I pull back to see his face. “That, I didn’t know.”
He drops his gaze. “I wanted to be ready for you.”
“God, I—” I kiss him, so I’m not tempted to blurt out words I shouldn’t say. “That’s hot as fuck, Charlie. Do you think of me when you’re fucking yourself on your toys?”
“Yes.” And then he pulls his legs back, opening himself for me. I kiss the inside of his thigh and make my way down to his ass. Pulling his cheeks apart, I kiss his hole, and Charlie gasps.
Using my tongue, I tease the tight ring of muscles. Then I flatten my tongue and lick.
“Brad, please,” Charlie chants over and over.
Pouring lube on my fingers, I tease his hole with my tongue, and then I replace my mouth with my fingers. I push my finger past the tight muscle and into the heat of his body.
“Yes, please. More.”
“So impatient.” But there’s no resistance, and I add another finger. Twisting him open and reaching for that spot. He gasps, and I thrust in and out, watching Charlie’s face.
“More. I need you.”
I add another, and when he takes that finger just as easily, I pull them out.
“Brad.”
I kiss the whine from his lips. “Are you ready for me, sweetheart? Ready to take my big cock.”
“Oh god, yes.”
I kiss his chin. Rolling on the condom, I add lube. Charlie loves it when I talk dirty, so I keep it up as I line my dick up with his hole.” Ready to take me, sweetheart? All of me?”
He doesn’t answer, but his face is intense. I push in slowly and let him adjust. But fuck, he’s so tight around me. I take some deep breaths. When he gives me the signal to move, I slide in and out, slowly building until Charlie growls at me.
“I won’t break.”
I chuckle and slam into him, watching his face for signs of pain. All I see is need.
“Harder, Brad.”
And who am I to deny him? When he’s close, I stroke his dick until he’s desperate. And when he comes, I can’t hold back any longer.
Afterward, I kiss his sweaty brow and his sweet lips. I’m overwhelmed with my feelings for this man. I can’t deny it any longer. I’m in love with Charlie.
13
CHARLIE
Sunday, February 8th
I’msore today from the altercation with Pete and from my night with Brad. He was so sweet, and I felt cared for. Loved. And that’s dangerous. If I had the choice, I’d stay in bed with Brad all day. Resting and making love. But that’s not possible.
Today is Super Bowl Sunday.
The celebrations in our family seem to center around football. When the high school team wins or loses the state tournament. The Rose Bowl. The Cotton Bowl. But the big Daddy of them all is the Super Bowl. And Mom and Dad’s party is always epic. More fun than the actual game, that’s for sure.
I’m not much for football, but I love how passionate they all get about it. Especially Brad. His team—the New Orleans Saints—made it. You’d think he’d be happy about that, but no. The man is a nervous wreck. Kansas City is my dad’s team, and they’re favored to win—by a lot. There are several other people here, which is fine with me. The more, the merrier. That way, Brad and I don’t stand out.
Mike and Kim are also here, but thankfully, they’re focused on the game.
I’m sitting on the floor with my back against the couch. Brad offered to move over for me, but I’m fine here. Would I rather be scrunched next to him, giving him kisses when the other team scores? Yes. But that will have to wait. Valentine’s Day is less than a week away. After that? I’m not sure. The way Brad took care of me last night—not just feeding and bathing me, but the tender way he made love to me—was terrifying and wonderful. Maybe this can work out. I want that. I want to tell everyone that we’re together.
