by Max Walker
Oliver didn’t need to finish his sentence. He closed his eyes. I pushed in and kissed his forehead.
“Derrick would be so happy with tonight,” Oliver said, tears forming at the corners of his eyes. He rested his head on my shoulder.
“Tell me about him.”
“Huh?”
“About Derrick. What was he like?”
Oliver stayed quiet for a moment. And then: “He was a walking rainbow. If you think I’m optimistic, Derrick was a hundred times more positive. And everyone around him felt that. He had that gift.” He took a deep breath of air. “He was smart, too. He helped me with so many of my classes, I probably owe my vet school acceptance to him. He was a genius. Wanted to go into the public health field. He wanted to really do some good in the world.”
“How’d you two meet?”
“At the park.” I could hear the smile on Oliver’s face. We had never talked in depth about Derrick, aside from the first interview I had with Oliver at Stonewall. But that was different. I wanted Oliver to share everything with me now, and I wanted Derrick to be just as real to me as he was to Oliver.
“I was practicing a dance routine. It was for the talent show. He was there playing soccer when he ended up kicking the ball and launching it straight toward my balls.”
Oliver laughed at the painful memory. I drank the sound up.
“He came over to apologize. The rest was history.” Oliver choked back a sob. “A really short history.”
“But it was a history that burned really fucking bright.”
“It did. It really did.”
I stared up at the ceiling, holding Oliver against my chest. It was a silence that didn’t need to be filled with words. My fingers made soft swirls in Oliver’s hair, tracing lines over the back of his head. I could feel his warm breath against my skin.
“That night… when I lost him. It’s seared into my memory. More so than all the good memories we shared. It’s terrible. So fucking terrible.”
“You just have to hold on to the good ones. Those are what made the relationship between you two so beautiful. All those good memories you two shared. Hold on to them.”
“I try. But you know what’s really fucked up? I can barely remember how he smelled but I can clearly remember how his blood on my hands smelled.” Oliver’s body trembled. I held him a little tighter.
“And the ride to the hospital. I remember that like a movie… Then getting to the hospital, and all the chaos that happened there. I realized then how alone I’d become. Jonah raced to the hospital, but it felt different without Derrick being there. Will was out of town that night—I remember trying to call him. Tyra wasn’t picking up any of my calls, neither were my other friends. Milan, Kiley. Even my parents were asleep and didn’t wake up to my calls. Not that I blame them either; it was late at night. But yeah… it was such a hard night at the hospital. Knowing I’d be leaving without Derrick.”
Oliver cried then. Even his tears sounded spent.
“This is coming to an end, Olly. I promise. We’re going to close this chapter of your past.”
“I really hope so.” He steadied himself and pushed off me so he sat up on the bed. “I want to enjoy the rest of this book.” He looked down at me, his blue eyes still glistening with tears, his lip still quivering.
“Me too, Olly. And I want you to know: you won’t ever be alone again, okay?”
He mustered a smile. It was that moment that told me all I needed to know.
We were going to get through this, and we would be stronger for it once we got to the other side.
29 Oliver Brightly
One Week Later
The smell of frying bacon filled the room, drifting in from the open bedroom door. I rolled over in my empty bed and stretched under the covers, my toes breaking out from the bottom to be greeted by some cold air. I felt exhausted and my body was sore. Beckham and I had spent the entirety of last night rolling around in the sheets. We had come home from a dinner date where we both had about a bottle of wine for each of us.
Needless to say, I was trying out a whole new set of stunts last night.
I grinned, something that didn’t always happen in the mornings. On the floor was a pair of light-pink Calvin Klein briefs. I leaned over and grabbed them, sliding them on and having another stretch before I got out of bed.
The clock on my nightstand said it was eight in the morning. I could hear the TV on in the living room. That was Beckham’s doing, who disliked being inside a silent house for too long. I didn’t mind it as much as I did at first. Now, I was getting used to having the white noise of CPAP commercials and old reruns of Sister, Sister in the background.
My feet were cold as the floor switched from rug to faux wood. Mason, who had been lounging in the hallway, stood up with a coo and a purr and followed me into the kitchen, where a half-naked and devilishly handsome British man was making me breakfast.
I stepped behind him, wrapping my arms around his waist.
“Morning,” Beckham said. I could hear the smile on his face. I answered with a trail of soft kisses on Beckham’s strong back.
I took a step back, admiring all of Beckham. He wore green boxers that hung low enough for me to see his ass. My mind replayed all the positions we had tangled ourselves into last night. My dick twitched in my briefs in response, even though I’d already come twice less than twelve hours ago.
“What’s for breakfast?” I asked, trying to get my mind off sex.
“Sunny side up eggs, buttered toast, and nice greasy slabs of bacon.”
“Shit, that’s sex.”
Beckham laughed as he transferred some sizzling strips of bacon onto a paper-towel-covered plate.
So much for not thinking about sex.
“Still thinking about last night?” he asked.
“Last night? You mean two hours ago?”
More laughter. Everything felt good. Like there was a silver haze in the air, an aura that lifted my spirits and kept a smile on my face. I started to set the table for us, bringing out the jug of fresh orange juice and placing cups and utensils in the spots where Beckham and I normally sat. As I did that, I couldn’t help but steal glances at the delicious-looking ass Beckham was teasing me with as he worked on transferring the eggs to a plate.
We had celebrated hard last night, and for good reason.
Juan was finally behind bars. After we went to the police with the tape, they went into swift action. At first, they had some trouble finding Juan, but finally, after a week of searching, they were able to arrest him yesterday. He admitted to the assault and to the stabbing. They had him on tape saying it, plus the tape Beckham had uncovered. He couldn’t slither out of it.
The monster who’d taken Derrick’s life was locked up. I had never gotten a more restful sleep, even if it was only two hours’ worth.
And there was more to it. When the cops had gone to arrest Juan, they found Mario there as well. And they both resisted the arrest. Mario, who already had a warrant out for him, shot at the police as they led them on a high-speed and nearly lethal chase through the streets of Miami Beach. Thankfully, no one got hurt and the two assholes were cuffed and thrown into the back of a cop car. And the fact that there hadn’t been any threats on my life since made me feel safer than I had in a while.
It finally felt like I could put it all behind me and focus on what was ahead.
Beckham brought a plate of sizzling bacon and a big bowl of scrambled eggs and placed them on the center of the table. “It smells amazing, babe.”
“Thank you,” Beck said, turning to grab something else off the counter. I took it as my chance to cop a feel and slap Beck’s ass. He jumped and gave me a little wiggle, inviting another slap.
And I gave it to him. I chuckled and turned to pour myself a glass of orange juice. Suddenly, I was pressed to the counter by Beckham’s weight as he came up behind me, grabbing my hips.
I giggled like a schoolgirl the second his lips brushed against my neck.
“Oh,” I said, feeling him getting hard against me, “is this on the breakfast menu, too?”
I rubbed my ass back on him. Beckham’s hands moved from my hips and slipped underneath my underwear. He grabbed me in his hands and stroked. I dropped my head back and shut my eyes as he continued to plant kisses on my neck, my cheek, my ear. All the while he continued to stroke, tightening his grip, rubbing his thumb over my leaking slit.
“Come here, you.” I turned around and wrapped my hands around the back of his neck. I leaned up and kissed him, our tongues already experts with the steps of this fiery dance. He throbbed between us. It shot a pulse down my back. The trail of heat seared through me, tightening my balls, making me moan into the kiss.
I wanted to moan onto something else, though. I broke the kiss and looked into Beckham’s eyes, the golden flecks gleaming against the field of green. I couldn’t think of a more beautiful sight.
He throbbed again, his thick cock pushing against me. I slowly dropped to my knees, licking my lips on the way, my mouth already watering in anticipation.
Beckham’s boxers looked like they were trying to escape him. I decided to be a Good Samaritan and help them. I pulled the waistband over Beckham’s cock and dropped the boxers to the ground. He stood there in all his manly glory, towering above me, his cock gently pulsing in the air, a clear drop of precome already oozing from the tip. I grabbed him and held him in both my hands, and I kissed the head, softly. Beckham groaned above me, but I didn’t pick up my pace. I slowly dragged my tongue over his wet tip. His knees buckled, his fingers knotted in my hair.
I still kept my pace slow. I lifted his cock up and kissed my way down his shaft. I kissed his sac, licking his balls before kissing my way back up.
“That’s it, suck me off, Olly.”
All teasing ceased. I sucked Beckham into my mouth. His loud moan rang through me, feeding me. His salty taste filled my mouth. I looked up at him and ran my fingers through his soft pubes as I blew him. The sounds of my wet lips traveling up and down mixed with the grunts that were coming out of Beck.
I took him all the way down. Like a sword swallower, I went down on his cock until my nose was tickled by his hair. I had to quickly resurface for air, only so I could dive back down, feeling his cock hit the back of my throat.
“Fuck, Oliver, I can’t. I need to have you.”
I knew exactly how Beckham wanted to have me.
And I wanted it just as bad.
I stopped deep-throating him, leaving his hard cock soaking wet and gleaming under the morning sunlight. My body craved him like an addict looking for their next hit. My cells thrummed with desire. I stood up, our cocks crossing as I leaned up to kiss Beckham, giving him a taste of himself.
Moments later I was turned around, and Beckham had his cock pressed against my ass. I pushed back, my hole twitching. I felt empty, the fire inside me burning through everything and turning it to ash.
“Put it in,” I said, my voice husky with need. I held on to the pale yellow counter and bent over. Beckham spread my ass apart and spit, and he hit the mother tucking bull’s-eye. I moaned as I felt the warm trail of wetness drip down my ass, down my balls.
Beckham opened me with his cock, sliding up and down my ass.
I said the magic words. “Please, Beckham, fuck me.” He didn’t waste another second. He aligned himself up with me and thrust, sliding into me with one smooth motion, sending me rocketing straight to space.
“Oh fuck!” I cried out. He met no resistance as he started to rock into me, fucking my brains out onto the kitchen counter. “Fuck, fuck, fuuuuck.” My words were drowned out by the sound of Beckham’s body slamming against mine. We didn’t have to warm into this, my body already needy from the night before, when I’d ridden Beckham like a bucking bull.
This morning was no different.
He was thick, and his cock was long. He hit every orgasmic spot possible. I was leaking like a broken faucet onto the tiled floor. With every hard thrust, Beckham milked my swollen prostate, sending a bolt of stars dazzling across my vision.
“Give it to me, Beck. Yes, yes!”
I started to come, unable to stop the floodgates from opening. Loud splats sounded as my come hit the kitchen floor. My body, from head to toe, went completely haywire. I shouted a garble of words as my cock erupted, both of my hands still holding tight to the counter, Beckham still pounding me into infinity.
Beckham’s orgasm hit like a freight train. His sounds turned primal as he fucked into me deep. He stopped thrusting, instead pumping inside me. His fingers dug into my hips as he emptied his balls into me, giving me exactly what my body had been crying out for. I could feel him inside me, shooting his load, his cock jerking with each shot.
When the tidal wave subsided, we both took a breath and let out bliss-filled laughs.
Beckham pulled out of me with a pop. I could feel some of his come dripping down my leg.
I turned and kissed him through the drunken smile. His hand gripped the back of my neck. “Fuck, I fuckin’ love you,” he said in a low growl, his breath dancing against my lips. My heart fluttered like an epileptic butterfly.
We cleaned up after our kitchen romp. I made sure to give the floors a little wipe down, and Beckham made sure to watch me as I crouched, still butt-ass naked and somehow still horny.
But our breakfast was calling. We finished cleaning and sat down to eat the delicious spread Beck had prepared for us. It wasn’t a terrible setup if I were being honest. He served me a tasty plate in the mornings, and I served him my tight ass in return.
A win-win situation.
We ate and talked about nothing in particular, time still shooting by in a flash like it always did when Beckham was around.
As we washed the dishes, I glanced at the clock and realized we were already pushing into the afternoon. Our breakfast had turned into a brunch.
“Shit,” I said.
“Huh?”
“I’ve got to do some work before we go to dinner.”
Just mentioning dinner shot my nerves right up to the ceiling. My shoulders tensed, even though my body still felt like a big bowl of cherry-red Jell-O (the best kind).
Beckham didn’t seem bothered at all. “Go get it done, I’ll handle the dishes.”
I finished drying up a cup and set it back in the cabinet. “Thanks, babe.” I went in from the side and wrapped my arms around him for a warm hug, kissing him tenderly on the arm. “I love you.” I looked up into his glowing green-and-gold eyes. “And I’m sure my parents are going to love you, too.”
“I really hope so,” Beck said, trying to veil it as a joke with a laugh. I could tell he was being real, though.
“They will. Just remember: my mom loves to talk about Dance Moms and Big Brother, and she hates injustice. My dad loves beer and watching hockey, and he hates climate change. Got it?”
Beckham laughed, this one sounding much more genuine than the last. “Got it.” Beckham planted a kiss on my forehead. “Go get your work done.”
I left Beckham in the kitchen and disappeared into the bedroom. Instead of opening up the bookbag for my notes, I went to the computer and opened up my email. A couple of new messages sat at the top, highlighted in bold: Jonah, Fox, Andrew Barker, Holly.
I ignored all of those and opened the most recent message, the sender’s name Dee Klein. The subject of the email read “RE: Would love to have you perform at an event I’m throwing!”
A smile grew on my face as I read the reply.
Beckham had no idea what was in store for him, and I freaking loved it.
Jesus, Mary, and Holy Mother Katy Perry, life is so damn good right now… nothing better ruin this, I swear to Christina Applegate.
30 Beckham Noble
The sun clung to the sky above us, throwing its last rays of sunshine before it disappeared for the night. A strong and sweet scent of blooming flowers filled the air as we walked the cobblestoned path up to Oliver’s parents’ house. On e
ither side of us was a row of immaculately cared for colorful flowers, a yard of lush green grass stretching out beyond it.
The house was the biggest one on the block, with a massive front yard and a balcony for each of the bedrooms on the second floor, two of them being on the front of the house. I began feeling slightly intimidated. I hadn’t “met the parents” in… well, bloody hell, I couldn’t even remember.
Oliver’s hand squeezed mine as we came to a stop at the front door. He looked dashing with a fresh new haircut, wearing a light-blue polo and gray pants, the shirt only serving to make his eyes pop like gems. I opted for a little less color, wearing a gray button-up shirt and a new pair of dark jeans.
Oliver had given me a rundown. Told me how his father was a heart surgeon and could come off a little distant at first, but should slowly warm up. And that his mom normally loved everyone she met, and that she’d be the one to break the ice if any formed.
And still, I felt nervous. I hoped Oliver couldn’t feel how clammy my palms were getting. This was such a huge step in our relationship. If it went south and I didn’t get along with his parents, then we could be facing a very big roadblock.
Oliver turned to me before he pressed the doorbell. “Just be yourself. It’ll all be fine. NBD.”
“NBD?”
“No big deal.” Oliver smiled as he planted a kiss.
The doorbell rang. We didn’t wait long for the lock to click and the door to swing open. Oliver’s mom stood in the doorway, smiling wide as she took Oliver in for a tight hug. I could see Oliver in her face. They had the same nose and the same light hair, his mom’s a little more blonde than Oliver. They shared the same positive energy, too. I sensed that right off the bat as she let go of Oliver and turned to me, the smile still taking up most of her face causing her glasses to lift up.
“You must be the famous Beckham! So great to meet you. I’m Emma.”
Out of courtesy I offered a hand to shake, but she swatted it away and gave me the same hug she’d given Oliver.