Chapter 7
Lance did lightning-fast work of putting the dishes in the sink and the pizza in the fridge, then galloped toward my room. He was obviously comfortable in my space. His easy attitude probably should have put me off, but it did the opposite.
“Now . . . what will make the pain better?” He gave me a kiss as I joined him in the cramped bedroom. “You wanna lie back and let me do the work?”
“Eh. I’m not really in the mood to get fucked tonight—”
“That’s not what I meant.” He shoved me toward the bed.
Oh, yeah. I could totally get behind laying back and letting him exert himself. I remembered the fantasy I’d been spinning at the doctor’s office. “Could I watch you strip?”
“Oh, sweetie, you can watch me do a lot more than strip.” He pulled back the covers and stacked the pillows against the headboard. “Get comfy.”
I stripped down to my boxers, then arranged myself against the pillows. The low lighting and warm air from the radiator made me feel like a sultan waiting to get serviced.
“Do it nice and slow. I want to see your other tats.”
“You missed them last time? I’m wounded. I thought I was memorable.” His smug grin said he knew every bit how good he was.
“You were more than memorable, brat, and you know it.”
He flashed his abs a few times before pulling his T-shirt off. Pointing to his shoulder, he said, “This is my old cat, Maurice. I wanted them to make it look like he was about to catch something.”
“Nice.” I schooled myself not to laugh—he was so sweetly sentimental. “Maurice would have loved stalking my fish tank.”
“Cats do love fish.” He gave me another of his flirty winks. “Now, where do you think my other tats are?” He toyed with the button for his jeans.
“Your ass. Show me now.”
“Think you’re smart, huh?” He pushed his jeans open, just enough to show me red briefs. My own wardrobe was boringly utilitarian—plaid and washable being the defining characteristics. But that didn’t mean I couldn’t appreciate Lance’s always-ready-for-a-party look.
“Nice. I approve of the slutty panties. Show me more.”
Slowly, oh so slowly, he pushed the jeans over his hips. They pooled around his feet and I spotted tattoo number two on his calf.
“A heart?”
“It’s for my nonna. Vic got one for her after she passed, so I wanted one, too.”
“Sweet. Come show me your undies.”
He spun, shaking his ass like he was on the club floor. Boy liked to show off. I could totally work with that. He raised his arms over his head, and I finally spotted tattoo number three, something tiny on his ribs.
“What’s that one of?” I pointed.
“Firecracker.” His smile flashed like a sparkler. “That was my first. I needed something I could hide from my rents. Someday I want a whole fireworks scene.”
“They’re more cool with gay sex than with tats?”
“Oh, yeah. Mom says I’ll regret the ink when I’m old.”
“Old like thirty-five?” My voice was way too cautious. I should have known the cozy camaraderie of beer and joking couldn’t chase away my doubts about the age difference.
“Is that how old you are?”
“Yeah. Way too old for you.” I rubbed a hand over my beard.
“Oh, darn. I guess I’d better put my clothes back on.” He rolled his eyes. “Stop being an idiot. I told you; I’ve had plenty of guys my age. It’s not all it’s cracked up to be. Either they don’t get how busy I am or they don’t know what they’re doing or they play games, and I’m kind of over all that.”
He knee-walked toward me, then straddled my legs. “Now you seriously gonna turn me down?”
He ran his hands down his torso. His gorgeous, golden, gym-sculpted torso. But it was the smile that did me in—the I’ve-got-your-number grin that made my insides flop around like a fish in a net. No, I wasn’t turning him down.
“You like putting on a show, don’t you?”
This smile was like his firecracker tattoo—small but full of fun and mischief. “I guess I do.”
“Come closer,” I said, crooking my finger.
He presented my face with his red silk-covered package. I mouthed his erection through the fabric until it was obscenely damp and he was breathing hard.
“Jesus. Love how your face feels.”
“You like the beard?”
“Yeah. I kept thinking all weekend how it felt against my back.” He shivered. “So hot.”
“This is hot, too.” I ran a hand over his fuzzy stomach. His leg hair tickled pleasingly against my sides.
“Hell, you keep looking at me like that and I won’t wax till August.”
My neck tightened at the mention of his departure date. Which was stupid. I should be relieved we’d put an expiration date on this thing.
“Here.” I dug the lube and condoms out of the nightstand and handed them to him. “Show off some more.”
“Oh, yeah.” He smiled, like I’d handed him the keys to a Ferrari. Still straddling me, he shimmied out of his underwear, his hard cock springing up just out of reach. Then he spun around so his world-class ass faced me. He had the quintessential bubble butt of all the bad club tunes: round and juicy but firm.
Looking back over his shoulder, he grinned at me. “What do you want to see?”
“Get your ass ready for me.”
He gave a show worthy of xTube, flexing his ass muscles and spreading his cheeks. My cock went from interested to painfully insistent, my pulse pounding in my ears.
“You practice that in front of a mirror?” My voice had dropped several octaves thanks to his show.
“Hey, don’t knock jackin’ it to a mirror if you haven’t tried it.”
A deep rumble escaped my chest. Damn, that was a hot image. “I’d like to be a fly on that wall.”
“Anytime, baby, anytime.” He grabbed the lube, got his fingers slick, and started teasing all around his rim.
“Fuck yourself for me.”
“Oh, yeah.” He was a bit more forceful than I would have been, going right to two fingers and sending them deep in a sure, swift motion.
“You like to be full, don’t you?”
“Yeah.” He tipped his head back, the muscles of his back rippling. “Feels amazing.”
“Do three,” I urged.
“Fuck.” He groaned low, working the third in.
“You ever manage to do four?” My hands were slightly smaller than his. My brain added several kinky thoughts to the list of things I wanted to do with him.
“No, but I’ve got a big dildo. You wanna see that sometime?”
“Yes.” My head swam, like I’d had a triple dose of the painkillers. I liked all this talk about future encounters far more than I should. Somehow we’d gone from one-night stand to friends to friends who might fuck to friends who were going to fuck regularly, all in the space of a few hours.
“Oh. Huuuh.” He panted. “Want you now.”
My dick flexed against my stomach. No complaints here. Before I could even nod, he damn near wrenched my boxers off. He handled the condom and lube with similar efficiency.
“Fuck.” His hands on my dick felt so good I thrust up into his fist.
“Exactly.” His eyes sparkled. “Which way you want me?” He hesitated before climbing on.
“I wanna see your face while you work.”
“Yeah. Gonna be torture.” He laughed wickedly. Sinking down slowly, he rolled his hips and abs like a tune was playing in his ear. A very, very dirty tune.
“Feel so good,” I said. His ass was tight and slick and he knew how to work the muscles once he had me deep, doing a flutter that almost made me shoot.
“So full.” His head fell back, exposing the long column of his neck. I wanted to bite him right below his Adam’s apple. “Damn. You’re . . . so good.”
He flexed his hips, experimenting until he found the angle he wanted; then he started really working, his thighs clenching me tight as he rode hard.
“You love this, don’t you? Love taking a big cock?” Dirty talk didn’t do a whole lot for me, but I loved the way it made Lance lose his rhythm, his cheeks flushing.
He licked his lips and nodded. “Uh-huh.”
Pleasure gathered, a heavy, liquid sensation in my muscles heightened by the weight of him straddling me, the tight grip of his muscles, and the reckless abandon with which he rode me. No way could I last long with this kind of overload.
“Stroke yourself off. Show me how you jerk it.”
I could have used my uninjured hand, but he seemed to have a real kink for showing off, and I was only too happy to indulge it. True to form, he got his palm slick with lube, made a show of spreading it along his shaft, then built a rhythm of fucking his fist as he rode me.
“Wanna come,” he panted.
“Do it. God, you look so dirty. Riding me and jerking it.”
“Want you to come, too.” His voice was a low whine, pleading and needy and sexy as hell.
“I will, beautiful.” Simply watching his face was enough to get my balls tingling. His eyes were squished shut and his teeth kept raking his lower lip. The strange connection we’d had the first time was back, and I could feel the closeness of his orgasm even more than my own. The tightness in his thighs and the squeeze around my cock said that he was close, and I encouraged him, using my good hand on his hip and bucking up into him. The bed creaked, groaning as loud as our mingled voices.
“Fuck. Fuck. Feel you. Feel you so much.”
“Yeah. Come on. Do it.”
I’d had a lot of sex over the years, enough to know that simultaneous orgasm was a myth, but with Lance it seemed the opposite—like it would be impossible not to come together, like the only way I was going to orgasm would be in the same heartbeat as him.
His free hand came down to his hip and grabbed my hand, squeezing hard as he shot all over my chest. And I was coming, too, and it felt like I’d always been coming, like there was no tipping point, just pure pleasure flooding through me, no beginning, no end, just existing right there in that moment with him, eyes locked, hands clasped, pulse shared.
“Oh. My. Fucking. God.” Releasing my hand, he scrubbed his hand through his hair. “That about killed me. In the best way possible.”
I grunted, unable to speak.
“Bet your hand stopped hurting.”
“What hand?” My body seemed to have melted into the bed, as worn out as my flannel sheets.
We both hissed as he untangled our bodies. “Um. Dude?”
“Yeah?”
“You’ve got cum all over your beard. Sorry.”
I laughed. “I’ll live. Give me about ten minutes to get feeling back in my legs and I’ll shower.”
“Cool. I’m gonna grab a towel and another beer. You want one?”
“Yes to both.”
And yes, sex with Lance really was that simple. Friendship definitely had its benefits.
Lance ended up showering with me to “help keep your stitches dry,” which led to another round of sex before we both collapsed in bed, him wrapped around me like I was his new body pillow. It had been over two years since I’d last slept all night with someone. I thought it would be weird—and crowded—but instead I fell into a deep, almost dreamless sleep, only to be awoken by Lance kissing my neck.
“You’ve smacked your snooze button twice. Rise and shine.”
“Are you a morning person?” I eyed him blearily. He was already dressed in yesterday’s jeans and a T-shirt he’d stolen from the stack of People’s Cup shirts on my dresser.
“Fuck no. I’m going home to take a nap as soon as you don’t need me.”
I might always need you. I looked at him; really looked at him in the dim light of the room, the single bulb catching the highlights in his hair, the world still dark outside the window. He was the brightest thing in my life at that moment.
I shook my head to clear it of such sappy thoughts. He was just a kid passing through my life, and I was a cranky old man who couldn’t even put on my jeans without wincing.
“Yeah. I’ll get you out of here with plenty of time to rest.”
“Cool. I’ve got a study group later tonight. Crazy busy this week. But you know, feel free to shoot me a text sometime.”
“You asking to hookup again?” I curved my good hand’s index finger through his belt loop, pulling him toward me.
“Nope.”
“No?” I had to look away before he saw my disappointment.
“Nope. I’m telling you when we can hookup. I don’t have to ask.”
“Think you’re that good, huh?” I bit his chin lightly.
“No, I think we are.” He kissed me, a sleepy little good-morning kiss. Nothing special, but my stomach still flipped like I’d tossed it in the bean grinder. Being friends with Lance was going to be hell on my insides.