The Lover (It's Just Us Here Book 4)

by Christopher X Sullivan

  “Careful... it almost sounds like you want to suck me... like you need to suck me... like you’re begging for my cock.”

  “In your dreams, Bugi.” I squeezed around his finger.

  “Flip to your other side. Let’s finish this.” He massaged my left side and I yelped. I played with his cock and he slapped my hand away. Then he pressed another finger against my hole. I was panting from the somewhat painful end to the massage... and definitely not because of that finger aiming for my prostate.

  He rolled me to my back again. “Time for a nap,” I said, defiantly staring up at him.

  “Fuck you,” Mark said with a grin. “Time for a snack.” He slid down my cock again, and those lips went straight to the base. I buried my fingers in his hair and groaned. Shit... he knows what he’s doing. Fuck... my body's on fire. “How’d you like that?” Mark taunted after he popped off my cock. He grinned at me, impishly.

  “Keep going,” I whispered. He licked the head of my cock, then I watched him slide down again. His teeth caught the top of my foreskin. “Ah!” I grunted. “Watch your teeth!” Amateur.

  “Sorry, babe,” he said as he came off my cock. He sank back on it again, this time his bottom teeth gently scraped my head and then all the way down the shaft. My cock was sensitive—even with the foreskin—and the pain was enough to make my cock shrink. I grunted and told him to stop with the teeth. “Sorry, babe,” he said again. He kissed my inner thigh. Then he sank back down on my somewhat deflated cock. He used his teeth again.

  “What the fuck are you doing!” I yelled.

  He pulled off my cock with a dramatic, wet pop. His index finger slid into my butt. “You know what you have to do.” He slid onto my cock again and his teeth grazed my shaft. I grunted and contorted.

  “Stop it!” I begged. Fuck. I’m begging. His naked finger is in my ass... I have to let that go.

  Mark slid a second finger in me. “You know what you’re going to do,” he said. His teeth found my foreskin again.

  “Shit! Stop it!” He didn’t stop. “Just do it, babe.” His fingers twisted and found my prostate. I groaned.

  “Yeah. Let it go. Let it all go.” Mark licked my abs as he thrust a third finger and loosened me further. “You’re doing so good, babe. Let it go. Mente, babe. Let it go.”

  “I am,” I whimpered. “Just do it already.”

  “Beg for it.”

  No! I’m not going to beg. Just get it over with. Fuck. Quit moving your fingers. “Quit moving your fing—” Oomph. “Oooh God.”

  “What do you want, babe?”

  “Just get your fingers out—” Oooo.

  “What do you want, babe?”

  “Finish it,” I whispered. “Just get on with—” His mouth sunk on my aching cock and his teeth grazed my foreskin as he popped off. “Stopppp...” I whined.

  “Tell me what you want? You know how to make it stop.”

  “No.”

  “Yes.”

  “Ugh. Just do—” His fingers jammed into me and made me grunt. “Babe,” I whined.

  “I got you. Let go. I’ll catch you. I’ll always catch you.”

  “Nooo,” I moaned. He licked the head of my cock, then managed to get his tongue to open my foreskin and hit... oh shit... which was really sensitive. Was I really going to say it? What option did I have? “Fuck me,” I whispered.

  “What?”

  “Fuck me,” I said, louder. “Just fuck me already.”

  His fingers came out of my ass. “That’s it, babe,” he encouraged. “Now beg for it.”

  “What?”

  “Tell me what you want...”

  “Ugh!” I threw my head backwards and tried to sink into the mattress. What do I want? What do I want? What do I want? He kissed my chest and touched me sensuously. I put my hand in his hair and felt him move. So close. He’s so close to me. He wants me so bad. I closed my eyes. “I want you to fuck me,” I said evenly.

  “Fuck yeah.” He moved my hips so they were closer to the edge of the bed and he towered over me. One of my legs was on either side of him. “Beg for it,” he commanded.

  I felt tears sting my eyes. “Babe, please,” I said with a watery voice. Don’t make me do more.

  He pushed against me, but his cock didn’t plunge in. His body pressed against mine, all that muscle and skin, chest heaving. Then he hovered in front of my face and his body pinned my cock between our hips. His breath was on my cheek. “Relax, dude. I got you.”

  “I know,” I said, unable to get the warble out of my voice. My eyes were directed up at the molding on the ceiling. One of the squares had fallen out of center. I wonder what happened to make that...

  “I got you,” Mark said, rubbing my shoulders. He sniffed my armpit, which was our signal that he wanted to see me laugh. “What do you want to do?” he asked quietly—without the coercive force he had used earlier.

  “I want you to fuck me,” I mumbled automatically.

  “Hey,” he kissed my lips. “Relax. Look at me. Look at me, babe.”

  I looked at him through dazed eyes. It was the afternoon and the sun was beautiful and showed off his magnificent face perfectly. “We don’t have to do this. Did I push too hard? Was yesterday too much?”

  “Make love to me, Mark. Please?”

  “You bet,” he said calmly. “I want you to let go. I want you to give yourself to me, completely. I’ll catch you. I won’t hurt you.”

  “I know.”

  “I love you.”

  “Love you, too.”

  He slid into me. I closed my eyes and grunted. “Taking it slow,” I heard Mark say. No shit. Didn’t use a dildo... we better be taking it slow. I felt every thrust deeper—and it was intense. I decided that using the dildo would have been better. I cussed when Mark felt too big, too raw.

  Mark had the same idea: “So tight.” He sighed. “So fucking tight.” Then he was balls deep. Mark touched my body—he probably had been touching my body the whole time, but I hadn’t realized it. He offered me stupid words of encouragement.

  Just get it over with!

  He slowly humped me, raised my hips. “Let go, babe. Get into it.” Pump, pump, pump. “Just. Us. Just. Us. Here.” Pump, pump, pump. He gave me a hard fuck and I groaned. “That’s it, babe. Louder.” He stopped his movements. “Let me hear you louder.”

  No. No grunting. No talking. No thinking.

  “Give it to me, Mente. Let it go. Let me hear you.” He pushed into me again. I grunted. “That’s it,” he hissed. I grunted again.

  What the heck. What would it hurt to show a little more involvement? I can raise my hips. I can open my mouth. I can let go. I was nearly to the point of letting go completely—of blacking out my hypercritical mind and letting everything react based on touch and feel and listening to Mark. Let go, Chris. Don’t worry... let go. Don’t worry... Mark will catch you. You can trust Mark. He’s always known how to push your buttons. He’s always been there for you. He’s always attentive. Let go. Let him take control. Just this once.

  I heard my voice let out an embarrassing moan. “Yeah, babe,” Mark said, picking up the pace. “Give it to me.” His hands were under my hips. Then they were on my chest, pressing me into the cushions. Fuck. Those same fingers had been in my ass. Chop them off! Oh... let it go. Don’t think about it. It’s too late now. He better not put those in my mouth.

  I used my legs to propel my body into his thrusts and became an active partner. I heard him grunting and muttering.

  Or is that me?

  “Let go, babe. That’s it. I got you.” He said one word as he plunged and one word as he pulled out. Let go, let go, let go.

  “Go,” I moaned, at one point. “Mark, ung, go.” I added a few other words to my zonked out mantra. “Yes,” was a part of my limited vocabulary. “Babe,” was another. I sounded like a very dumb monkey. I panted. I heaved.

  Then he stopped moving and his hand was on my cock, frantically pumping. “Together, babe. Shoot for me. Let it rip. Co
me on, you fucker. Shoot for me.”

  I squinted and prayed that Mark would finish it already. Get out of my butt. I was coming back to my senses.

  “Look at me, Chris.” I opened my eyes and stared at him through heavy lids. My legs were tired. He was soaked with sweat.

  Mark placed a hand on my chest around my neck, like he was about to choke me. His fingers tickled my throat. “Give it to me.” He humped me once. “Look at me. That’s it.”

  We stared at each other as he slow-fucked me. I bit my lower lip. Mark was into it. His face was intense. I saw each wave of pleasure as he held back. His fingers toyed with my cock, but I never got fully hard when he was in me. I glanced down at my cock.

  Oh, it is hard.

  “Yes,” he said. I watched him as if from a distant planet. His hand never left my chest. I was pinned to the bed by his body, but his hand kept me psychologically pinned—submitted.

  I could tell that he was close. His eyes shut. He grunted and moaned. His face showed pain. I wanted to make him feel good. I wanted to make him laugh.

  Fuck... I’ve got to kiss him. I had a sudden mad, consuming desire to reach for his face and bring us together. I clawed for him, but his hand kept our bodies apart. He was too far inside me to make for an easy kiss, anyway. But logic wasn’t working in my brain. All I knew was that I wanted his mouth on mine and I was going to get it.

  Going to get it. Kiss me, dammit. Kiss. Kiss.

  I clawed at him and squirmed. He opened his eyes and saw my desperation. I gripped his upper arm. His hand slid from the top of my chest to casually caress the side of my neck. Closer. Bring him closer. Closer.

  My cock shot. My head rolled back and my eyes clamped shut. I whimpered, then I moaned when I felt him fucking me hard and fast.

  He fell beside me. My eyes were sealed, though my mind was ablaze with light and color. I felt his arm drape across my body, both of us covered in sweat, which I thought was odd because Mark had done all the work. My breaths sounded weird. I felt Mark moving.

  I opened my eyes and watched him lick his cum off my chest. Shit, I got his spunk on my face again. My ass was sore. Wait... he came in my butt... he didn’t pull out. Is this... am I covered in... my cum? Is that even possible? Is Mark licking my cum?

  Mark practically snorted the stuff like he had an addiction. He was in a good mood and, as his face popped up in front of me, he smiled as bright as the morning sun in springtime. I felt his body contour tightly to my side. “Intense,” he said, staring into my eyes.

  I groaned and clutched for his body. I felt him on top of me, but I didn’t want that. I rolled onto him and pressed my chest against his. My legs were bent and holding my body so that I barely balanced on his torso. I sank my face into the pillow under his head so that my face was at his neck and he was splayed out on his back. I smelled him—the real him. The sweaty, warm, comforting scent that I loved. Minus the cologne... he didn’t have on any cologne, which was unusual. He knew I loved his natural smell—he had prepared for this.

  I whimpered and nuzzled against him. My body heaved. I breathed three quick times followed by one long exhale. If I wasn’t careful, I would hyperventilate.

  “There’s my guy. Get it all out. Cry, babe. I knew you were a crier.”

  I’m not a crier. I’m not even crying. I’m trying to bury myself inside of you...

  The truth was that I didn’t want to cry, not in that moment. I was overwhelmed, but not in the usual way where everything spiraled out of my control. Instead, I felt like everything about me was being drawn to Mark... into Mark. I didn’t just want to lay there on his body... I wanted to crack open his chest and crawl inside him—all that blood and flesh and beating pulse.

  That strange thought would imprint vividly on my mind, so much so that I wrote it in my journal later that evening.

  I didn’t want to be on him. I wanted to be him. I wanted us to be the same person... to occupy the same space.

  I have always been a three-dimensional thinker. Most of the metaphors in my mind are visual and spatial. Colors all have a visual distance in my mind’s eye (which probably makes no sense to anyone except me... yellow is the closest color and blue is the farthest).

  Words also have spatial and geometric meaning to me. ‘Love’ to me is the gravity between souls. ‘Souls’ are perfect, somewhat transparent spheres that draw other spheres into their orbit. For example, my cousin Lynn had been very tightly in my orbit since my sister’s death, then, when Mark and I reconnected after our Big Fight, she pulled away. I didn’t know if I would ever be able to pull her in again, but after Hurricane Harvey, she moved back to Chicago for a while and back into my orbit.

  To me, being in a relationship was all about bringing two spheres as close to the same point as possible. Soulmates share the same experiences in the world and the same views of that world. And, in such a deep partnership, the two spheres are bound together in the same overlapping orbit, sometimes so tightly that they could be mistaken for one single, but more solid, soul.

  That’s what I wanted to say as I clung to Mark’s body and he thought I was crying. I wanted to enter him and merge with him and become one with him. I couldn’t make sense of my desires. I just wanted him and needed him close.

  But, as with anyone living in a three-dimensional world... time passed and the magic of the moment lifted.

  My legs cramped and I sat up off his body.

  “No tears?” Mark asked with a shy smile. I shook my head bashfully, embarrassed by how I had acted during sex and how I had acted after... and embarrassed about everything in general. “Let’s shower,” he prodded.

  Good idea. There’s still cum in my chest hair and it was stuck to your body when I got up. Yuck!

  Mark washed me and tended to my butt. He was gentle and loving. He kissed me. We dried off and piled onto the other side of the large bed for post-coital cuddles.

  Mark arranged the cushions so he was seated, but reclined. I cuddled next to him (on the opposite side of what I did the day before at the bathhouse, because I was OCD about being ‘balanced’). I laid my arm across his chest and happily nuzzled into his neck. We stayed like that for a long time. Mark played on his phone. I watched Mark play on his phone. I closed my eyes and luxuriated in our closeness. I breathed him in while occasionally letting my fingers trail up and over his muscles.

  I said nothing.

  Eventually my stomach growled. I was lightheaded. Mark had made me eat a light breakfast and a light, early lunch because he wanted to fuck me hard in the afternoon. That was all well and good... but my hunger snuck up on me fast and furious.

  Therefore, after all that cuddling and washing and touching and moaning... the first words out of my mouth after our intensive love making and the aftermath was a decisive, “I’m hungry.”

  “I’ll order room service,” he stated. His words boomed in my mind, echoing back and forth. So loud...

  “That’s alright,” I said, instinctively. I felt overwhelmed all of a sudden. We hadn’t spoken in over half an hour. I had been in bed with him and focused on the sound of his breaths and his heartbeat. His voice was so loud! So everywhere!

  “I’m hungry, too. What do you want to—” He looked at me, suddenly serious. “Hey, what’s wrong. Why are you crying?”

  I whimpered and jumped on his body, trying to merge into him. I shivered. “I love you,” I gasped.

  “I love you, too,” he said quickly. “What’s going on?”

  “I don’t know. I just love you so much.” So much more than you will ever know! I pressed against him and hid my face.

  “Fuck. You’ve got to stop with the crying... now I’m crying and I don’t even know why.”

  “Me too!” I exclaimed.

  “Well, you started it!” he countered.

  I looked at his eyes—he wasn’t crying at all, not compared to how I felt. “No, I didn’t.” I gasped. “You did. You kept coming after me. You wanted to take me to the gym. And to meet your frien
ds. And to do... all kinds of stuff. I never would do any of this without you.” My tears were hot and unending.

  “Babe,” he warbled. His face had screwed up and he was sobbing under me. We had an intimate cry for far longer than two adult men probably should.

  “You’re an ugly crier,” I informed him when the moment was over.

  “Fuck you,” he said, wiping his eyes. “Shit. I guess we got you back. I was worried you were so well-fucked that you took a vow of silence.”

  “Don’t make fun of me,” I said, grumpily.

  “No, never.” He kissed me and we made up. “You’re so intense,” he told me.

  Whatever.

  “I shouldn’t cry so much. I get too emotional.”

  “No. I wouldn’t change anything. Cause, babe, you’re amazing, just the way you are,” he sang to me.

  “Bruno Mars? Bruno fucking Mars? I just had the best sex of my life and you’re quoting Bruno Mars?”

  “Hey! Best sex of my life, too,” he said, like it was a confession.

  “Give me a break.”

  “It was! I swear. I got you into it... you were so into it. And then when you were about to shoot, I saw you climax. I saw it on your face. I felt it. You were feeling it.” He was proud.

  “I was feeling it,” I admitted.

  “And you were grunting and—” I forced my hand over his mouth to stop the embarrassment. He laughed at me and I felt silly. He nibbled on my finger. I pulled my hand away. “Seeing you in the zone got me so hot. Shit, you really liked it... didn’t you?”

  “I did. I mean, I guess. I don’t know.”

  “Just the way you are...” Mark sang back to me so that I erupted in rage.

  “Bruno Mars is a little bitch!” I cried.

  “Whoa! Where did that come from? You really are feeling it! Such potty language.”

  “What? You say that word all the time. And it’s the truth. His songs are generic. Criminally generic and audaciously dull.”

  “Some people like the sound of his voice.”

  “He sings the crap out of those stupid songs, but it doesn’t make ‘em any less stupid or generic or uninspired.”