by Samms, Jaime
“Sounds like a proper fucking date,” I muttered, climbing to my feet.
He laughed, a clear, rich sound, and I couldn’t help but smile back. So what if I was selling a little bit of what I had for a little bit of what he had? He was the first in months to make it feel like I wasn’t a cheap whore, even if we both knew what the score really was.
He stood, too, and cupped a hand around the back of my head, pulling me in for another kiss. It was rather deliberate, and I suspected I was meant to stop him if I wanted to. I had a perverse need to see his lips all puffy and red, though, and besides, there was something about the gentle compulsion of him holding me which made it better somehow. That, and his tongue scraping past my lips and teeth and invading my mouth like he owned it.
“Ngh.” My eyes drifted closed and I swayed into him a bit. Without my thinking about it, my fingers closed in tight fists on the T-shirt hanging over his loose jeans.
“Mmm.” He pulled away, still holding my head in his hands. “Doughnuts.” His grin brightened up the shadowed gazebo. “Come inside and eat. I have plans for delicious you.”
“Sure.”
He turned and sauntered back the way we’d come, and I watched the sway of his hips. A chill shivered through me and I stopped, suddenly reminded of all the things that could go wrong. As though sensing my hesitation, he stopped and turned.
“Food, first,” he reminded me. “I promise. Nothing else unless you want.”
How much could I really rely on the promise of a stranger? But how much could I afford not to eat again today? I nodded and followed him inside.
Chapter Three
The steak was exactly like his kisses—it melted in my mouth and left me wanting more. Probably wisely, he hadn’t cooked me a very big meal once I’d confessed it had been a few days since I’d had anything more to eat than the doughnut and a few stolen peas and carrots from a roadside garden. Three ounces of beef and a small baked potato proved about as much as I could handle. After that, Matt led me upstairs to the tiny apartment he had above the diner.
It was surprisingly nice. I decided someone must’ve got a discount, because the same granite countertops graced his kitchen as I’d seen in the diner downstairs. That was where the resemblance ended, though. The walls here were a warm, honey colour, and the floors dark wood, maybe sanded, stained barn boards. Ikea featured heavily in the decorating scheme, but the room wore it well, and he fit in the space perfectly.
“Nice.”
“Thanks.” He looked around, maybe seeing the jeans in a crumple on the floor beside the couch, and the dishes piled by the sink, but it was, by far, the cleanest man’s apartment I’d ever seen. His gaze came back to me and his lips curved pleasantly. “I’ve got a few things to prep downstairs. You can shower.” He pointed to the television hanging on the wall above the folded out couch-bed. “Take a load off. I’ll be back in a half hour or so.”
“I could rob you blind.”
“If you can find anything worth taking, you’re welcome to it. I’m banking on the appeal of a hot shower here, though.”
“And a hot guy.”
He grinned. “That too.” At the door, he stopped again and looked back. The grin was gone from his face. “If you’re still here when I get back, I’ll be flattered that I rate hot enough to bother with. If you’re not, good luck to you.” The door clicked closed quietly behind him, and after a minute or two, I managed to release a bit of the tension in my shoulders.
“This is too bloody good to be true, Taylor.”
Still. A hot shower. When was the last time I’d cleaned in an honest-to-God shower, with soap and shampoo? I’d been cleaning myself in gas station sinks or country creeks for a month.
The water went a long way towards relieving the stress and tight muscles of my neck and shoulders. The soap, thankfully, was not Irish Spring, but some aloe liquid with tea tree oil. I took extra time on my hair. It was long, now, well past my collar, and the thick waves desperately needed the attention. I lathered, rinsed, and repeated twice before it felt like I’d got through the road dust to my scalp. Proof Matt was as much a poufter as me was in the abundance of conditioner. The bottle was twice the size of the shampoo bottle, and half as full. No doubt he used it for more than just his luscious tresses.
I dulled two razor blades shaving the thick growth of hair from my face. Something else to pay for, but it would be worth it. I ran my hand over my smooth cheeks and gazed into the mirror.
“Better.”
I wasn’t what I would call hot, by any means. Cute, maybe. Big brown eyes and dimples, when they weren’t covered by beard, gave me a wholesome look that was a joke after the past six months. I wondered how Matt saw me. He didn’t seem the type to look for young and innocent. Maybe shaving off the beard would give him second thoughts. I wondered if I minded that idea.
Hardly. He kisses like a fiend, and you want him. You know it.
I grinned at my reflection. Maybe. He wasn’t what I’d normally go for, either. Too clean-cut even with the longish hair. A bit too young. Though he was my age, from what I could tell, he wasn’t really my type. I always had gone for older, beefier, hairier men, but he’d do in a pinch, especially if he was going to be nice about it, and I might even get breakfast out of the deal.
Satisfied, I wandered to the living room and rummaged through my rucksack I’d retrieved from the Jeep before coming up. I found a comfortable pair of sweats and a T-shirt and settled on the pulled out bed to wait. I only remember flipping through a few channels before things got hazy.
Around eleven, I woke to an empty room, an empty stomach, and a note on the pillow next to me.
You’re adorable when you sleep. Left something for you in the fridge. Don’t make yourself sick. See you later, Matt.
In the fridge, I found containers with soup and sandwiches, and I smiled I took them out to find a beer with a red bow on it behind, and took that, too. There was more beer and other food in the fridge, but I took his advice and only ate what he’d left me. I’d made the mistake before of eating too much, too soon or too fast, and I didn’t want to make it again. Funny the things you learn being a homeless bum.
Once I’d polished off the food and beer and washed up, I was too drowsy to keep my eyes open for long. When I woke next, it was to the sounds of the bed springs creaking and a warm body sliding down under the covers next to me. After a bit of shuffling, the movement stilled and I felt a back pressed hard against mine.
“Taylor?”
Even while I was debating saying anything, Matt sighed softly, rolled over and wrapped an arm over my ribs.
“Hope you don’t mind,” he said quietly. “A guy doesn’t get much opportunity for the finer moments in a town this small.”
I felt the press of lips against the back of my neck.
“Go back to sleep. I’m beat.” His hand pressed to my chest. “Maybe in the morning…”
I wasn’t averse to lying there with his arm around me. It wasn’t something I’d ever really had the opportunity to enjoy either.
Chapter Four
“Mmmmm.”
The third time I woke, it was to the warm, wet sensation of a tongue lapping at the side of my neck.
“Wakey wakey.”
“Time to pay the piper?” I rolled over, not bothering to hide my morning wood.
“You smell all clean and shiny and sleep tousled.” He smiled at me, and I watched his eyes widen. “My, my, but you do clean up nice.”
I rubbed at my still mostly smooth cheek. “You like?”
“What’s not to like?”
“Baby face?”
His head tilted as he studied me. “No.” He leaned and planted a kiss on each eyelid. “Too much in there for that.”
“Ah. Jaded.”
“Not that either.” After a few pecks on my lips and down my throat, he came back to study me again. “What are my options in between the two?”
“Are there any?”
Matt nodded
and nuzzled along my neck. “Salvageable.”
“Even after this?”
Once again, he stopped to look at me. “I’m not going to force myself on you.”
“Not forcing,” I assured him, finally lifting a hand to touch him, running my fingers lightly over his high cheekbone. “I’m here because I want to be. Thanks for the snack, and for letting me sleep.”
“You’re welcome.” He paused, watching me carefully. “This isn’t because you think you’re obligated?”
“You’ve given me more than ample opportunity to say no, or leave. I’m not going to.”
He accepted that gracefully and the talking trailed off. I wasn’t wrong about the kisses I remembered. He had a way about him—firm hands guiding my body and a gently commanding voice telling me what he wanted. It was impossible not to melt into him and give him what he asked for.
He had big hands with long fingers that seemed to be everywhere at once, teasing over my skin, pinching a nipple or squeezing my balls. Any time I thought to come up for air, one hand circled the back of my head, fingers sliding into my hair, and his mouth smothered mine, capturing every moan and gasp.
It felt like forever as he tortured me, hands gliding over my body, his weight pinioning me at the hips. His hard-on rubbed forcefully against mine occasionally, but not enough to give satisfaction. Nothing was quite enough, and he knew it. I could tell by the gleam in his eye he was thoroughly enjoying himself and all the tiny, whimpering sounds he was milking from me.
“You’re not used to this, are you?” He was lying on top of me, his fingers playing through my hair, his hips rocking lazily against me. Our cocks, slippery with his early juices, rubbed randomly with his movement, and I wiggled to get more of the sensation.
“Used to what?” I panted back at him, jerking my hips up, trying to hint he should be doing more humping and less talking.
“You’re used to being the one calling the shots. I get the feeling guys who want you, guys you use, aren’t generally the types who know how these things go.”
“Guys I use?” I latched onto the one part of that little speech that I felt I could defend. I had no interest in admitting I was lost in his bed, even if it was only for one morning.
“Let’s not insult each other. A meal or two, a shower, a clean bed to sleep in. A warm body next to me for a night. It’s a mutual exchange.”
I nodded.
Call it what it is, boy-o. Don’t start trying to kid yourself at this late date.
“Much easier to stay in control, I bet,” he said, “when the guy you’re sucking off is trying to pretend he doesn’t like other guys.”
I growled and shoved at him, trying to dislodge him, roll us over and get on top.
He braced his legs and nabbed my wrists, pinning me under him.
I gasped, and heat rose into my cheeks as a tiny, mewling whimper escaped.
“Fuck. That sound.” He squirmed around, still pinning my hands, until his cock ran against mine, and his hips ground me into his mattress.
I couldn’t help it. The sound came out again and I lifted my hips. My eyes fluttered closed again and I threw my head back. I couldn’t look at him, or he’d know he was right.
“You ever bottom?” His lips, close to my ear, sent waves of warm pleasure snaking down my neck, down my spine and I writhed under him.
“Not as a general rule.” I wiggled my legs apart until he plopped down to the mattress and settled between my thighs.
Somehow, sucking cock for a meal didn’t seem quite so much like whoring as spreading my legs. He was playing me. I knew he was playing me. But he was also making sure I enjoyed the game. What was the harm in a little mutual exchange, as he called it?
Keep telling yourself that…
“Is that a yes?”
“You got a glove?” This time, I mustered my control and looked him in the eye. “I don’t know where you’ve been.”
He graciously did not turn that back on me.
“Don’t move, Taylor.” A long, aggressive kiss that left me panting to within an inch of my life, later, he crawled off and padded across the little room to the table. A paper bag sat on it, and I knew it hadn’t been there the night before. He brought it back and tossed it on the blankets beside me, then sat on the edge of the bed and watched me a minute.
I shivered under his scrutiny, lying there naked and more or less spread-eagled.
“Second thoughts?”
“Nope.” He might be a trick, but he was the most considerate one I’d ever had. I was relatively certain giving him what he was asking would be at least as good for me as it would be for him. To show him I was up for it, I drew his attention to my aching, hard cock, running my fingers along it and sighing a little at my own touch.
Eyes hooded, Matt watched my fingers as I played, and his chest began to rise and fall a little faster. “Roll the fuck over,” he demanded in a quiet, roughened voice.
I grinned and did as I was told, even as those firm, strong hands of his lifted and rolled me onto my side. I flopped onto my belly and turned to look at him, my cheek pressed against his pillow.
“Ass in the air, Anderson.”
I did, wiggling under the impatient little taps he bestowed on my thigh.
“Eager much?” I asked.
He bent and twisted to lay a short kiss on my lips. “Fuck yeah.” He was ripping the bag open and a tube of slick sprang out and landed on the bed.
I jiggled my ass again.
“Now who’s impatient?”
I pushed myself up off the pillow and reached for another of his spine-melting kisses as he spread lube over his fingers. He obliged, and I sucked his tongue into my mouth, finally feeling like I had some sort of control over what was going on. Then he shoved a finger into me, distracted me with a fast and thorough tongue probe as he pushed a second and a third in.
The burn wrenched a gasp from me and I dropped my forehead back to the pillow. Like that, he had me firmly back in his grasp and I groaned around the pain as his free hand smoothed up and down my spine.
“You gotta breathe.”
“Bastard.”
“Trust me.”
“Don’t fucking know you!” This wasn’t something I did often, and now I remembered why.
He moved his fingers and for a second, as they withdrew, the pain subsided. The sob I’d been trying to hold back almost snuck out. Some sound did, and I felt his lips at the small of my back as he pushed his fingers back in. The stretch made me whimper. His fingers moved inside, and a jolt went through me, white hot, tingling all over, lighting up every nerve ending. My back swayed, lifting my ass higher. I didn’t recognise the sound that came out of my mouth, but the grin on his face was pure triumph.
“Almost, Taylor.”
“Fucking hurts!” I gasped, ashamed to admit it, but not sure I could take another bout.
He ran his hand over my ass and thighs as he worked his fingers in and out. “Relax.”
I grunted.
Right. Relax. I tried. His hand rubbing me, fingers lightly tickling over my balls and running along my soft dick helped some, and after a few minutes, he curled his fingers again. That bolt of electric pleasure curled my toes and a moan drifted up my throat and came out as a sigh. He did that a few more times, until I was hard again, and then removed his hands from my body.
“That’s a lovely sight.”
Some part of my brain thought this should be highly embarrassing, ass up in the air, face red from the strain, and heart thumping from the violent swing of emotions. Most of me just wanted him to finish what he’d started, to prove I could do it, to show him I was game. To show him I appreciated his patience and his help.
“Okay?” he asked, sliding his hand, soft and tender, over my ass.
I nodded.
He climbed up behind me. There was a pause as he sheathed himself in protective latex, then the pressure of his cock made me tense. He kept up the movement of his soothing hand. Though bigger and more de
manding than his fingers, his cock only burned for a moment, then the slide and friction of it, the image of him pumping my ass, was enough to make me answer his thrusts with a few of my own.
This wasn’t anything like the clumsy coupling I remembered from high school, or the reamings I’d received from some of my father’s hands, back when I’d thought I was some sort of tough tease, and refused to show how much I hated it. It had always been my idea, after all. They were just taking what was there for the taking. All it had proved was I could keep my mouth shut under pressure, and that bottoming was not for me. Until this very moment, I’d never have chosen the position. Matt had experience and a conscience none of my other partners had displayed, though.
“How’s that?” he asked, voice tight with strain.
“Feels…”
He slid slowly in again and I moaned, unwilling to describe the way the feeling of fullness and completion when he was all the way in made my head reel, unable to describe the rushing glitter of light and sensation that coursed through me every time he rode over my prostate.
His hands roved over my back and ass and he leant down to lay his body along mine. “More?” I could feel him twitching, the spasmodic tightening of his fingers and the way his hips moved more and more jerkily as he tried to control himself.
I nodded.
His hands stilled on my hips and his cock slid out. I braced myself for the rough pounding, but as he picked up speed and his hands held me steady, his pistoning hips moved firm and fast, but not with the teeth-jarring agony I expected. After a minute or two, the friction and the angle had me quivering in anticipation with every thrust, and my cock aching for release.
“God. Fuck, Matt.”
He only groaned in response, and I bowed my head against my forearms lying across the pillow. I reached back to take my own cock in my hand and pull my orgasm free, but he let go of me long enough to slap it away.
“Wha—”
“Wait.” The word ground out through his panting, rough, and I dropped my hand to the mattress, limp under the command.