The small couch was only a little ways away from the fireplace, and warm air wafted over my back as I looked up at him. He’d taken off his city coat and was struggling with wet laces on those stupid thin leather city shoes.
“Let me,” I said, a little more firmly now because maybe this was the first time in his whole grown life where someone had told him what to do.
I was pleased and maybe a little surprised when he leaned back and lifted his hands in a way that maybe said he was giving in, but I took my chance and started unlacing his shoes. Perfectly normal thing to do, one man to another, alone in a cabin on a snowy mountainside.
But I didn’t stop there. After I slid off his thin leather shoes and pretty much threw them behind me, I pulled off his damp thin socks.
My fingers told me the socks were woolen and that if they weren’t laid out properly to dry, they might crumple and be ruined forever. Too bad. My focus was on his icy feet, red with cold. He had a little bit of hair along his big toe, like a Hobbit wannabe, and his feet were big. Size eleven? Twelve? Strong ankles, too.
I took his right foot between my two hands and bend to blow warm air across it. He tried to jerk his foot away, but I wastoo fast and quick, and before he could stop me, I’d lifted my t-shirt and placed the sole of his foot against my belly.
It was like placing a brick of ice there, but I kept his foot there until his foot warmed up and felt less like ice, and was looking down until I looked up from beneath my lashes, in the most flirty way I knew how.
His shoulders went down, like he was relaxing into the moment, a full stomach, one of his feet warm at last. There was nowhere for us to go, and nothing to do but sit in front of the river rock fireplace while the flames danced orange and gold, warming the whole room.
I figured if he pulled his foot away, or got up or anything but just stay where he was, I’d stop what I was doing and we could pretend nothing had happened. I’d eat my leftovers, take a long hot shower, take a glimpse out at the snow from an open doorway, maybe watch a little TV on the very small Smart TV that was flush against the wall above the fireplace, and call it a day.
But maybe I’d been a very good boy that year, in spite of everything. How do I know that? I knew it because Alex shifted his other foot closer to me, so I took care of that one, too. And when both his feet were warm, I crawled up his body. I was basically all up in his personal space, taking command by kissing him on the nose, you know, in an utterly irresistible way.
If he’d pushed me away or drew back or anything like that, I would have stopped. I don’t go where I’m not wanted, but I’m pretty daring, and he was too pretty for me not to at least try.
“What are you doing, Beck?” he asked, murmuring against my mouth as I kissed him.
I paused, my hands clasping his face as I straddled his thighs, and basically held him my captive.
“I’m doingyou, Alex,” I said, utterly deadpan.
He laughed low in his throat like he got the joke. And maybe he was totally willing for me to be his rebound guybecause he leaned into the kisses I gave him. Then, with his hands on my hips, he pulled me closer, all that lovely friction building up between us as my thighs clasped his hips. Yeah, our dicks were just that close and he was as hard as a rock, and rocked back and forth a bit, just to let him know how aware of him I was.
“How is this going to look in the morning, Beck?” he asked, looking up at me, his cheeks flushed, his blue eyes bright.
Maybe he was seriously concerned, or maybe he was trying to be stern. I have no idea. Just that the burry lowness of his voice echoed in a ripple up my spine, a swirl in my belly, an echoing twitch from my cock, as if to demand that I move a whole lot faster.
“Don’t know,” I said, equally low. “Don’t care.”
Any concerns he had could wait until morning, and I aimed to make sure he was damn good and distracted. So I distracted him. I leaned close and kissed his nose, and his forehead, and then his lovely mouth. He opened up to me, responding like a man parched from days in the desert. Sighing as he kissed me, like I was the only thing that could quench his thirst.
Yeah, sure, I was about to go on in a poetic vein when he turned, dislodging me from his lap to toss me onto the small couch. It was too small, so I banged my head on the arm, and flailed about, trying to keep from breaking my neck.
His response was to haul me up and over his shoulder, to march me into the small bedroom, and flop me on the bed. Much better. More room to fuck in. That was always the best way. He peeled off his shirt, right over his head, and fuck the buttons that popped off, unable to take the strain. He peeled my shirt off too, and it ripped, but that was okay by me.
This activity of disrobing continued until we were naked and free, tumbling beneath the soft sheets, the blankets having slithered onto the floor. We got warm, pretty quickly, and he was not shy, no, not at all. His head was between my thighs, andhe had me screaming real quick, the heat of his tongue, his mouth, making me come faster than I ever had in my life.
But I didn’t rest, I turned that favor right around, giving him special treatment, kissing him, one hand on his cock, my middle finger jammed up his ass as far as it would go until I found that nubbin of pleasure and pressed and released, pressed and released. I did this until he shattered in my arms with a kind of cry that was half surprise, half pleasure.
Then he collapsed on me, all billion pounds of him, gloriously sweaty and rumple-haired and just lovely. He kissed me then, pushing away the bedclothes from my face (how did they get like that? No idea) and kissed me good and hard, sighing into my mouth, pushing my sweat-damp hair from my forehead.
I sighed and sighed, and then he kissed his way down my front to latch onto my spent cock and sort of love on it with long, slow sucks that gently pulled the last bits of pleasure out of me.
Then I fell asleep in his arms with a big ole smile on my face.
CHAPTER 5
Good things never lasted in my life, whether it was my one-on-one time with Jonah (without Royce) or the lovely peace of my small apartment above my uncle’s garage, or the peace of knowing exactly how each day would go. That was all I ever wanted, pretty much, so when I woke up on that small bed, in the semi-dark, with only the low flicker of a fire in the other room to light it, it took me a minute to realize where I was. My night of passion with Alex was over.
I was at the Whispering Pines Lodge, sharing a room with only one bed with a man named Alex. A rich man with a recent bad breakup, and a family he was trying to join for Christmas. That man was sitting on the edge of the bed with only a brief curl of cloth around his hips.
He was shivering—he made the bed quiver slightly—and I think he was crying and trying to keep it quiet.
