Chapter Seven

 

 

 

The River Walk and boat tour had entertained Oliver, Peter had been able to tell. He was glad to have gotten the chance to spend time with Oliver just having fun. Although, maybe he should be more cautious. Peter was beginning to worry that his heart might be getting involved. He wasn’t in love with Oliver, but he did like the man a lot.

Was fear of being hurt a good reason to walk away after tonight? Peter scowled to himself as he pulled up to the valet parking. “You sure this is okay?” he asked, glancing at Oliver.

“Of course. Want to tell me why you looked so pissed off just now?” Oliver inquired. “That was a pretty fierce glower you had going. You don’t have to come to the suite with me—”

“Uh, excuse me,” Peter interrupted, his fear all but forgotten as horniness took over. “Don’t think you’re getting out of letting me ride you.”

“Never, as long as you’re sure.”

“I am a hundred percent certain and more,” Peter assured him, and he was. “I want you. Very, very much.”

“You can have me,” Oliver said with a beatific smile.

Peter would worry about his heart later. For now, he would go with the flow and enjoy his time with Oliver. Besides, it was silly to be worrying about getting his heart broken when he hadn’t even given it away.

The valet took the keys and Peter insisted on tipping this time. He and Oliver were lucky enough to catch an elevator instead of having to wait for one, then they were striding to the suite, exchanging such heated glances that Peter knew he’d probably be coming as soon as they got past the door.

Oliver opened the suite and surprised Peter by taking holding his hand. “Thank you for taking me out and showing me the River Walk.”

“You’re welcome,” Peter whispered, though he didn’t know why he was so quiet. There was no one else in the hall.

Oliver brought him into the suite then closed the door. He flipped the locks and tossed his key card onto an end table. All the while, he kept his gaze on Peter.

Peter wanted to squirm. He was used to being looked at like a piece of meat—in a sexual manner and when he shifted and ended up fleeing from something wanting to eat him.

But that wasn’t how Oliver was looking at him. No, there was affection and gratitude in his stare, and lust, yes, that, too. It wasn’t the predominant thing, though, and Peter grew warm inside. Odd tingling sensations zipped along from nerve to nerve, and hope began to bloom in Peter’s heart, hope that there might be more than sex, more than the physical between him and Oliver.

He didn’t have it in him to try to squash that hope, either. How could he, when Oliver was so clearly looking at him like that?

“What’s happening here?” he heard himself ask.

Oliver cupped his jaw, then eased closer. “I don’t know, but it’s…it’s got the potential to be big. I feel it, in my chest.”

“Me, too,” Peter managed before he closed his eyes, parting his lips for Oliver’s.

Peter whimpered and clutched at Oliver as their tongues touched then slid alongside one another. Oliver pulled him closer as well, and the kiss went from sweet to scorching in an instant. Cock rubbed against hard cock as Peter went up on his toes.

Oliver’s moan—the sound spilling into Peter’s mouth—fired his arousal to even greater heights. He tugged at Oliver’s clothes while Oliver was trying to remove his as well. They tangled arms and hands, jammed their fingers, both grunting at the slight pain. Oliver finally stepped back. “You do you, I’ll strip me,” he offered.

“Deal,” Peter agreed, whipping off his shirt. He got undressed in record time and raced for the bed.

“Your ass is so fucking perfect,” Oliver said, his footsteps sounding even, unhurried.

Oliver hit the bed on his hands and knees, then looked over his shoulder at Oliver. “Perfect for fucking, you mean.”

“That, too.” Peter stopped at the edge of the bed. “Back up for me.” He rubbed his hands together.

Peter gave Oliver’s long, lean figure, and especially that thick, gorgeous dick, one more look, then he turned his head back around and scooted to the edge of the bed, his knees on it, but his calves and feet not.

The first spank was so good, the second made him come, and the third made sure his dick stayed hard. Peter got a few more swats, all of which made him hornier than ever. He finally raised up onto his knees, twisted around, grabbed Oliver and pulled him down onto the bed.

Oliver’s startled expression was cute. His shaft bobbed as he bounced once. Peter straddled him, rubbing his balls over Oliver’s length repeatedly, smearing his own spunk between them.

“Feels incredible.” Oliver grabbed his ass with both hands, urging Peter to move faster. “So good. Everything with you feels so much better—” He bit his bottom lip and thrust up, hard.

As much as Peter would have loved to say he felt the same way, he was breathless, speechless, the need to come building up in his balls. He wanted Oliver in him every time he came tonight, though. It was difficult to make himself stop, but Peter did. He rose up onto his knees and used some of his own jizz to wet his hole. Oliver’s cock was dripping pre-cum. It would be enough to ease the way in.

Oliver had stopped biting his lip and opened his mouth instead.

“I’m gonna ride you now,” Peter said. He maneuvered around until his ass faced Oliver. “First, I’m gonna stretch my hole.” He pushed two fingers in.

“Wait,” Oliver rasped.

Peter couldn’t stop. His fingers weren’t enough. He was dimly aware of Oliver moving, but that was about it—other than the feel-good sensations coming from his ass—until cold, wet lube hit his crack. He yelped in surprise, but soon was humming in bliss as Oliver smeared the lube in, warming it, and Peter, in the process.

When Oliver slipped a finger in alongside Peter’s, the stretch was so good. Peter shoved back onto their fingers several times, until the press of another to his rim slowed him down.

“Can I?” Oliver asked.

“Have at it,” Peter said huskily. “Put your fingers in me.” He withdrew his own, the awkward angle too much to keep up any longer.

“Sweet. Sweet ass. Sweet man.” Oliver filled him immediately.

Peter didn’t know how many fingers were in him, but the burn and tug sent him soaring. He fought back his climax for several minutes, then finally came with a shout.

Oliver kept pushing those digits in, pulling them out, turning them, rubbing Peter’s gland and keeping him hard.

“Ever been fisted?” Oliver surprised him by asking.

Peter clenched his hole around Oliver’s fingers. “No. Is that—uhn—is that something you’re into?”

“I don’t know, honestly, but the way you feel around my fingers, the rippling of your muscles, almost like you’re trying to tug my hand in—it makes me curious, and hard as fuck,” Oliver admitted.

“Hard as fuck, eh?” Peter leaned forward, until Oliver’s fingers slipped free. “Sounds like a plan.” He reached under him and fisted Oliver’s dick. Without a moment’s hesitation, Peter lined up and slid down that thick, thick length. “Oh, oh, God,” he moaned. He was good and stretched, and still Oliver’s cock felt like almost too much. Peter was determined to get it all in at once. He kept going down until his ass was pressed to the curly hairs at Oliver’s groin. “Yessss!” Oliver wasn’t the only one who could hiss.

Oliver rumbled and spread his hands on Peter’s ass. Reverse cowboy was one of Peter’s favorite positions, but after five or six minutes, he needed to see Oliver’s face.

“Hold still,” he requested before turning around. Oliver’s pale cheeks were dotted with red, a flush of arousal spreading down to his neck and chest.

Peter pinched both of Oliver’s nipples. Oliver grabbed Peter’s hips and thrust up harder than before.

Then Peter did his best to stay astride while Oliver fucked him, driving up with great power, pulling Peter down and snarling fiercely every time he went in deep.

Peter kept his hands on Oliver’s chest, grazing his fingers over those taut nipples, scratching them and pinching.

It seemed to be driving Oliver wild. His forked tongue flicked out as he narrowed his eyes, then Oliver pulled out.

Before Peter could complain, Oliver flipped him over.

Peter would have purred from the sheer pleasure of Oliver pushing his cock into him again, but his breath was gone on a gasp. Oliver began fucking him, that dick so hard and wide, filling Peter’s ass until he couldn’t take anymore. Peter gripped his own shaft and came and came and came, not in the same way he usually did, but as one long, extended orgasm.

Weak and sweaty, dazed and out of it, he heard Oliver whisper something unintelligible, then Oliver went stiff and his cum spurted into Peter.

Peter tried to keep his eyes open. He wanted to say he was ready for another round, but his body betrayed him and sleep took him away.

 

* * * *

 

A noise woke Oliver up. He wasn’t certain what he’d heard, but the memory of a noise was there in his head. His heart raced, and his senses were screeching Danger! Danger! Peter lay asleep on him, much as he had the morning before, head on Oliver’s shoulder, one arm across his chest.

Flicking his tongue out, Oliver tested the air. No one else was in the suite. Some of his fear eased. He must have had a bad dream he couldn’t remember.

Now that he was awake, his bladder let him know there was a need for him to attend to. Oliver carefully slid out from under Peter then took a moment to appreciate the handsome man in the bed before trotting off to the bathroom.

He stopped on his way out of it and cocked his head. Something just felt off. Peter was still asleep in bed. The suite hadn’t been broken into. It smelled clean, except for his and Peter’s scents.

Which is odd, because I should at least pick up housekeeping’s odor. I know they came in and made the bed after we left yesterday. There’s not a hint of anyone, anyone, but me and Peter.

It was a puzzle—Oliver didn’t pick up harsh chemical smells or anything. It was as if the place had been deodorized completely. There was no good reason for anyone to do that. There were few things that could completely remove scents, for that matter.

To take a scent away, or scents… Did that mean someone knew he was a shifter, and they’d been in his suite before he and Peter had gotten back? That made no sense at all. Oliver didn’t have any enemies. Granted, he wasn’t welcome in any of the snake pits, but that didn’t mean they’d seek him out. He’d never been harassed in Boston, only banned. Ellis had gotten what he wanted. Who would have bothered with breaking in?

Oliver couldn’t figure it out. He had to be wrong, and somehow, someone had used a chemical he’d never heard of to remove all scent. There were products coming out all the time that promised to fight odor or erase it. Perhaps someone had finally made one for human sale that actually worked.

Even with that explanation, Oliver still felt uneasy. He went to the closet and took out one of the white fluffy robes there. After he put it on, he walked to the door and looked out of the peephole. There was no one in sight through it. As quietly as possible, he unfastened the bolts, then opened the door a few inches. It didn’t make a sound.

Oliver checked the air again. The hallway was rife with odors, too many to sort out. If he knew what he was searching for, that would make it easier. He opened the door wider and stuck his head out.

And screeched like a cat whose tail had just gotten stepped on when someone popped him on the butt.

“Sorry,” Peter said, but he started laughing as Oliver spun around and glared. “What? I couldn’t help myself.”

“You most certainly could have helped yourself,” Oliver groused, though he wasn’t angry now that he knew he wasn’t being attacked. “You did help yourself. Right to my ass.”

Peter giggled then chuckled. “You jumped like three feet high!”

“You startled me,” Oliver retorted.

“And you screeched,” Peter pointed out.

That was just too much for Oliver. He locked the door, feeling behind him for the knobs and switches. “And now, my sexy little hare, you’re about to do some screeching of your own.”