He nods, a slow up-and-down motion that makes it look like he not only understands the question but knows the answer as well.
Something about him is different. Or the same. There’s an eerie familiarity to this encounter that makes my dick swell. He looks at me openly, mouth slightly ajar, as he grazes my lips and throat with a heated gaze. My nipples tighten, pebbling and hardening as beach glass scrapes lightly over them and moves even lower.
He takes a hand out of his pocket—his right hand, I know that without thinking about it because it’s the handwithout a ring—and unfurls it in my direction. His fingers are long and the movement is graceful.
There’s a sachet of lube clenched between two of them.
“Jesus!” I exclaim, quickly swinging the door shut in an attempt to close it with him on the other side.
I’m confused and enraged. What the fuck is he doing? He’s married. Legally wed to someone else. He must be crazy. We can’t do this. He steps forward, quick as a cat and twice as determined, shouldering the door open and staring me down. My resolve flounders. It’s a permeable, porous thing with something hard rubbing against it. It wears down. Gives way. I’m suddenly weak and defeated. Afraid and angry about how out of control he makes me. My heart is pounding. I don’t have any words. Not my own words anyway. All I can find are the words I read night after night, heartbroken and sleepless, in those awful first months after I moved to New York. Words from Shakespeare’sRomeo and Juliet.
“Romeo!” I warn with enough meaning to make my voice shake, “‘Tempt not a desperate man.’”
He smiles then, like the night, the day, and everything in between. I feel it right between my eyes and between my legs. It’s a quick smile, just a flicker. There and then gone, and when it’s gone, it’s replaced by a lust so profound there’s only one other place I’ve ever seen it. And thatwas in the mirror. He doesn’t skip a beat. He knows the text too. Unlike me, he always did. When he speaks, his voice isn’t his voice. It’s a low, thunderous rumble. Loud and determined, and not at all sorry about it.
He lowers his chin, one hand still held out to me, the other now tugging his belt open, and says, “‘Give me my sin again.’”
The words cut into me, slicing this way and that and leaving me in tiny, bloody pieces. The heat from his body radiates out and curls around me, burning until I’m an inferno. A furnace of want and desire. A man on his feet, held up by nothing but longing.
I reach for Romeo through a thick fog, ignoring the small voice that shrieks at me not to. I watch as my hand wraps around his throat, squeezes hard, and then drags him roughly inside.
The front door slams shut, and I think I might have been the one who slammed it.
Blood rushes and my temperature spikes. Arousal starts leaking out of my pores. My mind moves slowly. Everything that isn’t Romeo’s skin and the palm of my hand is a distant memory now.
His mouth is open, his expression as serene as I’ve ever seen it. He looks more like a man experiencing the rapture than one in a chokehold. When I get closer, he strainsagainst my hand, snapping at my jaw and grinding his hips against mine. Swords cross, but this time, we’re not playing with sticks and shoelaces. This time, it’s blood, sinew, and muscle.
It's that feeling, his cock against mine, that breaks me. The last murmurs of common sense, restraint, and moral reasoning are stripped away. I’m undone. An animal. I take the lube he’s offering me and hold it in my teeth as I tear his jeans open. I spin him around, hard, so his hands land on the wall with a loud slap and pull his jeans down just enough to expose the curved shelf of his ass. I lift his T-shirt and yank it up over his head, messing his hair up just how I like it.
Fuck.
Oh fuck.
He's perfection. More perfect than perfect. His ass is so smooth and soft and round it looks like it was carved from marble. I grab it, this cheek, that cheek, both of them, squeezing them senselessly until they bear the angry tracks of my touch.
I’m gasping, snarling, groaning. I can’t tell which. I only know that I’ve never heard sounds like the ones I’m making right now coming out of a human.
I undo my fly and take my straining cock out, rutting against Romeo’s bare ass as I tear the lube open with myteeth. It spills onto my hand, and without hesitation, I find his opening and shove two fingers into it. He shouts on penetration. A wild, lustful sound that bounces back and forth in the hallway and doesn’t die down completely before he releases the next one.
My forearm bulges and I pant as I jam my fingers in and out of him. This is no seduction. It’s sure as hell not a soft caress. This is me opening a hole for my own gratification.
As soon as I think he can take me, hell, a little before that if I’m being totally honest, I rub the rest of the lube on my throbbing erection and line myself up.
“This what you want?” I demand, speaking into his neck and biting for good measure.
“No,” he says so dreamily it almost sounds sweet. “It’s not what I want. It’s what Ineed.”
That fucks me up worse than I already am. I hold his cheeks open and a tiny pink star stretches and distorts as I force my way in. He shouts again. Louder. Worse. Better than before. It ruptures my mind, spinning the past and the present into a wormhole until they collide.
The pressure on my dick is acute. So is the pleasure. I start to thrust before I’m ready, before I have time to think about what I’m doing. The first thrust is true. Deep and hard. A beautiful, beautiful feeling. A perfect feeling. Iglide into him and fuck him so deeply he has to go up on his toes to take it. I do it again. And again.
He thrashes in my arms, beating the wall with his fists and reaching back to find any part of me he can grab onto, using it to pull me closer. I thread my fingers through the hair on the back of his head and make a fist. His neck arches back. It’s beautiful too. I tilt his head, turning it slightly so I can see as much of his face as possible. His pupils are blown, black, and lazy as they search for me. His mouth is still open, tongue out as an offering to me. I take it, sucking it into my mouth and shuddering from the unmistakable taste of my Romeo.
It sobers me. No, not sobers, exactly. More like wakes me from a stupor. I pull out of him and step back. His knees buckle, and without my cock holding him up, he slumps against the wall.
“No, Jude,” he garbles, “don’t stop. Don’t stop. I’ll die if you stop.”
I fall to my knees, something I’ve imagined myself doing for years, a posture I’ve seen myself adopting over and over in my mind’s eye. In my mind’s eye, it’s always something I do as I beg him to come back to me.
