Cam grabbed the sheets in his fists and buried his face in the pillow. “Do it,” he managed to croak.
David went slowly at first, and when Cam did nothing but shout “Jesus, fuck!” over and over into the pillow, the boy pumped in earnest.
Cam thought he would pass out from the stimulation. It was as if everything—not just his nuts but the very skin of his sac, not just his cock, but the different lobes and the veins that ran along them, his spine and his guts—connected to taut wires that heated and vibrated and made every cell itch and burn and thrum unbearably.
Another 15-year-old virgin surely wouldn’t have borne it. But Camden Snow had already mounted his first Olympic podium. Possessed of steel-clad self-discipline, he would not fail. He held himself perfectly still until David, a good kid but not a stayer by any means, came with a little screech and shudder.
“Out,” said Cam.
David pulled out with alacrity and Camden Snow screamed into the pillow.
It was not an auspicious beginning.
Ever the researcher, Cam found that the kind of overstimulation he experienced wasn’t that uncommon. It would, should, might, depending on what you read, fade with time.
He’d tried again a year later, almost to the day, with a boy his own age. No good. It wasn’t pain, per se; it was just unbearable.
Cam acquired a set of anal plugs in graduated sizes, determined to train himself. He discovered lubes that worked better than baby oil. He got through the smallest one by inserting slowly while masturbating and hardly moving it. But he could not get past the next one. He couldn’t hold out more than a minute without feeling like he’d lose his mind.
Incredibly busy with training and competing and schooling and still painfully shy, the handsome, accomplished youth remained woefully underfucked and barely blown. But he was born to be a champion, and Camden Snow wouldn’t waste a second he needed to accomplish his professional goals on teen sex angst.
He had a computer and a hand and an imagination. And other things to do.
The month before his eighteenth birthday, Cam found himself traveling the Continent with a man of 20, smaller in stature than he, in every way. Cam found trust and comfort with the quiet skier who shared his bed and was an exceptionally good kisser satisfied with the mutual hand jobs and blow jobs that were all Cam offered.
Geo had the habit of gently massaging Cam’s hole while he sucked him off. He did not penetrate, having been told not to. But it felt wonderful as long as Geo was sucking him, and Cam determined to try anal again.
It was less unbearable than the first two times, but such an obvious ordeal that Geo had pulled carefully out and said, “Do me.”
If there was anything besides Alpine skiing Cam knew, anything he had exhaustively researched and absorbed, it was how to fuck a guy up the ass. He put Geo on all fours at the end of the bed, pushed his shoulders and head down and his knees open slightly. Cam stood behind, condomed and lubed.
The sight of the slender man, semi-prostrate before him, accepting, submitting, made Camden Snow feel like the mountains he raced down: huge, powerful, invincible. One hand on Geo’s hip and the other on his own very hard shaft, Camden Snow leaned forward and pressed.
It was like a perfect run. Smooth, controlled, the hot ring gliding over him, nature taking the reins, guiding him home.
With Geo shouting something that sounded like “Anchor! Anchor!” Cam pistoned him with savage delight. Hands on Geo’s hips, the Olympian literally lifted the smaller man off the bed as he drove between his compact cheeks. Geo grabbed his cock, Cam braced himself against the mattress, and they exploded at the same time.
It was epic.
It was an epiphany.
They collapsed on the bed, gasping and giggling. Camden Snow found himself, and Geo Gallo found a Dom.
HUNTER’S COCKHEAD TOUCHED HIM. Cam felt a flow of hot liquid run down over his balls. His dick became unbelievably harder in his hand. He smiled into the pillow. Hunter fucking Dane. When he was with Cam, he poured enough precum to wet down a slip and slide.
Cam stroked himself firmly. The distraction helped him, somehow, to endure. He relaxed his body, his glutes—everything—and pushed out as he knew he must and felt himself slowly opened.
“Stop there.”
Hunter stopped, his glans halfway in. A tight band cutting across, rubbing his stretched frenulum. He needed to move but stayed still. Obeying. Panting. Hot saliva dripped onto Cam’s back, Hunter’s lips branding him.
“You like that?” Cam asked.
“Cam.” Low, hard. Hunter teetered on the edge of shift.
“Can you feel it, Hunter? Rim on rim?” Cam moved a bare millimeter.
“Don’t.” A plea and a warning.
“Are you giving me orders?”
Harsh breathing. Hunt didn’t answer, but eased himself inside until Cam’s sphincter closed over the foreskin gathered behind his now-buried crown. He let go of himself. Both hands clamped on Cam’s shoulders, Hunter steadied himself, eased in an inch and pulled back.
Looking back under his own arm, his position awkward, knees spread, allowed Hunt a clear view of most of his shiny column. The pale mounds of Cam’s ass twitched with every one of Hunt’s controlled micro-thrusts. He dropped his head before the sight made him come, feeling everything getting slicker, slipperier, harder to control his depth.
His precum spilled into Cam. It leaked and dripped, the thought spurring his need to slam and drive. He saw Cam’s arm vibrating with the movements of his hand, hidden beneath his body.
Anger born of lust took hold of Hunt. He dragged his nails down Cam’s arm to his jerking fist and knocked it away, claiming the stiff, slick cock for himself.
This was his job. Serving his Dom, bringing him off, fucking him with no thought for his own release.
“I’m doing this.” Hunter Dane claimed his obedience.
Beneath him, Cam’s body thrummed, his face hidden, a sound rose up from his chest, like the muffled roar of the wind, swelling, powerful.
Cam reached back and grabbed Hunt by the hair, jerking him forward and down, stubbled cheeks scraped hard. “Fuck me, sub,” Cam snarled. “Hard. Now. You come now.”
Hunter shoved. Cam felt himself give way and took the burn. With a deep guttural howl he came, praying Hunter would, could, obey him. But Hunter was coming even before he slammed into Cam’s ass. Cam felt the pulses and the welcome snarling roar of Hunter’s release.
When the pulsing stopped, Hunt froze, not wanting to move inside his Dom without an order.
Cam, collapsed under him, forced himself to relax. It had not been terrible. And Hunter had gotten exactly where he needed to go. Cam could feel him recede. The length of his arousal and the strength of his orgasm had drained him. Thank God.
“Enough,” Cam said.
Carefully, Hunter pulled out. He rolled off Cam onto his back. The last thing he remembered before sleep took him was Cam throwing the comforter over them both.
9:15am
“I can’t flog you, Hunter. Not like before; I told you last night.”
“I - just - you do that in sex, too, don’t you? You’re a fucking dominant sadist.”
They faced each other from the ends of the big couch in front of the fireplace where they’d settled in after breakfast.
“I will flog you, trust me,” Cam answered. “When I decide to. And we’ll both enjoy it, in our own ways. But not for this. It’s not possible now that we’re … Jesus, we’ve barely known each other a month, and out of that we’ve actually spent how many days together? Ten? Maybe twelve? In the space of a few weeks, you’ve already left me once. What we have, it’s too intense. Too fragile.”
Hunter huffed a bitter laugh. “I can’t go to the club for it, anymore, either.”
Cam frowned. “Tell me.”
THEY’D AWAKENED TO A GRAYISH GLOOM of dead light filtered through snow-covered windows. But the electricity was on, the lamplight cheery. Then they’d found thems
elves literally glued to the sheets by dried body fluids.
Hunter thought it was hilarious, especially when Cam placed all the blame on him.
“I had an accomplice,” he said, grinning.
Cam shot him a dour look. Hunt scooped him up and took him into the big bathroom for a warm, sudsy sponge bath. He’d done it before and gotten quite adept at keeping Cam’s cast dry while soothing him with hot, fragrant lather.
Cam dressed while Hunt showered; Hunt stripped the bed while Cam went downstairs to make coffee. He’d also thaw and heat whatever wonderfulness his doting mother and grandmother had stocked his freezer with.
Hunter was hoping for apple pie. As he bundled up the soiled bedclothes and shoved them down the laundry chute, the rich scent of cinnamon-laced pastry reached him.
It was a pecan ring. Perfect and hearty and crunchy and soft and buttery.
“You could become a professional glutton if the homicide detective gig doesn’t work out,” Cam told him.
“That’s no way to refer to a connoisseur of artfully crafted heritage baked goods.” Hunter licked a fingertip to get the last bits of pecan and brown sugar to his mouth.
NOW THEY WERE ENSCONCED ON THE COUCH under chunky merino wool blankets with mugs of hot cider. Cam sipped at his, waiting for Hunter to gather his thoughts.
“The Doms at the club, most of them, it’s sexual for them,” Hunter said. “They used me to get off.” Hunt shook his head at Cam’s startled and none-too-pleased look. “No, you were the first who—it was a hard limit, no one touched my asshole.”
Cam relaxed. “I heard. You had many hard limits. You didn’t swallow, either. Why?”
“It wasn’t fair to ask them to give me what I needed, to help me get where I had to go and not give them something back. They got off on me in a lot of ways. One of them used to hold my head down and shove his dick between my chin and neck.”
“No shit? Must be the all-around rasp,” Cam mused.
Hunt nodded. “They came on me and over me and against me. They used my mouth, but I never swallowed. I didn’t let them in me.”
“You swallowed for me, Hunter.”
Hunt’s gut clenched in response to the intimate tone. “You made me want to.” He stopped and looked into the fire. “After being with you … ”
“What?”
“You know I never attached to anyone,” Hunt said. “So all the stuff in the club, it was just people getting off on each other. But after you - us … I realized sex is something. Something created between people. Those Doms were doing something that wasn’t just about them. It was about me, too.”
“Yeah, of course,” Cam agreed. “Half those guys are in love with you.”
“Thing is”—he caught Cam’s gaze, needing him to understand—“I only want one Dom being sexual about me.”
Cam was tingling and thickening under the blanket. But he didn’t move. “There are Doms who play without being sexual.”
“Yeah, some. Ink was good. He was great, in fact. But ever since Spanko got through transitioning, he doesn’t play with anyone else.”
“There are straight Doms who don’t do sex.”
“Or men.” Hunt looked to the thirty-foot-high window wall. West-facing, it was totally crusted with snow, except for a foot at the top under the eaves. It made him feel cold. He turned back to Cam.
“Let’s change the subject.” He took a pull of his cider. “Tell me what happened to you last night. When was the last time for you, anyway?”
Cam’s lips pressed, but Hunter deserved an answer. “Seven years.” He surrendered to the inevitable and told Hunter the Tale of the Three Bottomings.
“So you didn’t enjoy what we - I - did, at all?” Hunter kept his voice even and wore his politely interested face.
“Stop it,” Cam told him, having seen Hunt’s professional demeanor in action. “I’m not a guy at a poker table or witness at a crime scene.”
“I’m aware,” Hunter told him, maintaining his expression. “It was bad for you?”
Cam shrugged. Hunter waited.
“Thing is, it was all really intense, but, some parts were …” Cam’s eyes darkened. “At the beginning? I think ... I could’ve stayed there a little while.”
Hunt didn’t ask why he hadn’t. He knew that Cam in Dom mode always served Hunter before himself.
“What happened after the part you could have stayed at?”
“It was manageable and even … when I was rubbing it to distract myself, it was kind of insanely hot but …” He shook his head. “It’s like sexual Jenga. Always teetering on the edge of structure collapse, of the thing getting loose, being consumed. The tension is … definitely not fun.”
“I see.” Hunt kept the disappointment out of his voice. “Well, we don’t have to do that again.”
Cam cocked his head. “But you want to.” It was Hunt’s turn to shrug. “You do it with women; I’ve seen you. You like it.”
“No.” Emphatic. “That’s a totally different thing. That’s a Dom thing. Not like what we have. I never had this.” He gestured vaguely between them.
Cam finished his cider and put the empty mug on the sofa table. “This what?” He asked the question gently. Hunter was on the brink of agitation.
“I wasn’t—I didn’t—” He got up and went to the fire, poking at the logs, changing nothing, sending sparks rushing up the chimney.
When he came back, he was calmer. “Okay. Did you know they made the Chicago River run backward?”
“Uh … no.” Cam was lost, but talking usually kept Hunt’s anxiety at bay.
“The river used to flow out into Lake Michigan. They switched it so now Lake Michigan flows into it.”
Hunt paused when Cam’s mouth dropped open slightly. He looked so young then, like a kid at his first glimpse of a live elephant.
Hunt smiled. “Never mind, you can look it up sometime. My point is, the Dom/sub thing is directional. Women don’t give me anything, not anything they do. I mean, trust and submission, sure. But all the make-you-feel goes from me into them. They take as much as I want to give them. Is it like that for you?”
Cam considered. “Yeah. At the club, anyway.”
“That’s how it is here, too,” Hunt said. “What did you tell me that first time upstairs in your bed? ‘Take it’.”
“Look at me,” Cam ordered. Eyes locked, each with perfect awareness of the instant Cam’s glans touched Hunter’s ring. So wet. Swollen. Soft tissues. Slick. Tight, but not unyielding.
Cam grunted as the muscle spasmed against his cockhead. Hunter’s hips tried to rise, instinctively, to meet him. But Cam held him motionless.
“Take it. You just take it.”
“You’re saying a Dom is like a river flowing into a passive body of water, the sub is like the lake.”
Hunter nodded. “Only its feelings, energy. Being a sub—it’s like after they switched it. I’m the river the lake flows into. The water is huge, endless. The more I submit, the stronger the current until I’m all rippling and shit from it, waves of it. But it’s all one way. Into me.”
He went back to the couch and sat on the edge next to Cam, his words urgent with his own understanding.
“That’s how pain works for me when I’m like this. Energy in, that I can’t control. It vibrates, like sound waves shatter a crystal glass. Breaks up the wall inside keeping the dark shit in check. Then there’s an avalanche carrying all the boulders and broken bits away.”
Hunter searched Cam’s face. “That didn’t make a bit of fucking sense did it?”
Cam put a hand on Hunter’s cheek and brought him close for a kiss. Slow, careful, reassuring.
“Dude,” he said when he pulled back. “I broke you. I had my arms around you, my body against you and my dick inside you when you broke. What you just said? That’s exactly what it was.”
“Oh.” Hunter sat back. “So you get it.”
“Not what it has to do with anal sex. And that you want it with me. Are
you wanting to be the river? Dom me sometimes, all the way?” Cam wasn’t able to imagine how he’d manage that if Hunter said yes.
“God, no.” Hunt placed his palm on Cam’s chest, feeling the strong, slow beating of his heart. “Last night we were ourselves, Dom and sub. But at the end it was like I was over you and under you at the same time. I was doing you and you owned me so fucking hard.”
His eyes closed for a moment, and took a deep breath.
“But,” he went on, his hand slid under Cam’s thick thermal shirt, needing skin. “At the beginning, the part you liked? It was fucking hot. For both of us. That’s what I want. A river that flows both ways.” His hand glided over the mounds and valleys of Cam’s torso.
“Just that? You don’t want to fuck me?”
Hunter raised his eyes, and Cam almost gasped aloud at the depths of heat and need and pain he saw in them.
“I want to serve you.”
Cam opened his arms, ignoring the hot column clamoring for attention under the blanket. “Lie with me.” He took Hunter into his arms and held him.
Cam wanted what Hunter wanted. He wanted many things with Hunt, for him and from him. But Cam could sense how close to the edge he was, how much the last two cases, one layered over the other, had to be excised first.
The storm had stalled out over the eastern slope and the Colorado plains: burying cattle and homes, obliterating roads, paralyzing road crews. In the best-case scenario it would move on within twenty-four hours. But even if it did, it would be at least two days before the roads were cleared enough for the plows to dig them out. If they were lucky.
It could easily be a week before he could get Hunter to the club. Cam sighed. Even if they did get to the club, it was no guarantee of help.
A buzzing sound reached them.
Hunter untangled himself from Cam. “I’ll go put the sheets in the dryer. You need anything?” He picked up their empty mugs.
“Yeah. When you get done, I need to work out. So do you, before you end up with a pecan ring where your abs used to be.”
“I’m storing up energy for when I have to shovel us out of here,” Hunt called from the open kitchen at the other end of the great room. “Besides, you ate way more of it than I did.”
Snowed In Page 3