“You should cut your hair short again.”
He looks up at me and as if to prove a point, his hair drops over his forehead and into his eyes, blocking his view. “You don’t like my hair?”
“I like everything about you,” I reply and step around the coffee table, so when he rights himself, we’re toe-to-toe. I reach up and run a hand through his hair, letting my fingers tangle in the ends, and give it a little tug before I let go. That has a dark smile dancing across his fuckable mouth. “I just know it’s driving you crazy. You hate styling longer hair. You don’t like how blond it gets in the summer when it’s long.”
“It’s almost white,” Declan admits. “I look like one of those inbred Targaryens fromHouse of the Dragon.”
“You wanna ride my dragon?” I ask and he grins, wrapping an arm around my shoulders and pulling me closer.
“That was cheesy as hell,” he murmurs and bites my neck gently, but not so gently that it doesn’t send a ripple of electricity straight to my cock. “And yeah, I do. And I will. We just need to finish packing.”
“I’m packing,” I reply and take his hand not around my shoulders and press his palm into the front of my shorts. My cock is hard and aching. He groans.
“I promised Robbie he could move in this weekend,” Declan says but he doesn’t take his hand off my cock. He rubs it through the cotton fabric instead. I shudder out a breath. “That means we have to get my shit into your place and into the storage unit I rented.”
“Storage unit?” I echo and try to focus on this conversation and not on the fact that I want to stick my hands in his shorts and rub him the way he’s rubbing me.
“Yeah. The only thing I’m a bigger whore for than you, is mid-century modern furniture,” Declan whispers roughly against the shell of my ear. Then his tongue darts out and traces my lobe. I push my cock into his palm again with a tilt of my hips. “I know you’ve got all your own furniture, so I have to store it somewhere.”
“But you’re living with me so your furniture should too,” I reply and give in to my urge to touch him, slipping my hands under the waistband of his athletic shorts. He’s not wearing underwear so I’m palming his bare ass. Good lord, it’s heaven.
“Didn’t you just pay a designer a shit ton of money to decorate that place?” he questions and his hands start undoing the button on my shorts.
“Yeah. Aspen kind of helped too,” I reply as I trace the crack of his ass with my fingertips. “But I’m not attached to any of it, so bring your stuff.”
“We’ll see…” is all he replies and then he brushes his lips across mine. My tongue darts out and licks at him, skimming his bottom lip, and he stiffens and stops moving so I tilt my head and cover his mouth with my own. The kiss is big dick energy from the start, all tongues and teeth and stars exploding behind my closed eyelids.
“You know what I want to see?” I say pulling our lips a fraction of an inch apart so I can speak. “I want to see this whore you talk about.”
“Look around at all the teak and clean lines in here,” Declan replies and the cocky smile dancing across his lips makes my dick pulse. “You can see how much I lust after mid-century furnishings.”
“Screw the furniture. Show me how much you lust after me,” I tell him and I know my voice is more needy than demanding. Hardly tough and intimidating at all but he doesn’t seem to mind.
He steps away from me and shoves his shorts over his hips and they pool at his ankles. Then he grabs his cock in his hand and gives it a long, slow pump. Declan’s cock is shockingly large. Before we became sexually involved, when I used to see a wet swimsuit cling to him or glance at him when we changed during sleepovers or whatever, I used to think it was just his lanky frame that made him look like he was packing a lot. But then I saw him hard for the first time, and then I touched it and realized he’s both a grower and show-er. I am intimidated, which is one of the reasons why he didn’t top in our short, tumultuous teenage relationship. It was all so new I was already scared shitless but add that python into the mix and I wasn’t brave enough. I wanted it though. The only time I slid into him I was obsessed with the way his face was a mix of pleasure and pain. I wanted to know what that was like. I still do and now I have the courage I didn’t have then.
“Are you just going to stand there and watch me jerk off or are you going to let me be a whore for you?” he asks gruffly. His cheeks are already flushed and his breathing is heavy. “Because you’re going to have to get naked too if you want that.”
“Get me naked,” I demand, and he lets go of that big, beautiful, cut cock and starts grabbing at my clothes.
It takes two short minutes for Declan to get all my clothes off and another minute to cross the apartment to the bedroom. I shove him down on the bed. He lands across it with a bounce. “Grab your cock again.”
Without complaint, Declan wraps a hand around himself and starts jerking off. I stand above him watching, fisting my own cock. I may not have his length or girth but I’ve got nothing to be ashamed of either. He watches me and I watch him and yeah this is hot and everything but just as I’m admitting to myself it’s not enough, he speaks. His tone is deep and almost urgent. “I want you to fuck me. Like you did that first time, the night of your graduation.”
Oh god. The best night of my fucking life. I went to prom with a bunch of single guys from the hockey team. I’d already been kicked out of the house so I didn’t have much money for anything. That was my excuse for not taking a girl, even though no less than three asked me. I couldn’t buy a corsage or contribute to a limo or even rent a tux. I wore the suit my parents had bought me months earlier for the upcoming draft. I spent the night sneaking sips of Fireball from a flask with the guys so when I got outside and saw Declan leaning against the side of his dad’s truck in the parking lot, I thought he was a drunken mirage.
Declan and I had broken up over a year before. A month before he tried to kill himself. He had been gone for months to a treatment place dealing with his depression and then went off to college. His parents had been worried he’d lose his track scholarship but I guess Harvard wasn’t about to punish a kid with mental health issues. I knew he’d gotten home from school almost two weeks before and I’d purposely avoided the lobster shack. I didn’t know what to say to him. I still felt so much shame and guilt even the idea of seeing him choked me. But he was all I thought and dreamt about.
“You real?” I’d said, blinking.
“Yeah. How shitfaced are you?”
“Sobering up by the second,” I’d replied and it was true. Because guilt was more sobering than drinking black coffee while taking a cold shower. “Can we go somewhere?”
He’d almost smiled. “I was going to ask you the same thing.”
We got in his dad’s truck and drove to the beach. Not our beach but the one in Old Orchard a town over. We sat in the truck and talked, and yelled, and cried, but we never really tackled the big questions - about his suicide attempt, about my parents kicking me out and my refusal to come out to anyone else. It was, to this day, the weirdest, most painful two hours of my life. We were truly ending and I knew I couldn’t stop it. “I want one last night with you. One real night.”
He hadn’t looked like he was going to agree. But the next thing I knew he was driving again and pulling up in front of a shitty motel on Route One. He got out and came back with a key. And that night, we had actual sex. Declan bent over a scratchy motel bedspread while I fumbled with a condom and a small bottle of lube I’d bought from the all-night drug store across the street. It was rough and chaotic. Uncoordinated and ridiculously quick. But to this day it was also the most erotic moment of my life. Even though I woke up alone the next morning and cried, walking back to Ocean Pines.
