Strawberries for Dessert

by Marie Sexton

  He was whimpering, panting, moaning. I let my fingertips lightly brush the base of his shaft, and then teased them up his length. His reaction was almost enough to make me come. He arched against me, his wrists strained against my grip. His breath hissed between his teeth. I pulled my fingers away from his groin, and he relaxed again, panting.

  “Oh dear God,” he breathed. “If you do that again, it will be all over.”

  “Oh?” I asked quietly. “Does that mean I should do it again or wait?”

  He made a soft noise, almost a laugh. “Yes!” he hissed, and I smiled.

  I went back to those perfect lips, sucking gently on his lower one, and then moving to truly kiss him. This time when my mouth met his, he actually opened up to me. His lips parted, and he moaned deep in his throat as my tongue touched his. I didn’t push too far though. Not enough to make him regret having yielded to me. I pulled back and kissed him with only my lips until I felt the tip of his tongue hesitantly pushing past my own lips. When I allowed it to touch mine again, he moaned and tried to pull his hands free. He made more of an effort this time, and I had to put both hands on his wrists again for a moment. The force of it made him gasp, and he arched his body against mine.

  “Please,” he whimpered. I didn’t answer. It was all I could do at that moment to hold my own arousal in check. I waited for him to relax again, to stop straining against me so that I could go back to holding him with only one hand. When he did, I used my free hand to release my own erection from my pants. I pushed against him, allowing our shafts to rub together. He whimpered again, pulled against my hand but not too hard.

  I kissed him, savoring the taste of him as his tongue followed mine, brushing my lips as I had done to him. I wrapped my hand around both of our shafts. He moaned as my fist closed around us. I started stroking us both, slow but not gentle. My grip was tight, but I kept my kiss as soft as I could.

  “Oh God,” he moaned against my lips, and I knew from the tone of his voice that he was going to come. As my fist reached our heads, rubbing them against each other, he cried out with gut-wrenching relief.

  He arched against me, and I felt him pulsing in my hand as he came, his cries loud and hoarse in my ear. It was all too much: the sounds he made and the feel of his thin body straining against me and the sensation of my fist, slick from his come, stroking my own erection—I finally let go. I buried my face in his strawberry-scented hair and let my orgasm wash over me while he trembled beneath me. I must have let go of his wrists because I was vaguely aware of him wrapping one arm around my neck and his other hand between us, soft on my own as I finished stroking. When it was over, I put my arms around him, and for some indefinable length of time—maybe only a second or maybe a year—we just lay there on the floor together, shaking.

  I kept my face in his silky hair and kissed the side of his head.

  “See?” I whispered. “Was that so bad?” He laughed out loud, and it seemed like the most beautiful sound in the world.

  “To think I spent all that time scouring the market in Paris for your present.”

  “You’ll know better next time.”

  Once we were both breathing normally again, I sat up. I found my shirt on the floor next to us and used it to wipe myself off, and then him. He watched me silently as I did it. I stood up and held my hand down to help him up off of the floor. He didn’t look at me as he found his pants and shirt and put them back on. He was so quiet, I started to worry that I had somehow offended him, but when he was dressed again, he stepped up close to me and looked up into my eyes. His lips were still red and swollen, and I couldn’t take my eyes off of them.

  “I’ve never really liked being kissed before,” he said quietly. “But nobody’s ever done it the way you do.”

  “I’m glad you’re changing your mind,” I said as I brushed my thumb over his mouth, “because you have the most beautiful lips I’ve ever seen. I think I’m falling in love with them.” He closed his eyes, and he smiled. A blush was creeping up his cheeks, but for once he didn’t try to hide it from me. “Do you want me to take you out for dinner?” I asked.

  He opened his eyes again and nodded. “Yes,” he said. “I’ll cook tomorrow.”

  “Okay.”

  “But first.” He stood on his toes and wrapped his arms around my neck. “Kiss me just one more time.”

  I was happy to oblige.

  WE HAD dinner at an Italian restaurant not far from his house. It was good, but his cooking was better. I told him that every time, and he always laughed. But I wasn’t lying. We never argued about the check anymore. He always let me pay. I knew he didn’t understand and found it vaguely amusing that it mattered to me at all. But he always bought the food when he cooked, and paying for our meals the few times we ate out was the least I could do.

  That night we went to bed like always, with him on one side and me on the other. The room was dark. He was nothing more than a shadow on the other side of a bed that seemed impossibly big. I resisted the urge to try to touch him, but I listened to his breathing. I could tell he was still awake. I was just starting to drift off when he said suddenly, “I keep thinking about college.”

  It was a strange statement, and I wished that there was enough light in the room that I could see his face. I waited for him to go on, but he didn’t until I asked, “What about it?”

  “Do you realize we were there at the same time, right down the road from each other? You and Zach at CU. Jared and I at CSU.” He stopped for a moment, and I wasn’t sure what to say. It wasn’t something I had ever really thought about before. “Tell me about Zach.”

  “What about him?”

  “What was he like?”

  “He was funny without really meaning to be. Easygoing. He never took anything seriously. He liked to cook, like you. He wasn’t nearly as good at it.” That wasn’t just flattery. It was the truth. “But he enjoyed it the way you do.”

  “What happened?”

  I had to think about it for a bit—about exactly how to explain what had gone wrong. For years after the split, I kept a rosy picture of our time together in my mind. I let myself believe that we really had been great together, and that our break-up had been the result of a tragic misunderstanding. Since running into him in Vegas, though, I had started to be a little more honest with myself about it.

  “I always felt like Zach only needed a push, you know? Like he was drifting along with his eyes closed, and if I could just get him on the right track, he would be perfect.” Of course I could see now how wrong that was—to love him, and yet expect him to be something other than what he was. “I pushed and pushed for him to do more with his life. I thought I was helping. All I was really doing was pushing him away.” This was met with only silence, and I asked, “What about you?”

  “What about me?”

  “You told me your life isn’t conducive to committed relationships.”

  “I’m pleased to hear that you were paying attention.”

  “Have you ever tried?”

  “Why would I want to do that?” he asked. “My life is perfect the way it is.” I knew he was trying to throw me off of the subject, but I wasn’t going to let him.

  “What about with Jared?”

  “No. It was never like that between us. We were friends, that’s all. If it happened that neither of us was seeing anyone else at the time, we would sleep together. But we both knew it wasn’t ever going any further than that.”

  That sounded sad to me, for no reason I could identify, and I said,

  “I’m sorry.”

  “Whatever for, love? My friendship with Jared is probably the most perfect relationship I’ve ever been in. Absolutely no complications. No misunderstandings. No disappointment. I wouldn’t change it for anything, and I’m sure he’d tell you the same.”

  “So there was never anybody else?” He didn’t answer, and I wished now even more than before that there was enough light in the room for me to read his expression. Of course, if it had b
een light in the room, he never would have allowed the conversation to go this far to begin with. The darkness gave him cover. I reached across the bed and put my hand on his arm, hoping he would allow me at least that much intimacy. I should have known better. He pulled away, rolling onto his side, so that I lost contact with him, and I tried not to be disappointed.

  “Goodnight, love,” he said.

  And that was the end of that.

  I GOT up early the next morning and went for a jog. When I came back, he was just coming out of the shower with a towel around his waist and his hair damp.

  “I’ll make breakfast in a bit,” he said.

  “Only if you want to.” I still felt the need to say that, even knowing that he never did anything that wasn’t his own idea. If he thought I expected it, he would have refused to do it out of sheer stubbornness. “Otherwise, we can eat out or I can go get donuts.”

  That last was said as a joke more than anything. He was the only person I’d ever met who didn’t like fried sugary things, and sure enough, he rolled his eyes at me. “Definitely not.”

  I stripped out of my jogging clothes, intending to take a shower, but before I could get into the bathroom he said, “Wait!”

  “What?” I turned to find him sitting on the bed, still wearing only a towel. And the tent that was forming under it told me why he had stopped me, along with the lecherous grin on his face.

  “No need to shower yet, love,” he said. “Why don’t you come over here for a bit?”

  “I just ran four miles,” I said, although I did cross over to where he was sitting on the bed. “Are you sure you don’t want me to shower first?”

  He kissed my stomach, and his soft fingers wrapped around my stiffening cock. “I’m sure,” he said, looking up at me with a heat burning in his eyes that made me weak in the knees.

  I pushed him back on the bed. I opened his towel, exposing his erection so I could stroke him while he stroked me. I kissed his neck.

  His hair was still wet from the shower. “But you’re so clean,” I said, rubbing against him. “Aren’t you worried I’ll get you all dirty?”

  He laughed and wrapped his legs around me. “I’m looking forward to it, actually.” He pushed my hand off of his erection, and I felt his shaft against mine. He wrapped his thin hand around us both and started to stroke. He put his other arm around my neck. “Kiss me again,” he said quietly.

  He didn’t need to ask me twice. I gently bit at his lower lip, and he moaned in response. I loved the sounds he made—they started out soft but became louder and more urgent as he got closer to the end, and they always turned me on. Hearing his breathless cries was one of my favorite parts of sex with him. His soft hand was still moving on us, and I was debating if I wanted to stop him so that I could get a condom and lube or if I wanted to let him finish this way when my phone rang.

  “Shit!” I said, as his hand came to a stop.

  “You’re not really going to answer that, are you?”

  “I have to,” I told him as I tried to disentangle myself from him. It wasn’t working though, because he wasn’t cooperating. His legs were still wrapped tight around my hips, and he didn’t seem inclined to let go. “It’s either a client or my boss,” I said.

  “Okay, love,” he said, grinning wickedly up at me. But he didn’t let go. I tried to stand up, and managed to drag him an inch or two. He reached over and grabbed the headboard, still grinning at me, which brought us both to a stop, and I quit pulling against him.

  My phone rang again. “You have to let me go,” I said, although I couldn’t help but smile back at the mockery I saw in his eyes.

  “Darling, you have got to learn to relax. What would be the harm in letting it go to voice mail? You can call them back in a few minutes—”

  “It will be longer than a ‘few minutes’, and you know it,” I teased, and he laughed. But his legs fell from around my hips, and I was able to stand up. I took the phone into the living room to answer, because seeing him lying there naked and waiting was too much of a distraction.

  “This is Jonathan.”

  “Jonathan, it’s Marcus.”

  My gut reaction was dread. Marcus never called me with good news. But I tried to keep my voice light. “Good morning, Marcus.”

  “Nguyen’s mother-in-law died last night.”

  “I’m sorry to hear that,” I said, although I hardly knew Nguyen at all. And even though I knew it was selfish, I couldn’t help but wonder why the death of his wife’s mother had anything to do with me.

  “He was supposed to leave for San Diego on Monday, but now he has to fly to Miami with his wife. I’m going to need you to cover.”

  Shit. I closed my eyes. I counted to five. I started to count to five again.

  “Jon?” he interrupted me. “Are you there?”

  “Yes, sir. The thing is, this is supposed to be downtime for me.

  You told me before Christmas that I wouldn’t have to travel until the end of the month, and I was really counting on having that time to—”

  “Jonathan, I’m sorry if this is inconvenient, but I really need you to take care of this. I’ll email you the account summary. You’ll need to leave Monday.”

  “There’s nobody else who can do it?”

  “I want it to be you.”

  I sighed, not even caring if he heard me. “How long?” I asked.

  “Two weeks, max. Maybe less.”

  Two weeks. I hadn’t seen Cole since before Thanksgiving. Six weeks apart, and now we would have only one more night together before I had to leave again. But what could I do? “Yes, sir. I’ll take care of it.”

  “Thanks, Jonathan. Enjoy the rest of your weekend.”

  I hung up with a heavy heart. I didn’t want to go. More than ever, I wanted to stay home. With Cole. The remainder of my weekend looked darker knowing that I would be saying goodbye to him again the next day.

  “So?” he asked mockingly when I came back into the bedroom ten minutes later. “I hope it was worth it.”

  “It definitely wasn’t. One of the other accountants had a death in the family,” I told him as I lay back down next to him. “I have to cover for him next week.”

  “What does that mean exactly, love?”

  “It means I’ll be leaving for San Diego on Monday.”

  “Honey, I just got home!”

  “I know,” I said. “I’m sorry.” He had to hear how much I meant it, too.

  He was quiet for a moment, and then suddenly he sat up. He sat across my hips, looking down at me. “Why you, love? Do all of the Senior Liaison Account Directors—” he always used that mocking tone when he mentioned my job—“get sent out of town at the drop of a hat?”

  “Yes and no. It happens to all of us, but it probably happens to me more.”

  “And why is that?”

  “Because most of the other guys are married and have families.”

  “So your free time has less value than theirs, simply because of your lifestyle?”

  “Well, I….” I wasn’t really sure what to say to that. I hadn’t ever thought about it that way before.

  “And this trip now—it’s not even your client, right, love?”

  “Right.”

  “And what would happen if you said no?”

  “Are you telling me I should have?”

  “Of course not. I’m just curious. Would you be fired?”

  “No.”

  “Is there any benefit for you if you take it? Do you get paid more?”

  “I’m on salary. I suppose it might be taken into account when it’s time for bonuses, but other than that, no.”

  He shook his head at me. “I’m sure I’ll never understand you.” He trailed his slender fingers through the hair on my chest. It tapered to a point around my navel, then down from there, and his fingers followed it. “I don’t think I should have to share you with your clients,” he said.

  I grabbed him and rolled, flipping him onto his back and landing on
top of him so I could look down into his laughing eyes. “I don’t think I should have to share you, either.” Only it wasn’t his job I had to share him with. It was his other lovers.

  He smiled up at me. “Only when I leave town, love. When I’m in Phoenix, I’m all yours.”

  “Really?” I asked in surprise.

  “Really. Now….” He wrapped his legs around my hips and pushed against me suggestively. “Where were we?”

  Date: January 18

  From: Cole

  To: Jared

  Sweets, you don’t have to tell me that ski season is already half over. I know! And I know I haven’t been to Colorado even once. I would like to tell you that I’ll be there eventually, but I’m just not sure it will happen this year. Well, what’s the point when Coda’s hottest bachelor is no longer eligible? That will teach you to enter monogamous relationships with angry cops! Anyway, I’ve barely seen Jonathan in weeks. He should be home any day now, and I’m so glad. I know you’re going to try to read way too much into that. But trust me, Sweets. It’s not what you think.

  I WAS stuck in San Diego for nearly two weeks, and I found myself thinking of Cole the entire time. It had surprised me to learn that he was no longer seeing anybody else in Phoenix. I had assumed from day one that I was not the only man he saw when he was home. Of course, I hadn’t ever known how many others there were or how often he saw them, and I had never wanted to ask, at first because it was none of my business and I didn’t really care, and later because I was afraid of what the answer would be. I hadn’t quite realized how much it bothered me until the moment when I found out I was wrong.

  I also couldn’t stop thinking about how it felt to hold him down while I kissed him. It turned me on every single time I thought about it, which wasn’t necessarily good since I was on a business trip. I debated calling him and asking him to fly to San Diego to keep me company, but in the end, I didn’t have the nerve. It wasn’t his idea, and I was sure he would say no.

  I got back into Phoenix early Friday afternoon. As soon as I was off the plane, I called Cole.