by Roan Parrish
I don’t do this. This isn’t what I do. I don’t moon over guys. I don’t pine. I don’t wonder what they’re doing. I never have. I mean, sure, I’ve had crushes. Usually, though, I just show up and if someone’s appealing, I go for it. It’s always been just sex, except for my monumentally stupid time with Richard.
But now I’m sitting here on the ground like an idiot because the man I’ve fantasized about, dreamed of, and jerked off to is finally standing in front of me and I do not have a clue what to say.
He leans toward me, quizzical.
“Daniel?” He sounds shocked.
“Hi,” I say.
We’re staring at each other. It’s really dark, so he mostly looks like shoulders and hair. He’s wearing jeans and a dark T-shirt with a tear in the neck that’s stretched tight over his muscular frame. He reaches down a hand, but rather than help me up, he pats the dog on the head.
“I guess she got you back, huh?” Rex says.
“What? Oh.” I laugh, looking at the dog. “Yeah, I guess she has.”
Now he reaches one huge hand down to me, his biceps stretching that poor T-shirt even more. His hand is warm, just like I remember it. He pulls me easily to my feet, so easily that he has to grab me by the shoulders to keep me from slamming into him. In this position, I can’t help but think of the last time he held me like this. Up against his kitchen wall, seconds before he kissed me.
He drops his hands and looks down.
“What are you doing here?” He doesn’t sound very pleased.
“Well, I got that job,” I say.
“Congratulations.” He’s looking at the dog, not me.
“Oh, yeah, thanks.” I look down too. “Oh shit.” My book is lying in the dirt. It must’ve fallen out of my pocket when I fell. I scoop it up and brush it off, but the cover is torn and there’s mud ground into the last twenty pages or so. “Shoot.”
“I hope you know how it ends,” Rex says, looking at the muddied book.
“Yeah, I’ve read it before,” I say, but I feel like I’ve injured a friend. I’ve had this copy for ten years, read its corners round. I put it in my back pocket and try to shake it off. I’m not usually sentimental about shit like this. I don’t know what’s wrong with me. I don’t have the heart to check whether my iPod survived the fall; I just stuff my earphones in my hip pocket alongside it.
“Uh, so… Marilyn?” I say, nodding to the dog. “She seems okay, huh? And she grew a lot, didn’t she?”
“She’s fine,” Rex says, smiling fondly. “She’s a good dog.”
“I didn’t know you were going to keep her. I hope—I mean, I hope you didn’t feel obligated or anything.”
“Nah, I haven’t had a dog in a while. It was time. We get along pretty good. Well, I mean. We get along pretty well.”
“Why Marilyn?”
“Like Marilyn Monroe—she just, um—you know, she was a little banged up, so I figured she could use a star’s name. Especially one who took some hits and kept getting back up. Marilyn just needed some taking care of.” He seems a little embarrassed as he explains.
“Right, of course, movies. I like it,” I tell him, smiling, but actually I’m thinking, Didn’t Marilyn Monroe kill herself?
“I had a dog called Brando for a little while when I was a kid. My mom named him. Said it was because he was ugly, so the name would balance him out. I just figured it couldn’t hurt.”
“Look,” I say, “I wanted to thank you. That night… I was a mess. I’m not usually like that, I want you to know. So, thank you for helping me. And—” I laugh nervously. “Also, I want to apologize. I… was kind of all over you and I’m sorry if I made you uncomfortable or anything. I mean, it was so cool of you to let me stay and then I just kind of jumped on you and—anyway. So, I’m sorry.”
I force myself to look up, plastering what I hope is an unconcerned expression on my face: an it-was-casual, no-problem, I’m-not-mortified expression. But the second I look into his eyes, I feel it slide off my face. He looks stern, serious. Like I’ve disappointed him in some way. Or I’m about to.
But beneath the stern expression is heat. It’s dark and, okay, I can’t see him that well, but I can feel his eyes drinking me in, sliding over my face and my body like he owns them. Me. Like there’s not a force in the world that could stop him from taking whatever he wants from me. And I’ll be damned if I wouldn’t let him.
When he speaks, though, his voice is calm, controlled, giving away nothing.
“I kissed you, Daniel. Don’t you remember?”
“Hell yeah,” I say softly. My eyes are glued to his mouth.
“I think maybe you want me to kiss you again.”
He takes a step toward me. Ninety-eight percent of me is desperate for exactly that. But the other 2 percent is all of a sudden terrified. Terrified in a way I’ve never been before when it’s come to guys or sex. Terrified because it feels like this may be the most important decision I ever make. More important than deciding to go to college when all my teachers thought I was trouble.
More important than sticking my hand down Corey Appleton’s pants in seventh grade, proving to myself that I was gay and I would fuck up anyone who gave me shit about it. More important than applying to grad school or taking this job. I can feel it in my gut.
I feel myself nodding, but I can’t feel anything else. I can’t smell the trees anymore, can’t hear the irritating chirrup of cicadas that’s been buzzing at my nerves all week. He’s taken up all my senses. Every nerve in my body is tuned to his frequency, every bit of my attention focused on the man in front of me.
He takes another step forward, pushing me backward with his huge body. But instead of falling, one step puts my back up against a tree. Rex’s chest is right against mine. With every breath he takes, his chest expands, pushing me against the rough bark behind me. He is heat and power and the air between us is electric.
As if in slow motion, he raises his hand. He places it at my neck, stroking my skin gently with his thumb, then in one powerful movement, he puts pressure on my jaw, tilting my head back and my mouth open and then his mouth is on mine and I’m dissolving into his kiss.
I moan when he deepens the kiss. He tastes like nighttime, something dark and fathomless and necessary. Then he pulls back. I blink quickly, trying to figure out what made him stop. He’s looking at me, his mouth only a breath away from mine.
“Lie down, Marilyn,” he commands, and I hear a yawn and the comfortable snuffle of a well-trained dog getting comfortable. He never breaks eye contact.
“Daniel,” he says in that same voice, and I nod. Nod at whatever he’s asking because whatever he wants I want it too.
He kisses me deep and hard and I pull his hips toward mine to fit us more tightly together. He moves to my neck, his stubble scraping sweetly across my throat as he kisses my neck slowly and bites the muscle there. I pull in a breath and moan, pushing my hips into his. Every scrape of his teeth sends a pulse to my groin. I’ve gotten hard so fast I’m overwhelmed, like all the blood drained from my head and rushed to my erection.
His mouth is soft and powerful, and I slide a hand into his hair to guide his lips back to mine. I push up on my tiptoes to get better access. Our kiss is like a conversation: getting to know each other, tilting to find each other, exploring.
I nip at Rex’s full lower lip and he growls, frustrated, and grabs my ass in his hands, pulling me against him and lifting me off the ground to hold me against the tree with no effort at all. I wrap my thighs around his hips and he thrusts against me.
I’ve never been with someone so built, and his strength is driving me crazy. It’s like I could do anything to him without hurting him and he could do anything to me, which makes my mind spiral to a thousand places at once.
He pushes harder against me, spreading my legs with his body until he can grind against me. He’s holding my whole weight like it’s nothing and as he rocks into me he brings our cocks into perfect alignment.
&nb
sp; “Fuck,” I breathe, stiffening with the effort of not coming right away. It’s been too long. He eases off a little, still kissing me, and lowers me to the ground.
“I want to feel you. Can I?” he asks, and he slides one warm palm down the back of my pants, cupping the muscle, running a thick finger between my cheeks. I shiver against him and nod again, going for his pants. He stops my hands and, for a second, I think it’s going to be a repeat of what happened in his cabin all over again. But he just looks at me intently and says, “Tell me I can touch you.”
“You can touch me—shit!” The second the words leave my mouth, he pushes my pants and underwear down and grabs my ass with both hands.
“Your book,” he says.
“Huh?”
“Your book’s getting all messed up again,” he says, and I look down to where my copy of The Secret History is once again on the ground. Note to self: try not to step on your iPod.
“’S fine,” I say, reaching for him again.
He spreads me apart and kisses me with a hunger that makes me tremble as I fumble with his pants. When I finally drag his jeans and boxer briefs down, his erection springs out, hard and thick against his belly. He pushes me back against the tree and thrusts against me and, as our cocks meet skin to skin for the first time, we both moan. He’s all hardness and heat and he bites his lip and looks into my eyes as he rocks against me.
“C’mere,” Rex says, and he lifts me again, pulling me against his body, my back against the trunk of the tree. As he holds me steady, I thrust against him and shudder with pleasure. He groans and runs possessive hands over my lower back and hips. He spreads the globes of my ass and runs a thick finger down the crevice between them, circling my opening and making me shiver and clench up. He brings his finger up to my mouth and I suck on it. Then there’s wetness at my opening, wringing tiny shudders from me. He leans in to kiss me hard, sucks on my lower lip, and strokes me open. I cry out into Rex’s mouth as his finger slides inside.
“Oh god.”
“Is this okay?” he asks. I nod enthusiastically, my head falling back against the tree.
“Tell me,” he whispers.
“Fuck, it’s good,” I say, my eyes clenched tight.
“The night I met you,” Rex says against my mouth, “all I could think about was getting inside you.” He strokes inside of me with his thick finger, thrusting against me as he speaks. His voice is low, smoke curling around me. “Your mouth.” He kisses me. “Your gorgeous ass.” He flexes his wrist and fucks me with his finger. My arms fall against his shoulders, curl around his neck. I clench around his finger and he growls, rutting harder against me.
“But—” I gasp. “But you didn’t want me.”
“Nng,” Rex groans, looking into my eyes. “I was trying to be a fucking gentleman.”
“No,” I huff, “now you’re a fucking gentleman.”
He shakes his head and drops his forehead to mine. “You,” he says darkly, “talk when you’re nervous.”
“No,” I gasp, and it’s true; I usually don’t. Rex quirks an eyebrow. “Only with you,” I say. His smile is slow and predatory.
“Don’t be nervous,” he says, amused. Yeah, right, thanks. I only thought I was attacked by some murderer, like, ten minutes ago. I don’t even let myself think about why I’m nervous about how it feels to have him against me, inside me.
“It’s just—you know, the woods, and—there’s—did you know statistically the greatest percentage of serial killers come from the Midwest?”
I cannot believe I just said that. There’s babbling because you’re turned on and then there’s sounding like a total psycho.
Rex is giving me a strange look.
“So, you’re nervous that I might be a serial killer?”
I shake my head miserably. “No, no, I was just saying. Sorry. Ignore me.”
Rex’s expression softens and he runs the back of his free hand over my jaw.
“I don’t want to ignore you,” he says. “I just want you to be here. Are you here?” He strokes inside me again and my breathing goes all funny.
“I’m here,” I say.
“Just relax, okay?”
“Easier said than—” He kisses me hard. His tongue stroking over mine shoots sparks of pleasure to my stomach and my cock. My thighs tremble and I unclench. He kisses like he talks—confidently, with authority, but so receptive to my every response. I moan into his mouth and he slips another finger inside me. When I cry out he presses even closer, his chest and shoulders dwarfing mine.
“You feel fucking amazing,” Rex says. “You’re pulling me inside.” Fuck. The things he says. Usually I hate when guys talk during sex. It always sounds ridiculous, like bad porn. Besides, I’m used to sucking off guys behind the tires at my dad’s shop or fucking them in bathrooms at concerts, not much time for conversation. But everything out of Rex’s mouth turns me on even more.
The tree against my back and Rex’s fingers inside me are the only things I can feel. Until Rex takes hold of both our cocks in his big hand and begins to stroke us together.
“Oh!” I cry, and Rex moans low. My head spins as jolts of pleasure shoot through my cock. I slide my hands under Rex’s shirt, dig into the thick muscles there. I can imagine what his body would feel like crushing me into the mattress, and I’m not sure where that thought came from because it’s not something I’ve ever particularly wanted before.
Rex strokes us faster, our erections now slippery with fluid, and I brace myself on his shoulders so I don’t slide down the tree—and because I don’t want to give up the shivery full feeling of his fingers inside me.
Everything feels liquid, and Rex’s breath is coming in pants now. He bites his lip and his rhythm stutters.
“Fuck, baby, I’m so close,” he says and I can only whimper in response and nod. He takes a shaky breath and his hand slows slightly. When he kisses me, it’s softer and his mouth tastes sweeter. I can feel him trembling with the effort to hold back his orgasm.
He slides his fingers even deeper inside me and I feel wracked against the tree, on his hand, by his mouth and his chest and fucking voice and, god, his smell. I’m barely aware of what I’m doing, just anything to get more. More contact, more tongue, just more. Hands on his shoulders, I grind down on his fingers and cry out in pleasure.
“Oh fuck,” he says, but it’s like his voice is coming from a great distance, far away from the feeling of his fingers zinging pleasure through me and his big hand stroking us together faster now. I should be embarrassed of the broken sounds I’m making, but I can’t seem to care.
Rex flexes his fingers inside me at the same time as his stroke catches the head of my cock just right and I’m spiraling into orgasm, clutching at his shoulders, his neck, anything to keep me from losing contact with his body. Warmth tingles at the base of my spine and in my balls and then it’s just white-hot pleasure shooting through me.
“Oh, oh,” I cry out. Heat pours out of me, making everything slippery. I gasp for breath and my hole spasms around Rex’s fingers as my muscles contract, pulling a final hot spurt from me and leaving me shuddering against Rex, his fingers still inside me.
“Holy shit,” Rex says. He strokes us twice more, my cock so sensitive it’s almost painful, and then he’s coming too, striping my chest and stomach with powerful spurts as he crushes me against the tree.
We’re both breathing heavily. Rex puts his mouth back on mine and kisses me softly as he slowly slides his fingers from me. I groan, shuddering against him, and I can’t help but clench up. Hands now free, he hefts me a bit higher, holding me against him.
He keeps kissing me, and then, like he can’t help himself, he dips a fingertip back inside me.
“Rex!” I mumble, and wrap my arms around his neck. We kiss softly, our mouths moving together, warm and liquid. As he slides his finger inside me, my cock gives one last shivery jolt against Rex’s stomach and I hiss. My head falls back against the tree and I take a deep breath. My
head is spinning. Rex nuzzles into the curve where my neck meets my shoulder and I can feel his moist breath on my skin. He slips his finger free and gently lowers me to the ground.
My legs are shaking and my ass is a little tender. He must see it on my face because he pulls me against him, one arm around my waist, the other braced against the tree as he catches his breath.
His body engulfs mine so that all I can feel is his heat and all I can smell is his scent: fabric softener and pine and light, clean sweat. I can’t actually remember the last time I was held like this; maybe I never have been. I hug Ginger, but she’s small and it doesn’t feel anything like this. Other than that…. No one. I feel like I could melt right into Rex, and I want to stay like this as long as I can.
It freaks me out—how much I want this.
“I, uh,” Rex says, and with my ear pressed to his chest his low voice rumbles through me. “I didn’t think I’d see you again.” The feeling of comfort drains out of me, leaving me exhausted just thinking about waking up that morning, hopeful and unsure, and finding him gone, without even a note to say good-bye.
“I didn’t think you wanted to,” I say, and I can hear the resentment in my voice. Rex shifts backward so he can see my face. I make sure my expression is neutral.
“Not true. I just wanted to get Marilyn to the vet. And, like I said, it seemed pretty clear you’d take any job over one here. I didn’t think our little town made a real good impression.”
“I dunno. You were a pretty good welcome wagon,” I say. “Even if you didn’t say good-bye.”
“Hmph,” he says. His expression has shuttered. It makes him look sterner, older. “Well, you’re here now. I suppose you’ll be using this job as—what’d you call it? As a springboard?”
“Maybe,” I say. I’m amazed that he remembers our conversation so well. He even remembers the word I used. “I’ll have to see. I’m here for this year at least. Um….” I make a vague motion toward my pants, which are bunched at the bottom of the tree.
Rex lets me go and I try to go about putting my twisted underwear and pants back on with some semblance of dignity. Not that there’s much room for dignity when you’ve just been wrung dry against a tree in the middle of the night.