“Maxim, I’m not going to punch you.”
“You have to!” But he was laughing now. “A little punch, okay? Otherwise, I won’t feel right.”
“Oh my God. I can’t even believe this. What’s the Russian word for crazy?”
“Sumasshedshiy. Say it. Then punch me.”
“Sumasshedshiy.” I completely mangled it, then I gently nudged his rock-hard abs with my fist. “That’s all you get.”
He narrowed his eyes. “You punch like a girl.”
“What?” I dropped the shopping bag and tackled him, throwing him onto the bed, pinning him beneath me. “Take it back.”
He was laughing so hard his eyes were shiny. “Even Liliya hits harder than you.”
“Take it back.”
“No, because then you’ll get off me, and I’m enjoying this.”
I was too, of course. What was better than Maxim trapped beneath me? It reminded me of last night. My dick, which had never really settled down after seeing Maxim undress, was now on its way to full tilt. I pressed it into him. “You’d enjoy it even more with your pants off.”
His eyes lit up. “I agree.”
A minute later, we were buck naked and right back where we’d been before, with me straddling his hips. We kissed feverishly as I moved my body over his. God, I’d never get enough of the way it felt to be pressed skin to skin, muscle to muscle with him this way. For a second, two weeks seemed much too short a time limit.
Well, that’s what you’ve got. So make the most of it.
“Derek. Will you do something for me?”
“What?”
“Turn around.”
“Turn around?”
“Yes.” He put his lips to my ear. “I want my mouth on you.”
I hesitated, feeling strangely proprietary about my ass, given what I’d done to his last night. But it had been nighttime then. It had been dark. There had been whiskey involved. Right now it was daytime, the room was light, and I was all hopped up on caffeine and sugar.
“Please,” he said, his tongue tracing my earlobe, sucking it into his mouth. “I promise, it will feel so good.”
I was curious. I wanted to know what it felt like. And I was obsessively fastidious about my body, so I was shaven and clean. But…could I? Was there such a thing as being too gay? What transgressions were allowable and what was too much? At what intrusion would I draw the line?
He wants this. Don’t overthink it. “Okay.”
I flipped around so I was straddling his upper body, my hands braced on either side of him. He hooked his arms under my thighs and pulled me back so my ass was right in his face. I didn’t even have time to feel self-conscious before his tongue swept slowly up the crease, sending me into near paroxysms. I could have wept for how divine it felt. How hot and wet. How intimate. I’d totally planned on blowing him since my mouth was down there and all, but I couldn’t do a goddamn thing except groan and writhe and let my eyeballs roll back in my head. Maxim held nothing back. He used his tongue, his lips, his teeth, his hands. He moaned with pleasure, as if I was the best thing he’d ever tasted. His thick, hard cock twitched on his abdomen, a few drops of cum oozing from its tip. This is turning him on.
The thought of it sent me spiraling selfishly toward release. I rocked my hips over his face, fucking his tongue. I propped myself on one hand and took my dick in the other, jerking myself hard and fast. I gnashed my teeth and snarled and cursed and ejaculated all over him, marking his body with warm, white ribbons of cum. The sight of it splashing onto his stomach, his cock, his thighs, was so deliciously obscene, my orgasm seemed to go on forever.
The second I could control my body again, I grabbed his dick with one hand and licked it clean like an ice cream cone, swirling my tongue around the tip. He moaned, and the sound reverberated through my entire body. I lowered and lifted my head, taking him to the back of my throat again and again and again, until he warned me with a trembling voice that he was going to come and I took him even deeper. A second later, his fingers dug into my flesh and his entire body stiffened beneath me as his cock throbbed repeatedly inside my mouth.
Good fucking God, it was insane how much I liked it. And him. And this little arrangement we had.
At this rate, we were never going to leave the house.
Twenty-Six
MAXIM
On our way to the mall, Derek said he wanted to drive by a certain house that was for sale.
“Why?” I asked. “Are you thinking about moving?”
“No. I’m thinking about fixing and flipping it.”
“Flipping it?” I looked over at him, confused.
“It’s where you buy a house that needs work, do the work, and then sell it at a profit.”
“Ah. I see. Have you done this before?”
“No. It was an idea I had while working on my house. I really enjoyed the work, and missed it when I was done.”
“You definitely have a talent for it. And a good eye for design. Your house is so beautiful.”
“Thanks.” He was quiet for a minute, one hand at the top of the steering wheel, one finger absently rubbing just beneath his lower lip. “I’d have to cut back my hours at work, probably. If I wanted to be really hands on, which I do.”
“Would that be a problem?”
He frowned, dropping his hand to his lap. “Probably. I think my dad wants to retire and he’s looking at me to take over.”
“But he would want you to do what would make you happy, right?”
“Not necessarily.”
I wasn’t sure how to respond to that.
“The thing is,” he went on, “I’ve been thinking. Ever since you asked me if my job was my passion, it’s been bothering me that it isn’t. There’s nothing about it that inspires me. Nothing creative or meaningful. I make good money, and I’m good at making deals, but it’s not fulfilling in a way that working on my house was. And I see you coming here all fired up about chasing a dream and kind of wish I had something like that. It’s inspiring.”
The idea that anything about me inspired him was beyond crazy. “And I look at you and everything you’ve done, all the beautiful things you have, your home, your car, all your success, and I think, ‘That’s what I aspire to be.’”
“There’s more to life than a home and a nice car. Those are only things. I feel like…” He shook his head. “I don’t even know what the fuck I’m trying to say. I guess I feel like I’ve lived a very safe life. It’s comfortable for sure, and I’m grateful for everything I have, but I haven’t taken very many risks. I’m starting to think that matters.”
“So take one now. It’s not too late.”
He slowed down and leaned toward me to peer out the passenger side window. “It’s that one. With the Spanish Revival architecture.”
I looked at the white house with the red tile roof. “It’s nice.”
“It was built in 1925 and still has a lot of the original features. But it’s in pretty rough shape.”