Double Up Page 4

  He cradles my face in one hand and meets my gaze. “You aren’t used to your lovers taking charge?”

  I swallow and shake my head. I don’t bottom. I mean, sure, I have, but that’s not an experience I want to repeat. I don’t bottom and I don’t take orders. Though, from blushing Dave, I almost want to. Take orders, at least. I’m not really keen on the idea of letting anyone fuck me, no matter how cute he is.

  He nods, his other hand finding its way around my waist to stroke the skin of my lower back. “Relax.” He draws me close and his thumb feathers across my cheekbone. I roll my face into his hand, the nervous tension slipping out of me.

  His kiss, when it comes, is just there at the corner of my mouth, plucking, gentle. His tongue teases across my upper lip, and I shudder as I open to taste him.

  The arm around my waist tightens, and he tilts my head more forcefully with the hand on my face. Letting him lead is hotter than I would have expected. His erection presses into my own, and it spurs me on. I groan into his mouth and, no longer content to be passive, I pull at his shirt.

  He smiles against my lips and then tugs my lower lip with his teeth before letting go so I can lift the shirt over his head and toss it aside.

  And oh, his skin. We reach for each other at the same time, both moving in for the kiss and meeting in the middle like seren-fucking-dipity. I run my hands all over that hot, freckled skin and goose bumps spring up under my palms.

  I’m used to being the aggressive one in bed, and his forcefulness as he draws me down to the floor is more of a turn-on than I expect. I let him push me onto my back and move over my body, grinding his dick against mine. The rub is good, hot and sweet. I could come like this, and for a moment, I want just that, but then I won’t get to taste his cock, and I really fucking want that.

  “I thought I told you to get naked.” His voice is rough in my ear, his teeth nipping at my lobe. I open my eyes to see him smiling down at me, his face lit from the side by the fire. And yeah, he’s flushed.

  “Make me,” I whisper.

  His eyes darken. He seizes my hands and holds them over my head. I arch up into him, pressing my hard dick against his, but he’s lifting his weight off me and now I’m just pinned and humping the air.

  His lips come down on one nipple with a fierce biting suck. It hurts but it’s a good hurt, drawing a whimper from me and another thrust from my hips.

  He moves to the other nipple, a shove of his hands against my wrists reinforcing his dominance. When both nipples are stinging from his attention, he nips at my throat, my ear, and finally he’s kissing me again, deep and forceful as he grinds his hips against mine.

  “Take off your damn pants,” he orders, pulling away from me and letting go of my wrists.

  Dying to know what he’s going to do next, I comply. As soon as my pants and briefs are gone, I reach for his belt. I want to see him, yeah, but I need some part of this encounter to be on my terms, so I’m insistent as I undo the buckle and yank at his zipper.

  “No.” He pushes my hands away. “Not yet.” He presses me back, moving along my body, kissing down my breastbone and tickling my navel with his tongue. His hands pin my hips to the rug, and my breath catches. I really want him to suck me, but instead he looks up.

  “Slow down.”

  “What?” He’s the one setting the pace, isn’t he?

  “Stop trying to get off and let me make love to you.”

  Now I’m beyond confused. “Aren’t they the same thing?”

  He sits up and touches my face, stroking along the side with one hand. “No, Ben, they aren’t. And it’s fucking tragic that no one has ever shown you that before. Close your eyes and put your hands behind your head.”

  I stare at him for a moment, still confused, frustrated, and a little annoyed.

  And really fucking turned on.

  Slowly, I put my hands back behind my head. He nods his approval, and my cock gets harder. Damn. “Eyes,” he reminds me. “I could blindfold you, and I think you’d like that, but I’d rather not tonight.”

  I take a deep breath, and I close my eyes. He’s not touching me now, but his voice anchors me.

  “I want you to feel everything, Ben. I want you to feel the softness of the rug on your skin. You wanted to make love here. You wanted to feel it, so feel it. The fur is silky against your back and ass, but a little ticklish too. That should be making you squirm. I want you to feel that, and know you were right, that making love on a bearskin rug is a sensual experience beyond throwing down in the bed.”

  And I do feel it, and I am squirming. The man is a fucking genius.

  “I want you to feel the heat from the fireplace on this side of your body.” He strokes down my chest and belly with a gentle caress, pausing at my hip, settling his thumb into the groove there. The fire’s heat is nice, but his palm is like a brand, like being touched by him is changing me, marking me.

  “I want you to feel the cold from the air conditioning.” As he repeats the caress on the other side, I feel the cold, and by the time his hand settles on my hip, goose bumps have stirred along my skin and my nipples have hardened into tense points.

  “I want you to feel the sting where I bit you a few minutes ago. Can you feel that, Ben?”

  Oh, yes. I nod.

  “I want your voice. Do your nipples sting from my bites?”

  “Yes.” I groan, trying to lift my hips, but his hands pin me down.

  “Good.”

  Oh, fuck. There’s a note of praise in his voice, it makes me feel dirty, raw, but excited. I preen, pushing into his hands with my hips. His soft laughter lets me know he doesn’t mind, so I roll them, just fuck the air. I throw my head back to take in all the sensations, the warmth of the fire, the silken prickle of the rug, the coolness of the air conditioning …

  The hot, wet grip of his mouth on my cock.

  Oh my fucking God.

  The sound that comes out of me is nothing I recognize. It’s just a rush of noise, voice to the feeling.

  His lips are firm; his tongue twirls along the sensitive head of my cock before settling on the underside while he sucks me deep into his mouth. He pauses a moment, his chest expanding, and my own breath catches as I realize what he’s about to do.

  I arch into him just as he swallows and takes me far into his throat. I know he can’t breathe. He’s giving me his breath, and that’s enough, this gift of his trust, to send me over the edge.

  “I’m coming …” I grunt.

  My hands fist in my own hair, my back lifts off the floor, and he pulls away to take me on his tongue, his hands leaving my hips so one of them can stroke my cock as I explode into his mouth. My orgasm goes on and on, eclipsing the heat and the cold, the sting in my nipples and the fur at my back. They all wash away under the sweetness of his mouth. I shake in his hands, my breath leaving me in a rush.

  “Open your eyes, Ben.”

  My lids flutter open and he’s looking down at me, his hand still on my cock, but a smile gracing the lips that just a moment ago had been … Oh God. A spurt of cum hits my belly; somehow I am still coming.

  And my hands stayed behind my head.

  His hand on my cock gentles, and he leans over me. I open for his kiss, welcome his tongue and my taste into my mouth.

  I can’t keep my hands confined behind me any longer; I have to touch him. I feel shaky and weak, and I want, hell, I just fucking need to hold him.

  Thankfully, he doesn’t seem to care, because he groans into my lips as I drag his body hard onto mine. The denim of his jeans is rough against my softening cock, but I don’t care. I want his rough, and his bossy, and how he just put all the sex I’ve ever had to shame with a blowjob. I sigh against his mouth. “Please.”

  “Please what?” He pulls away, dimples and freckles suddenly so dear in the firelight.

  “Let me touch you.”

  He smiles again, and his body heat leaves me. I reach for his belt buckle, and this time, he lets me draw his belt off, shov
e his jeans and briefs from his hips. He sits back, and I tug them down his legs and away, and then he’s naked and beautiful, stretched out in front of me, propped up on his elbows to watch me.

  “What do you want?” I ask. I’d do almost anything for him after that blowjob.

  “Suck me.” His voice is as gentle as it was when he was making love to me, but I rush to obey as though he’d barked an order.

  His cock is thick and long, heavy on my tongue. My eyes roll back a little as I take him in. I love sucking cock, and his salty, tangy taste draws arousal back to the surface. Obviously, I’m not going to come again, but I feel hot under my skin. His head lolls back and his chest heaves. Pride fills me—I turned him on like this. I want to deep-throat him, but have never been able to do that before—to trust a guy enough so I can work past my gag reflex. God, I want to, though. What he did, it felt so good.

  I suck the tip of his cock and pump the shaft with my hand. The symphony of grunts and groans and soft dirty words spilling from him convinces me to try. I can do this.

  I take him deep, breathing through my nose, and I force his cock back into my throat, pushing away the panic and swallowing around him.

  “Ah, Christ, Ben!” he shouts, and his hips rock up. My eyes water, but I let him thrust deeper. Then he’s pulling back and I can breathe again. I did it. And I want to do it again.

  Three times, I take him as deep as I can.

  “Gonna come.” His voice is ragged. “Wanna come on your face.”

  Oh. Oh. Oh. It’s insane how hot that is—to be marked like that, owned like that. I pull off his cock and close my eyes, pumping him with my fist.

  His fingers bury themselves in my hair, and I shudder when they tighten and tug. His other hand closes over mine, and we’re stroking him together when the first splatter hits my face, my open mouth, then my chest.

  His low groan is the sexiest thing I’ve ever heard; a sharp aftershock of lust ricochets through me, and my body shakes in empathy with his orgasm. I slow my strokes, ease him down from the peak, but I don’t pull my hand away until he stops shaking.

  He looks so good like this, sated, happy. He runs a finger through the cum on my face, then he grabs his shirt and wipes the mess away, all the while whispering words of praise. We collapse down to the rug together and he cuddles me against his chest.

  I can’t speak; I want to be close to him.

  “Oh.” The sound is a soft sigh, and it takes me a minute to realize it came from my own lips.

  “Yeah.” He hugs me tight to his side.

  My eyelids grow heavy, and I wrap my arms around his waist. I drift off to sleep still feeling the prickle of the rug, the heat from the fireplace, and the warmth of his skin against mine.

  t’s dark when Dave gently shakes me awake. He’s turned off the fire, and the air conditioning is sending shivers down my body.

  “C’mon, Ben. Come to bed.” He tugs my hand.

  I glance at my clothes and then the door.

  “Ben, we’re riding at seven in the morning. It’s three now. Let’s go get some sleep.”

  Fuck it. I follow him.

  On his way up the stairs, Dave does a wince-y roll of his shoulders.

  “You okay?” I murmur, conscious of how loud my voice sounds in his quiet house.

  “I’m sore as fuck. I feel like I got beat up by the lake yesterday.”

  I should have thought of that—it’s been so long since my first ride, I had forgotten about how achy I’d been the next day. Riding doesn’t make me sore now unless I take a bad crash. “I’ll rub it out for you.”

  His low laugh comes as a surprise until I hear the innuendo in my own words.

  “Perv.” I swat his backside. “I meant massage your shoulders.”

  “Ohmygod, that sounds like heaven.” He throws open a door to what must be his bedroom and flops down on the bed. “Do your worst.”

  I’m pretty tired, but seeing him sprawled out in front of me is an invitation too sweet to resist. I straddle his butt and slide my hands down his back, seeking out the tightness, and I start working the muscles with a smooth, deep rub. Massaging him, I feel like I’m still asleep on the bearskin rug and this is another fantasy—a moment so unexpected, it doesn’t seem real. My half-hard cock rides the crease of his ass as I work his shoulders. Ignoring my arousal, I watch his reactions; a flinch tells me when I’m too rough, a soft sigh when I’ve got it right. When I’ve loosened his shoulders as much as I can by rubbing, I start digging for the knots. There’s a particularly nasty one up high between his shoulder and spine.

  “Take a deep breath,” I advise him. His lungs fill. I press into the knot with my thumb, and urge him to let the breath out slowly. The knot softens under my touch, and he groans with obvious relief. I return to rubbing, working all the muscles loose.

  “Where did you learn to do that?” Looking back over his shoulder at me, he wiggles his hips and I start to move off him, but he rolls over and grabs me, holding me in place. I’m still straddling him, but now our cocks are rubbing together, which is waking me right the fuck up.

  “Learn … what?”

  He rolls his hips. I’m only half-hard, but that changes quickly when he grips us in one hand. He strokes us, squeezes us, and his dick is right there, chubbing up next to mine.

  “The massage,” he whispers.

  The only massage I can think about at the moment is the one happening down below. I let my head roll back, close my eyes, and just feel. He lets go to pull me into a kiss, and my cock slides into the soft-haired skin between his cock and his thigh. It’s so good, so perfect the way our bodies move together while his tongue slides into my mouth. The heat builds quickly, and it can’t be more than a moment or two before the rush of orgasm floods me, pushing me right to the edge.

  “I’m coming, don’t stop,” I plead, and thank God, he doesn’t; he just keeps rocking against me more urgently until I come, my body boiling over as I shake in his arms. His hands tighten, and a moment later he shouts, eyes clenched shut and mouth open.

  Flushed, the hair around his face damp with sweat, he’s the most gorgeous man I’ve ever seen.

  Our bodies slow and his eyes drag open. He rolls us both to our sides and kisses me deep, hard, and sloppy and I feel the tension in me let go, spiraling out like a knot in his shoulder or the rope as I’m launched over a wake.

  I moan into his mouth and his hands are all over me, petting, rubbing, holding. He wipes away our cum with something soft—a T-shirt? I’ve never felt this satisfied before, and it’s not about the sex or the rush, but about the afterglow. It should be scary, but with Dave’s arms around me, I can’t find any part of me to be scared. I let him gentle me off to a dreamless sleep with his kisses on my tongue and his hands on my body.

  I’m an early riser—I always have been. My body springs to life at five thirty no matter what. One would think sleeping in a strange house would mess with my internal clock but no, five thirty washes over me and my eyes snap open with all the subtlety of an alarm.

  Dave is pressed against my back, one arm wrapped around my waist, and his legs tangled up in mine. It’s unusual for me to sleep in another man’s bed until morning. That awkward small talk, when you just want to go home and shower with your own soap? No thanks. But waking up with Dave feels sort of warm in a way I didn’t expect. I’m soft and quiet, lying here.

  Dave is not a quiet sleeper. This is immediately apparent when I detangle my legs and he snorts and saws. I suppress a laugh and slip out from under his arm, intent on finding a toilet and then a quiet moment to myself.

  The toilet is easy—thankfully right next door to the bedroom. Then with a quick walk down the stairs, collecting my clothes and dressing on the way, and out the glass doors, the quiet can be found at the end of his dock, my bare feet dangling in the water.

  So we had sex. Fantastic blowjobs and frottage hotter and more explosive than the fourth of July. That was cool. But I’ve never been topped like that before
.

  Some guys would say if there isn’t any anal, no one topped. I’d like to introduce those guys to Davis Fox. Well, actually, I’d like to keep the toppy fucker all to myself, but …

  Damn.

  I don’t like getting fucked. I don’t like being vulnerable. It’s not that I think it makes me less of a man or anything. I mean, take Eddie: with all his flamboyance, he’s the most stereotypical bottom I know, and he’s twice the man I am. But letting someone else into my body requires trust, and I’m not the kind of guy who can do that easily.

  I want to keep seeing Dave in a completely unprofessional capacity. But would he let me top him? And if I can’t bottom, is that a deal breaker? Last night he was generous, affectionate; he took care of me . I can’t imagine this one little—okay, maybe not so little if he’s really into it—thing could make dating each other a no-go. But what if it did?

  Damn. Sex is supposed to be simple. Dave was right, there’s nothing casual at all about what we did last night. I like him. Last night, I felt close to him in a way I’ve not often experienced with another person. I want more.

  “Hey.”

  I look over my shoulder and smile to see him in nothing but a pair of briefs. In the pale predawn light, his skin gleams like silver. Freckled silver. Shiver.

  “Good morning.” I gesture for him to sit beside me. As awkward as I’m feeling, I still want him near enough to touch.

  “Are you sure I can’t convince you to come back to bed?” He waggles his brows. “It’s still fucking dark, Ben.”

  “Not that dark.” I point at the yellow-tinged horizon. “Sun will be up soon.”

  He sits next to me and wraps his arm around my waist. I move closer into the embrace, savoring the intimacy. A soft splash and his size twelves join my ten-and-a-halfs in the water. “Did you sleep okay?”

  “Better than expected.”

  “You were awesome last night.” He turns his head and presses a kiss into my hair. “I really had a great time.”

  “You were …” What on earth is the right word? “You were unexpected. And I …”