I want to say these words out loud. I want to hear him say them to me. Because as much as I want him to nail me hard enough that I’ll feel it tomorrow, I want more than that.
He said he’s leaving his position at Saint Sebastian’s but he also said that he’s not doing it for me or because of me. So, nothing has changed since we were in Costa Rica.
Certainly not my willingness to accept whatever Jason is willing to give me.
And boy does he give it to me. Once he bottoms out, he stays there for a long moment, breathing heavily. Then he starts pounding into me, hard and fast. All I can do is squeeze my elbows tight and hold on for the ride. He nails my prostate with every stroke. I’m going to come again if he keeps this up.
Which of course he does because he knows exactly how to drive me over the cliff. I have no idea how he learned that so quickly, though I suppose I learned he was a natural that first night we were together.
“Victor,” he says. He wraps a hand around my dick and it’s slippery, hot, and perfect. “Come for me, my heart.”
My own heart skips a beat. Did he just say…?
Whatever, I’m too far gone to pay attention to the words falling from his lips. He’s got both my legs clutched around his waist, I’m still holding my elbows, and pleasure coils tight at the base of my spine, then unspools through my whole body, all the way to the tips of my fingers and toes.
His strokes and thrusts speed up. And then, just as I’m on the verge of coming a second time, he lets go of my dick, moves both hands to my hips and yanks me against him as he thrusts.
He grinds his pelvis against me and his fingers dig into my cheeks. He throws his head back, groans, and his dick pulses inside me.
When he slumps over me, breathing hard, my own dick is still an iron rod laying on my stomach. The brush of Jason’s stomach against it chokes a whimper from my throat. “Jason,” I say. Okay, more like beg. “Please. I’ve…”
He lifts up, bracing himself on his arms on either side of me. My legs are dangling off the edge of the bed and his cock is slowly softening inside me. I don’t want him to pull out, but I don’t know how much longer I can hold this position.
“Yes, you’ve been so good, babe. I’ll take care of you.”
He pours a puddle of lube into his hand, then grasps my dick, and squeezes in the best way. He stays in between my legs, pressed as close as possible, so he hasn’t entirely slipped out, and strokes me.
I let go of my elbows, though I keep my arms over my head. That sense of powerlessness is back and I’m floating on a cloud of Jason taking care of me, where I have nothing to worry about and nothing to do except let him.
He squeezes and strokes and the waves are back, rolling through my body, cresting in my pelvis, and rushing out of my dick in spurts of white that coat Jason’s fingers and my stomach.
When I finish, I’m a boneless, sprawling lump on the end of Jason’s bed. Jason steps away and my legs flop off the edge of the mattress. He comes back quickly, with a warm cloth that he uses to clean me up. Then he stretches a hand out to me and when I grasp it, he pulls me upright.
I’m still a little wobbly and the last thing I want to do after a mind-blowing orgasm like that is rush back into my clothes and out into the busy streets.
“Do you…” Jason starts hesitantly. “Have any plans for the rest of the day?”
I shake my head.
“Would you stay for a while, then?” He brushes a stray lock of hair from my forehead. “You look like you could use a nap.”
“Wow, man. Harsh,” I joke.
Jason chuckles. “I just meant you look sleepy.”
Boy, am I. Sleepy and sated and, after Jason pulls the covers down and settles in next to me with his arms around me, content.
Forty-Four
Jason
Victor naps and maybe I doze a bit too. When I open my eyes, the late afternoon light slants through my bedroom window, painting golden stripes across Victor’s bare chest. He’s on his back next to me, one arm tucked beneath his head. He looks relaxed and peaceful, and I want to memorize this moment. The weight of him in my bed, the smell of sex and him heavy in the air, drowning out the memory of the scent of lavender sachets Leah used to tuck into her drawers.
That thought should sting. For fifteen years, it would have. But right now, lying here with Victor, I feel something I haven’t felt since before Leah died.
Peace.
“You’re thinking too loud,” Victor murmurs, cracking one eye open to look at me. “I can practically hear the gears grinding from here.”
