I remember a distinct feeling of confusion, a clatter of emotion that slowed my thought process substantially as I painstakingly pieced it together. His shorts were around his ankles, hands braced on the wall, sexy, soft twin semi-circles of his ass cheeks peeking out from under his T-shirt by the time it finally dawned on me.
Romeo wanted it.
I was instantly aroused. Not just aroused, more aroused than I’d ever been. More aroused than any man in living history had ever been. Red-hot lust bloomed in my groin and instantly invaded the rest of me.
He wanted me.
And he wanted to bottom for me more than he wanted to top.
It’s hard to describe what that did to me or why. Let’s just say I was euphoric. Ecstatic. Instantly riding the highest of highs. I don’t remember prepping him, but I must have because I remember the sound he made when I entered him. It wasn’t pain or even shock. It was a low, husky moan that shook the whole room. I moved slowly, gently sliding in and out of him, taking care to make him feel good. It went on for so long that I had the time to find the idiotic mental fortitude to congratulate myself on my stamina.
I was confused when he put his hand on my thigh and pushed me away, but I didn’t have long to wonder what was happening. He kicked his shorts and shoes off and pulled me down to the floor right there in the hallway.
I was flat on my back and he was on top of me. The timber floor was cool and hard beneath me. He still had his T-shirt on. I had mine on too. My jeans were tangled around my ankles, binding me, trapping me. Keeping me right where he wanted me. He pushed my T-shirt up and raked one hand up and down my chest, finding a handful of muscle and grabbing it hard. Grabbing it as if it were his. He reached behind him with his free hand and lined my cock up, fingers stretching and curling to caress my balls lightly.
His face as he impaled himself is something that still haunts me. Beauty is the best word to describe it, but really, the word is paltry in comparison to what I saw. His eyes were closed, his mouth open. His skin was flushed and golden, a fine sheen of sweat on his brow and neck. He sank down on me and took me fully. I felt the soft flesh of his ass cheeks resting on my thighs and the weight of his balls on my lower belly. He posted up and down, tentatively at first, face creased with concentration, and then something in him broke loose.
He found his rhythm. His pace. His speed. His place. His hips started moving in slow undulations. Sinuous and lithe. So sexy that time tore. It ripped down the middle and screeched to a halt. He leaned down and kissed me, and when he pulled away, his eyelids fluttered open and he looked drunk. Spaced out and happy.
That was it. That was the moment I thought would set the course for the rest of my life. Even now, I could swear it was real. I could swear as I lay there beneath him, I saw Romeo falling. Even now, after everything that happened, even though I know for a fact that’s not what happened, a big, stupid part of me still believes it was real. His expression softened and an unsteady, goofy grin took over his face. His ass clenched and released, his insides caressing me, collecting all the parts of me, bunching them up and wringing every ounce of pleasure out of me.
I know I said Romeo couldn’t dance, and any other time that was true and probably still is. But put my dick inside him and let him ride it, and sweet Jesus, that boy could move. I’d never seen beauty like it and I’d never felt anything like it either. Not before him, and not after him either. It was bliss. Pure, unadulterated, otherworldly bliss.
I’ve never heard sounds like the sounds we made together either. Raw, guttural groans that bounced off the walls. I thrashed beneath him, hips thrusting and arching with noconscious thought from me. I clawed at the floor, desperate for something to anchor my sanity on. I found nothing, so I gave up. I relented. I surrendered. I gave myself over to him. My hands found him and started stroking. His thick, veiny cock pulsed in time with my thrusts. The noises we made amped up and grew louder and louder until what was happening sounded violent.
That day, something fragile and brittle that had been holding us apart shattered. It broke into so many pieces there was no way to put it back together. From that day, I was a match and he was a flame. We set each other alight and burned the world around us to ash. We fucked unbridled. Every day. Every night. All the time. If we were alone, I was inside him. Or getting him ready to take me. Or taking him into my mouth. Or feeding him my dick. Or eating his ass.
When he was sore from our efforts, he’d lie on his side on the sofa in our basement and I’d stretch out behind him as close as I could get. We’d both have hardly anything left to give, but he’d cross his legs tightly, I’d lube my dick, and I’d fuck the silky skin of his inner thighs. Sometimes, when we were both running on empty, he’d lie on his belly on my bed, naked, and I’d kneel behind him, pressing his cheeks together and using the crack of his ass for relief. He’d groan and smile and let me.
It was amazing. Majestic. Our libidos were raging, and they fed off each other.
It was the summer I thought would never end.
I was wrong.
All summers end.
Two days before I headed back to college, Romeo and I were messing around in my room. He was on his knees with his hand in his pants and my dick in his mouth. We didn’t hear the car, but we heard the garage door. The motor whined, grinding old levers in a way that sent tremors through the whole house.
Romeo leaped to his feet, face white and stricken as he swiped at his mouth with the back of one hand. He moved away from me so fast that his back connected solidly with my closet door. I opened my mouth to speak, to reassure him, to tell him everything was okay, but he raised his finger to his lips furiously, silencing me as his eyes flashed in panic.
We straightened our clothes and hair without saying a word and after opening the bedroom door and calling a hasty greeting to my mom, I whispered, “Chill. It’s fine.It’s not like it would be the worst thing in the world if she found out.”
And he laughed.
He actually laughed out loud. His face scrunched up, and his eyes looked watery. “Yeah, right,” he spluttered. “Not the worst thing.”
At the time, I was shocked but heavily numbed by the heat of his presence. It wasn’t until I was back at college that I started playing what had happened over and over in my mind on repeat. It ate at me. It burrowed into my heart and hurt me. It tore me to shreds. It found soft, sensitive parts of me, parts I’d hidden and never shown to anyone, and hurt me there too.
How could the best thing that had ever happened to me be the very thing Romeo was most ashamed of?
19
“Here’s to my love”
Now
By some miracle, Islept well last night. I’ve woken feeling the most human I have since I got to Alabaster. Selby is brewing coffee by the time I get to the kitchen, and Romeo is back at his post at his desk.
