“I will never let you doubt, Gavin Hayes, that no matter what life brings us, I love that you exist, in all the slim chances of time and space, that you are here, now, with me. I will spend as long as we have, so unbelievably thankful I found you.”
My eyes well. Slowly, I pull Oliver close. Our mouths brush, soft, warm. I breathe him in, hold him close, breathing out, slow and unsteady.
Brushing back my hair from my eyes, he traces my beard along my neck, my cheekbones. Then he wraps his arms around my neck and kisses me, hard and promising. I groan as my body hardens and burns awake for him.
“What hurts?” he asks.
I smile at him, drifting my hands down his back. “You tell me.” I move my hips, so he feels me, ready beneath him
“Here?” Oliver asks.
I shake my head. “Inside.”
We stand, both a bit unsteady, and step out of the tub. I wince as I take my first step across the deck. God, my back’s a mess. Suddenly, that surgery I’ve been dreading, the one that Dr. Chen told me is absolutely necessary for the multiple disc herniations in my lower vertebrae, sounds incredibly appealing.
Towels around our waists, we enter the house through the sliding glass doors. I stop almost immediately, noticing the fire Oliver built.
“Not that your butt was out of bed long enough to notice yesterday,” he says, “but the nights are still cool here, even though it’s warm in the daytime. I figured a fire might feel nice.”
I take in the great room of the A-frame—well, really it’s a massive cabin with an A-frame at its heart that’s been updated and sprawled into much more, cozy and comfortable, rustic simplicity. The great room is lined with bookshelves, gorgeous modern art that Oliver’s explained is his brother Axel’s, and lots of family photos. The fire in the hearth snaps and illuminates a plush sofa that could easily hold a dozen people.
“It’s perfect,” I tell him, tugging him close, giving him a kiss. “Thank you.”
Walking past a long reclaimed-wood table and mismatched chairs separating the living area from the kitchen, I stare at the rug in front of the fire, the couch’s many cushions.
“Come on,” Oliver says, bringing me back to the moment, hooking his finger into the towel at my waist and dragging me toward the bedroom.
“No.” I jerk my head toward the fire. “Here.”
“The floor, though. It’ll hurt—”
“Those couch cushions look removable,” I tell him, grinning. “I’ll take care of it. You get what we need. That small bag I packed, please.”
“All right. But if you break something else because you insisted on doing the deed on a hardwood floor, I am not answering to Dr. Chen. You are.”
I bite back a smile. “Fair enough.”
“So this bag,” he says, backtracking toward the bedroom. “How do I know which one it is? Let me guess. It’s black.”
“It’s dove gray, thank you very much.”
While he strolls down the hall, I tug off my towel and wet swim trunks, then yank off the cushions and stiffly toss them in front of the fire.
I sense Oliver’s back, bag in hand, before I glance over my shoulder and catch him staring at my naked form. “Stop ogling me and get over here.”
Dropping his towel, Oliver peels off his swim shorts and closes the distance between us. I cup his neck, draw him close. He gasps in pleasure, as if this is all he needs, our bodies touching, hot from the water, even hotter in front of the roaring fire.
“Lie down,” I tell him.
He groans, running his hand over my cock. “Or I could get on my knees.”
I shake my head. “Go on. I’ve got plans.”
Sighing, Oliver flops back on the cushions like a starfish and pouts.
“I’m going to remind you when this is done that you sulked. And you’re going to feel very foolish.”
“Yeah, yeah.”
Slowly, I ease onto the cushions, too, then push him onto his side, so his back is to my front, my back to the fire as I curl around him. Oliver hears me rustling in the bag and glances back right as I’m sliding on the cock ring, tight down my length.
His eyes widen as he says, “Oh shit.”
“You good with this?”
“Um, is the California condor a critically endangered species?”
I shake my head and kiss him. “Such a weirdo. I’m going to take that as a yes.”
“That’s a deeply affirmative yes.”
“Good,” I tell him. “Now turn back.”
He does what I say, resting his head on my arm, sighing with pleasure as I kiss his neck, then his shoulder. He reaches back and runs his fingers through my hair, meeting my mouth for a slow, hot kiss as I drift my hand up his body, tease his chest and nipples, down his stomach and hips to the hard muscles of his thighs, pulling him close. “You want this cock, Oliver?”
He nods quickly, rubbing himself against me. “Yeah.”
It’s quiet but for the pop and snap of the fire, until I turn on the cock ring, eliciting a low, steady hum. Oliver jolts when I rub against him, making sure he feels it vibrating against his ass.
I can picture it already, burying myself in him, that vibrating half-moon at the cock ring’s base rubbing behind his balls, making him wild. “You want this, still?” I ask.
“Hell, yes,” he pants.
Teasing him, I turn it off just as quickly as I turned it on. He groans in frustration. “Be patient.”
I grip his jaw and kiss him, tongue and teeth, rhythmic plunges, hungry give and take, how our bodies will soon move. Slipping my hand down his ass, I touch him there, rub and tease him.
Oliver kisses me back just as hard, gliding his hand over my body, the simplest yet satisfying touches that make me sigh. Panting, the ache inside me at a fever pitch, I roll on the condom, warm him up more with lube and my fingers. I press soft kisses along his shoulder as I lube up the condom, too, and stare down at his gorgeous body—golden skin, long, strong muscles, that sweet, tight ass.
“Please,” he whispers. “I need it.”
“I know you do, love.” Gently, I ease in, groaning as I breach that tight place and feel him, so incredibly snug around me. “Fuck, you feel good.”
Oliver moans in pleasure as I rock my hips and fill him, slow and steady.
“So good,” he mutters, reaching back, kissing me.
“And it’s about to get better.” As I turn on the cock ring, a gasp tears out of him.
“Shit,” I hiss, easing back, then pumping into him, my hand teasing his cock, holding it tight at the base like the cock ring holds mine.
Oliver writhes, arches his back. “More. Please.”
“Easy,” I whisper. “Don’t chase it. Just let it come. Let me give it to you.”
He groans and reaches back, clutches my neck, kisses me, hot and slick, his tongue gliding with mine. “It feels so good.”
I nod, breathless, the sensation building in my body so powerful, I can barely form words.
As we move, the fire warms us, hands wandering, breaths ragged, pleas and praises filling the air. Time fades to the nighttime darkness, the glow of the fire, the sounds of our bodies together.
Moving so little, it’s gentle on my back, that heat from the fire soothing the insistent ache. I draw Oliver tighter against me, kiss his throat as he throws his head back and I breathe him in, his sweat, the scent of his skin. I pump his cock, then lower, cupping his balls as they’re teased by the vibration, down his thighs, up his stomach. He reaches back and rubs my ass, my hip, holding me against him as I stroke into that spot that makes him shout my name, makes him start to shake and gulp air.
“That’s it,” I growl, feeling his body tense, his release build. Sliding my hand up his chest, I hold his throat softly, guiding his head back. “Look at me. Look at me when you come.”
Oliver stares into my eyes, as I lose myself in his eyes, too. I feel the strength of his body, the strength of mine, power and need and heat, as I pump into him, as he holds me tight.
Clasping his jaw, I take his mouth, hold his eyes as he comes and calls my name against my mouth. He clings to my body as another wave of his orgasm hits him, so intense, it wrenches my release from me, makes me shout his name, too. My hips jerk as I grip his cock and pump him hard, earning hot, thick ropes that paint his stomach and my hand as he gasps my name.
Dazed, limbs heavy, I paw at the button for the vibrating cock ring, ending its overwhelming sensation.
“Holy shit,” I groan. Oliver laughs faintly, making a hoarse laugh rumble out of me, too.
“You,” he pants, “were right. I feel very foolish for pouting. Then again, if that’s what pouting gets me every time, I may need to starfish on the floor and sulk more often.”
I smile against his kiss, soak up his slow, contented sigh. “I’m glad you liked it.”
“Liked it? I loved it.” Reaching up, he slips his fingers through my hair and kisses me again. “Got anything else fun in that little dove-gray bag that you want to share, Hayes?”
“Oh, Bergman,” I whisper, grinning wickedly, “just you wait.”
31
GAVIN
Playlist: “You’re the One I Want,” Chris and Thomas