legs apart.
Tomorrow cannot come soon enough. I might have to unpack his stocking for him as soon as we walk in the door. I’ve decided there are some things I don’t want to chance my new friend Rose seeing, so I rush to lock his door. She doesn’t need to discover all the ways I make her son smile. Planting my hands back on the mattress on either side of him, I let my breath ghost his seam to tease his senses. How many times did I dream of doing this to him? Merry Christmas to me.
He’s hot and soft, the hair in his crease tickling the tip of my tongue when I drag it up and over his pucker. The moan he lets out vibrates all the way to my cock, firming my nuts behind my jeans.
“Fuuuck. Remy…”
The amount of contentment his reaction brings me is obscene. I don’t hold back, making love to his entrance with my mouth, intending to make him forget any troubling thought he’s ever had in his life. Groaning, gasping, whimpering; he’s writhing so much he’s twisted the comforter into a snarled mess by his head. He drops one foot to the floor off the side of the bed, hiking his hips up to chase my mouth, riding my tongue as I tease his channel.
“Remy…you,” he pants. “Give me your cock.”
Wiping my wet, swollen lips, I blink, assuming he must mean he wants to taste me or stroke me. I’ve practically driven him mad and know how much emphasis he’s always putting on getting me off before himself, but he doesn’t move. It’s nothing I ever expected he was up for, and it makes me wonder just how emotional today made him. Is this more of the guilt he felt forbringing me here? Because if it takes all night to reassure him that I want to be wherever he is, I’ll gladly do that.
“We don’t have to do that,” I assure him, running my palm in a circle over one of his globes.
“I want to.”
Head canted to the side, I can tell he’s serious and curious about my answer. I’m still hesitant, though. I’ve never gotten the impression that he’s bottomed.
“How long has it been?”
“Today years long…”
The confession comes quietly. I might have swallowed my tongue processing the weight of knowing that means I’ll be the first.
