“Two,” he says.
I’m suddenly aware that I’d lost in myself in putting on a show for him. This time around, I look over at him as I stroke myself, trying to catch myself in his eyes. What does he think of me? I see nothing but lust there. That makes me crazy. My excitement is like a fountain overflowing, my heart rate soaring. I cut my eyes down to his crotch. He’s fully tented and I think I see it jerk.
He wants this, too. We are both powerless to resist.
At the next light, he pulls me close and claims my mouth, his tongue lashing in against mine. I moan against his lips and he swallows that moan. He’s so hot and I can feel the heat of his lust steaming off him. His hand traces down my back as he draws me even closer. My brain threatens to short-circuit at the idea that this is Davis. This is Davis possessing me. My blood rushes. Soon, his hands are on my crotch and he’s rubbing me off slowly but deliberately through the tight cotton of my boxer briefs. It’s my fantasy come true. I feel myself speeding along to a fantastic, heady finish as I cling to him.
“Take it out,” he says. His mouth, that moustache and beard are inches away from my mouth, his breath panting millimeters from my lips. Then, he’s pulling away from the stop. I hesitate but for a second, my eyes trained on him. I slowly peel my underwear across and under my dick, shivering from the momentary pressure the elastic band puts on my cock head.
My cock stands straight up like an iron spike. Even the air moving past the head feels like a caress. It makes me squirm. I’m glistening wet with precum, flushed pink even in the dark. Every inch of me is sensitive. I want so badly for him to touch me again. To let me know that I’m fucking his.
He does. He grips me tightly in his large hand. He strokes me slowly, up and down, from tip to root and I feel heat explode along my spine as I drive myself back into the seat, my mind gone blank with pleasure.
It’s him.
Davis is massaging my cock slowly, speeding me toward my end.
He’s in control.
I lose myself under his touch. It feels so natural to do so.
I’m close and I tell him. “Davis, I’m about to come.”
“Come on, then,” he urges me in a deep voice, demanding, desirous.
At his command, under his touch, I have no choice but to obey. My release flows out of me, from the very base of my being, some point so deep within me that it cannot be pinpointed. It soars, wet and gushing. I am breathless from exertion. Every muscle tenses and releases as pleasure pops from nerve to nerve and release rattles in my very bones. My breath catches, and I let out a shuddering cry. My chest pounds. Stars explode behind my eyes. My skin sizzles with the intensity of it all.
“Da-Da-Da….” My breathless attempts to speak don’t succeed. I can’t even decide if I’m saying Davis or Daddy, anyway.
When I’m through, I’m still breathing hard. He’s still gripping me, tight. Still moving his hand slowly along my lasting hardness.
I look down and see that I’ve drenched his big hand completely with my fluids. I reach for some napkins in the cup holder between us and I wipe him down. I clean myself, too. Before I can finish cleaning myself, he dabs his big thumb into a huge puddle right next to my navel. He brings that hand up to his face and takes the thumb into his mouth, tasting me. Then, he brings that thumb over to me and places it in my mouth. He’s nearly sucked it clean, the flavor faint, but I enjoy it. Tasting me on his large finger. My cock is still hard. It starts twitching out Morse code.
All I can think is how turned on he must be. I am, too. I just came, and I already want more. I want him like crazy. I need him inside of me. I don’t know where that came from but it’s true. It’s a new feeling, foreign but not the least bit unappealing.
Now more than ever. I can see that he wants me, too. His eyes are mad with lust.
Though I’m still hard, I ignore myself and reach over to grip him through his pants. I look up into his hazy eyes. “I really want to,” I tell him. It comes out a little needy, but I don’t fucking care. I’m don’t want to be just friends. It would never work anyway. I want him too bad. I’ve been waiting three years to suck this cock again.
“Get to work,” he tells me.
I’m a rocket and he’s ignited me.
I unzip his dark jeans and as soon as the flap releases, his dick springs free. He’s going commando. Not a stitch of underwear to be found.
I look up at him in shock.
“I don’t wear ‘em.” he says, answering the question I didn’t ask.
My mind flashes back to all those afternoons playing ball. Has he ever worn underwear? Even so, there’s no time to think. I’ve never been more grateful for someone forgoing underwear than I am in that moment. One less barrier to his thick meaty cock.
Something about him going commando turns me on so much and I growl as I squeeze his dick. My own cock throbs. A pearl of precum oozes out of him and I lick my hungry tongue out to lap it. It’s salty and masculine and just slightly musky. I love it. Because it’s his.
At first, I try to hold back. I’ve dreamt about this moment so long. I’m aware of how wanton, out of control, I might seem.
“Jerk me, babe,” he growls.
“Let me suck you.”
“You will,” he says, “Later. Right now, I’m about to explode. Jerk me.”
I’m not pleased that I have to delay sucking him. I’ve been yearning to do it. Even when I pushed him out of my mind, it had stayed with me. This urge, this need. I reach my hand down to grip his balls. They’re tight with intention. I start jerking him. I jerk myself, too. I’m already on that tightrope between tension and release again.
A minute later, he eases the car off the road and into a parking spot. He looks shaky as he groans and clenches his fists onto the wheel. Before he can even turn the ignition off, he growls, “I’m about to cum, baby!” I don’t know what urges me, but I get my head down there in time and I clamp it onto the head of him, sucking him, urging him to let go. His release gushes into my mouth as it snaps him back into his seat. I relish his deep growls, his body convulsing as I run my tongue over his sensitive head, swallowing every fucking drop.
His chest is heaving as I sit up to face him.
A small sexy smile creeps along his cheek. “Damn, Chris. Did you—” But he doesn’t have to ask. I can still taste him on my tongue. I did it because I needed to have him inside of me. I want to be one with him. I want him to be a part of me.
He pulls me in for a deep kiss. His tongue diving straight in between my lips, like he’s hunting for evidence of himself. My hands grip his powerful shoulders as our tongues dance, our lips clinging together. We kiss so long that we breathe in unison, locked together. My heart pounds and pounds. Then, he pulls back, easing with me into another gear where the kisses become tender, yearning. Pure passion. Affectionate.
When we let go, the air is charged between us. I can’t take my eyes off him. He’s the most gorgeous thing I’ve ever seen.
When I do look out the foggy window, I see that we’re in front of my house.
“Stupid GPS,” he mutters. “We’ll look at sculpture tomorrow.”
“Come in,” I say. I plan to spend the night with his body next to mine. His arms wrapped around me. We can fuck and fuck some more.
Fuck best friends. I know he feels this, too.
However, the moment stretches after my invitation and that’s all the answer I need.
“Chris….” he says, when it becomes evident that he has to say something, or he might be considered rude.
“I’m already hard again,” I tell him. He lets me pull his hands to my thighs. He grips my cock, rubbing it longingly. I press a kiss to his lips. I want this. I want more of him. I can’t get enough of him.
“You really are into the older guy thing,” he says.
“You’re not that old. You’re just old enough for me.” I want to tell him there is something about him that makes me want him and no one else.
“I’m old enough
to be your—well, you know.”
“I like that you have experience. Well, life experience. I don’t care about anything else, though. Us, like this. I like it.”
“I have no experience with this…we’ve been exploring this together. You’re the only person I’ve dared to do this with.”
It makes me feel good that he hasn’t been with anyone else. “I know. I feel safe doing it with you,” I say. “And I want to do it again. I want more.”
More silence. I feel the bloom rushing away from the night, like fog rolling back. I know he thinks it’s too risky no matter how much we both want it. It’s worse because I know in my logical mind that he’s right. As good as this feels, we never had a chance. There’s Jordan to think about. My parents. My future. His future, too.
Doesn’t stop me from wanting him, though. Now that I’ve tasted him, I just want him all that much more.
A slow sexy smile tugs at the corner of his mouth.
“What?” I say.
He shakes his head. “I’ve already got plans for you tonight, Chris.” For a second, my heart leaps.
He says, “You’re going to be doing all kinds of things while I fly solo.” He makes a jerking motion in front of his crotch. “I hope you’re flexible.”
That turns me on, the idea of him fantasizing about me. I wonder if he’s done it before.
“Oh, yeah? I got plans for you, too, old man,” I say as a tremor of lust courses through me. We can’t be in love but who says we can’t be in lust?
It will have to be my consolation prize. He’s not coming in but he’s going to be thinking about me.
Maybe I should take what I can get.
20
Chapter 20
When I get to the club I’m feeling great. The sun’s out and the day is hot, almost too hot but it doesn’t matter. My mood is like Teflon today. I get changed and jog out to the court do some warm ups before the boys arrive.
“I don’t know what you did,” Tyson says coming out to slap hands with me, “But, everything is moving so fast now.” He goes on to detail some of his plans now that the Basketball Boys Club is becoming the DeMaris Club for Basketball. It seems like basketball is just the beginning.
There’s going to be all kind of sports programming for kids to help keep them physically fit while burnishing their developing personalities and leadership skills. “Let’s talk about it later,” he says. “I’ve got something important to run by you.”
“Sure,” I say as he wanders off. I think back to the party at Priscilla’s and it seems like an easy trade-off for the success of our little club. I wonder if Jordan had any part in it.
It’s Friday, so my boys run hard. They play well all during the session. They usually do on Fridays because they don’t spend time together on the weekends and spending so much time at the boy’s club means they’ve become real friends. The club follows a school schedule and they won’t see each other until Monday. They make the best of it.
I shower and get changed to leave the club. I have a sliver of time between when I need to report to O’Reillys and now. I contemplate getting something to eat and taking care of some business. Like finding a new roommate since my home expenses have just unexpectedly doubled.
I haven’t heard a word from Rebecca. It’s annoying that she’s not being more grown up about things.
As I leave the building, a deep voice calls my name.
I turn around and see him. I run a hand down the strap of my duffle as my face warms, nervousness taking root in my belly. “Hey Davis.” I knew that he was going to have as much trouble staying away from me as I did from him. Is he here to pick up where we left off?
“You ready to eat?” he asks.
“Eat?”
“You got time for a friend to buy you dinner, right?”
I smile. “Sure.”
Once I walk up to the car, I see that Jordan is in the front seat. My bubble bursts. Well, sort of. It feels almost like an ambush again. Which is kind of strange. I guess, with everything that’s happened, I don’t know who has more of a claim on Davis. I mean, why wouldn’t Jordan be with his dad?
As I open the door to the rental, I tell myself to go with it. After all this is the first time we’ve spent together, all three of us, since the day three years ago. Once I get in the back and take my duffle off, Jordan turns round to me and smiles. “Hey you.”
The way the words come out, I can’t help but smile back.
Maybe this won’t be weird.
We ride with the windows rolled down, the air whipping in. I watch the way it runs through Davis’ hair and I must resist the urge to reach up and run my fingers through it. I know what that hair feels like. After lusting after it for so long, I’ve felt it. And even though I’m definitely stationed in the friend bin, I feel somehow like even that is an improvement over the other category I was in: never-gonna-happen.
Davis has the radio on the hits station so the music of Steely Dan, The Beatles and Pink Floyd wash over us. And the day feels at once quintessentially Chicago but also like the days when Davis used to pile us in the car as kids and take us fishing, or to the mall or to anywhere, really. I’ve just always liked riding it the car with Davis. Seeing his shirt cuff rolled up just a little bit to reveal his wrist or even when he was just in a t-shirt. Sometimes he smoked, but he quit that habit years ago, before Jordan and I graduated from high school.
He pulls into a parking lot and I look at my surroundings. I don’t know quite where I am though my guess is Little Italy from all the Italian signs nearby.
We get out of the car and amble up to a restaurant that looks like a little shack, one that has had repeated quick revisions over time. It looks like it’s made of wood and it’s been whitewashed. There’s a short line once we get inside and it smells heavenly.
Davis turns to the both of us. “This place is reputed to have the best beef sandwich in town. I thought we could judge.”
Jordan rolls his eyes. “I don’t know that I feel like eating beef today. Is it locally sourced?”
I roll my eyes.
Davis smiles. “I don’t know. We can always ask.”
Once we get to the window, we do. It’s staffed by a short guy with wiry gray and black hair that sticks out from underneath his triangle shaped hat. “I don’t know what you mean locally sourced,” he says in his thick accent. “But my brother killed the cow.”
“Sounds like locally sourced to me,” Davis says.
We order the sandwiches. The man advises me that an Italian Beef dipped with sweet and hot peppers and cheese is the way to go. I wave and tell him to do what he must. It all sounds good to me. Once we get the sandwiches to the table and unwrap the butcher’s paper they come in, which has gone moist with au jus, I realize I made the best choice. Jordan is pleased enough with his, though not impressed. Davis loves his and promptly wolfs it down.
I savor the flavor of the soft Italian bread, the savory au jus that clings to the bun (the dipped part) and the sweet peppers (sautéed bell pepper) and the hot peppers (giardiniera, a condiment famous only in Italy and Chicago). Fuck. It’s good.
After washing the sandwiches down with RC Colas, we’re back in the car and on the road. I glance at my watch. We still have a little time before I need to work. I go to make a suggestion to Davis, but he takes the words right off my tongue.
“Chris,” he says, glancing at me in the mirror, “You’ve never seen any of my work, have you?”
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