I hummed and he groaned. His movements stuttered and his cock thickened but before he came, he pulled out, leaving a trail of spit painted over my chin.
“God, Grant.” Morgan slowed his breathing. “That was….” He moved down until we were chest to chest, then tipped his head, putting us nose to nose. “I’d love to finish in your mouth.” He danced his fingertips over my collarbone.
“Then why did you stop?”
“Mmm—” He tilted his head, but the thick curls of his bangs didn’t quite unveil his gaze. “Because if I do that, you’ll never last long enough for me to ride you till I come.”
There was only twelve years difference between us, but Morgan had proven more than once he could outlast me. Even if he came before I got started.
He wiped the spit from my lips and flicked his tongue just over the edge. “What are you thinking about, Grant.”
I traced my thumb over his bottom lip, and he caught it between his teeth.
“How much I love you.”
He let go and nipped my bottom lip. “Lots and lots?”
“More than all the stars in the universe.”
He grinned. “Someone’s been watching cheesy chick flicks again.”
“How else am I supposed to come up with witty lines to tell you at times like this.”
Morgan touched the tip of his nose to mine, and the ends of his bangs swept against my forehead. Now I couldn’t have looked away if I wanted to.
He stroked my throat. “If you never spoke a single word to me, Grant, I’d still understand you.”
There was no doubt in my mind he would. After all, he heard light and the things it had to convey.
“Now, about my anniversary gift.” He sat back and reached for the drawer. The first bottle of lubricant was almost empty, but I’d remembered to put the new one in there before we ran out.
It only needed to happen once for me to learn my lesson.
Morgan moved to the edge of the bed, trapping my knees between his thighs. He popped the lid on the bottle and let it trickle out in a cool hair-thin stream over the head of my cock. Barely enough to tease, but more than enough to make me want more.
I huffed a breath.
“Feel good?” Morgan painted the lines into a thin sheen with his fingers. Each touch an electric snap running up my spine.
“You know it does.”
He traced the glans with a finger, over the ridge. There he swirled the tip of his finger until the pad forced my slit apart, replacing his gentle touch with a bite of pleasure made me jump.
Morgan laughed. “Need to cut you back to a cup a day.”
“That had nothing to do with how much coffee I drink.”
“Might need to test that theory some more.” He did it again with the same result.
“See?” I dared him to argue. Which was a complete mistake on my part. Morgan rarely argued. He’d just prove his point. The scrape of his fingernails traveled down the length of my cock.
I balled my hands up in the comforter. “Morgan, you’re killing me here.”
“Not yet.”
“Wha—”
“Close your eyes.” Morgan sat back and closed the bottle.
“Why?”
“Close your eyes, Grant. It’s not that hard.” Morgan drew a line up my thigh where the light from the window and the shadows followed the contour of my leg.
“I can’t see you if I do that.”
“Yes, you will.”
Because it’s the light that blinds.
It was in the middle of a cow pasture under the darkest night that I finally saw Morgan. Without the tics, without the inability to meet my gaze, without the light to let me see all the things I perceived at the time as flaws to distract me. I could finally see the man he was—beautiful, quick-witted, and impossibly smart.
Someone kind enough to open his heart to me.
I’d let Morgan lead me into the darkness then, so of course, I did as he asked.
The weight moved from my legs, the mattress at my hips shifted. Points of contact glided down my sternum tracing a zig-zagged path to my nipples. He pinched the buds until the ache became an agony. Not of pain but wanting more and knowing he would give it to me.
Heated silk-licked away the ache, one then the other. He lingered on the right one.
“Hmm, that’s unexpected.”
I almost opened my eyes. “What?”
“You taste like bacon.” He sucked at the nipple. “We might be on to something here, Grant.”
“Considering how that flavoring got there, I’ll pass.”
Again Morgan was gone. Only the weight of his body against my thighs assured me he was still there.
I counted my heartbeats, and with every breath my cock jumped.
Morgan moved, the warmth where we touched traveling in opposite directions. For a moment I had no idea what he did until he gripped my cock and sank down on me.
“Jesus, Morgan, go slow.”
“Shut up, Grant.” His voice cracked with breathy pants.
Had he hurt himself?
Before I had a chance to ask, he swiveled his hips and rose up, coming down and clenching his ass. The combination added another layer of ecstasy to the friction. Or maybe it was the inability to see him, only feel him. To have every touch, every breath, every movement undiluted by the lies the eyes can tell you.
Or maybe it was just him.
I wouldn’t have been surprised if it was.
I gritted my teeth and willed myself not to come. It worked—that time. There were many when it hadn’t. And I think Morgan got a kick out of that.
I gripped his hips more to ground myself than to help him.
Sweat made our skin sticky, and the squeak of the mattress kept time with Morgan’s undulations. When the height of pleasure threatened to crest, Morgan changed his pace, breaking the wave.
I grunted and dug my fingers into his flesh. Shivers racked my limbs. I inhaled but couldn’t seem to exhale as fast. The scent of sex, male musk, clean sweat, the laundry detergent we used to wash the blankets saturated everything. It was seasoned by the aloe soap both of us showered with—a plethora of information to clash with tactile sensation somehow making my senses brighter.
Morgan pushed me to the edge again and stopped.
I bit back a string of swear words.
“You can open your eyes now, Grant.”
The sunlit room flared to life, etching out around Morgan’s crown in a golden halo and hiding the rest of his features in shadow until my eyes adjusted.
Droplets of sweat dripped from his chin to my chest.
Morgan leaned closer, eyes half-lidded, his bottom lip crimped beneath his teeth. He no longer rode me, but his muscled legs, that tight ass, how he distributed his weight, stoked the urgency to reach that pinnacle of bliss.
Morgan slowly lifted himself.
I bent my knees and planted my feet on the edge of the mattress. He came down and I met him half-way, our bodies colliding.
“Yesss—” Morgan thrashed in my arms, and I continued to thrust, ignoring the bitter twist of muscles in my thighs and back. Unlike Morgan, I did not ride a bike twenty miles a day. I think it was time to start.
Morgan arched his back and the subtle valleys of muscles wrapping his frame took on a sharp edge. I strained to increase the pace and tilt my hips in that just the right way.
“Grant, there, there.” The flush in his cheeks spread to his shoulders and chest. “Don’t stop. Please, Grant.”