Center of Gravity

by Neve Wilder

  Alex put his other knee on the bed, straddling my calves, the tight strain of his thighs rounding his muscles, cock close enough that I could have touched it had I reached while he stroked himself. He was right. I thrived on the illusion of self-control. Pleasure and ache coursed through my body, mounting with each denial and I knew in this case, if I could hang on long enough, the reward would be worth it.

  Alex leaned forward on one carefully placed hand, conscious of my back. His words fell close enough to my lips that they might as well have been a kiss. Heat simmered from my toes all the way to the top of my head.

  “Tell me to stop and I will.” His teeth grazed my lower lip and tugged, and when I pushed forward into him, he pulled back just out of range, earning a frustrated growl from me.

  I seized the top of his thigh in one hand, cuffed the back of his neck with the other and dragged him back. “Stop right now and I’ll sacrifice what’s left of my back to kill you,” I ground out.

  His laughter spilled into my open mouth.

  At first, it was just a kiss. Just a single point of intense contact, the hot slip-slide of tongue against tongue, the scratch of his chin against mine, breaths drawn slowly, and then a little savagery of nipping teeth and scrapes that needled down to the hollow of my throat. Alex exhaled in these harsh, helpless puffs of air that drove me crazy. It was a devastating and hungry exchange, the kind that sent trilling sparks shooting through my limbs—even my half-numb back. I caught that ring through his lip between my teeth, tugged and licked at it again and again, the way I’d been wanting to for so long, until he let out a moan and his cock dripped against my thigh.

  He perched over the tops of my legs, his body tensed and his cock pressing urgently against me. I wanted more. More friction, more of his skin on mine. But I was practically in a straitjacket.

  “Alex,” I said into his mouth, and he drew away again.

  “I like when you say my name like that. Like a warning. Like you’re about to lose your shit.”

  “I might,” I panted, “If you don’t help me get these goddamn boxers off.”

  “Oh, now you want help?” He cocked a brow at me and grinned against my frown, giving me another kiss as he slid his hand behind the waistband of my boxers. He took his time, teasing the band down until only the head of my cock was exposed, forced flat against my abdomen in full, dark-throbbing blush, drizzling pre-cum into the patch of hair it nestled against.

  “Fuck,” he murmured, biting at his lip with a click of sound. “I’ve wanted to do this again for a really long time.” That made two of us, then. He swiped his thumb across the sensitive head and I hissed, teeth bared. Then he moved down, ducking low and brushing his lower lip and the ring that pierced it across my glans. Goosebumps broke out across my arms. My stomach tensed.

  “You’re a fucking tease,” I shuddered out, fisting my hand in his hair.

  He tipped his face up to give me a wicked grin. “You like it. And you deserve it for making me wait this long.”

  His breath spilled hot and damp against my stomach, then he licked my length through the fabric of my boxers and if I wasn’t afraid of screwing up my back I would have lost it then, would have tightened my grip in his hair and jackhammered into the back of his throat until I shattered. Instead, I got the same torturous treatment he’d given himself earlier, lips wrapping around my dick, velvet-soft licking that ebbed and flowed and sent tremors all the way to my toes.

  “Don’t move,” he said as he pulled my boxers down all the way, freeing my feet of them. I couldn’t if I wanted to, and I didn’t resist when he spread my thighs so he could fit himself between them.

  When he took me all the way into his mouth, I was adrift in sensation. His hands, his lips, his tongue, they seemed to descend from every direction and surround me. I was submerged into a gauzy, silken wetness lighting me up at various points through my body like a constellation of desire. He was good, so fucking good that I berated myself for my previous obstinacy, for denying myself the ecstasy of his mouth and the friction of his hand. It was all I could do to keep still, and that added to the eroticism of what he was doing to me.

  My head fell back against the pillow. I saw stars on the ceiling as my breath came in raspy, shaky measures.

  “God, what are you doing to me?” It was rhetoric because it was clear I was falling apart and that he was the source of this euphoric undoing. Alex hummed against me, and the vibrations moved through me like a shockwave.

  “I’m showing you why you’re an idiot,” he said, pressing another kiss against my stomach. A draft of cool air moved across my abdomen as he shifted, but then he wrapped around me again, knees locked along my thighs, his cock gliding against mine. He took us both in his slippery hands and stroked, canting his chin and then leaning into the reach of my fingers, allowing me to pull his mouth in to melt against mine once more.

  I could have lost myself for hours in this, this drifting, liquid sensation of our bodies rubbing and sliding against each other, the taunting variation of friction that had me close to the precipice of orgasm one second and then retreating the next.

  Alex bent over and took me in between his lips again, shedding the languor of earlier for intense, deep suction that shot steel through my spine and twisted my fingers through his hair. I muffled a groan into my shoulder as spit-slick fingers pressed between my cheeks, teasing and exploring the tight pinch of muscle. Alex pushed my knees wider. One finger then two sank inside me, pulsing against the ache that was already there, caressing it higher. I almost came off the bed when he brushed the tight cache of nerve endings that made up my prostate, back arching and shooting a warning spasm all the way to my neck that made me gasp. I could just see the headline: Man breaks own back during ass fingering.

  “Be still,” Alex ordered, releasing my cock to pin my hips back down.

  Maybe later, if I couldn’t walk for another three days, I’d regret it, but I didn’t think so. Alex closed his mouth over me again, taking me all the way into the back of his throat, beyond, his hand firm and steady, anchoring me in place within and without as jolts of pleasure seized me.

  My orgasm washed over me in intense bursts that quaked through the muscles of my thighs as I flooded the back of his throat. He coasted with me, his lips tight around my cock until my body stilled and relaxed. Then he rose to his knees, pushing forward even as I pulled him.

  “Open your mouth.”

  I did so without a moment’s hesitation, grasping his hips and lapping at the head of his cock and the salty tide of semen that followed as he finished himself off with one hand braced over the top of the headboard. He hunched over, panting, and I kissed his chest, his throat, whatever I could reach before he dropped back down carefully, brushing his lips across mine and collapsing onto the bed beside me.

  We lay there, the air humid with sex while we caught our breath, then he started laughing. It was a soft, humored laugh, both infectious and incongruent to the moment. My lips quirked as I looked over at him.

  “I think the only reason I lasted is because I was worrying about hurting you. Is anything hurting?”

  My back was a little tender, but nothing worth mentioning. “I’m good, aside from my pride at feeling so…useless.”

  “Useless or out of control?” Alex fluttered his lashes at me. “Because there was plenty that was in working order and far from useless.” The tip of his index finger traced the shape of my mouth and a little shiver ran through me that caught fire and became a full body shudder.

  “By the way,” he said, finger dropping to graze my naked hip where the fading imprint of that stupid pizza slice meandered beneath the jut of bone. “That really is a dumb tattoo. I can’t believe I didn’t see it that night in the club. If I had, I’d probably have been the one to ditch out.”

  I laughed and pushed his hand away. “I should get it removed. Honestly, I forget about it a lot.”

  “No, keep it. It humanizes you. Brings you down among all of us plebs who ma
ke dumb decisions on a regular basis.”

  “I do it more often than you think.” But that was a conversation for another day.

  He slept alongside me that night, a slightly awkward endeavor, given how much of the bed I was taking up and the fact that Winslow wandered in later, trying to assert himself into his usual position along my side. But we made it work and I fell asleep nestled in a small cluster of warm bodies.

  18

  Alex

  I didn’t have a foot fetish. I had a Rob Macomb fetish. One that was threatening to spiral out of control in the aftermath of last night. I woke him by sinking my teeth into his shoulder, then kissed across his chest until he groaned. His eyes didn’t open until I slid my hand beneath the covers and gripped his cock, then they fell shut again as he took in a sharp breath.

  “Be still,” I whispered, an echo of last night as I licked the warm skin just below the lobe of his ear. He shuddered, but obeyed as I stroked his shaft lightly, teasingly. Propping myself on my elbow, I bowed over him, brushing my lips across his until he opened to me, his tongue gliding languidly along mine. It was a lazy, slow burn of a kiss that deepened in intensity. His eyes opened and stared into mine as I broke the kiss, and we stayed like that, my mouth just barely touching his, our breath colliding, his fingers threaded through my hair and his hips rising to push him farther into my hand. I grinned against his lips and whispered, “Breakfast,” before untangling myself from him and slipping out of bed.

  “You’re fucking kidding me,” he groaned, throwing a pillow at my back as I danced out of the room. Winslow followed me into the kitchen, so I let him out while I started the coffeemaker and scavenged the fridge. I’d used the last of the eggs and bacon yesterday, so it looked like cereal was it. I pulled out some bowls and poured some cereal into them, toeing the door open when Winslow started scratching at it to be let back in and then went after his food bowl like the Tasmanian Devil.

  Sticking a coffee mug under the drip, I filled it halfway so I could get a caffeine fix while it finished perking, then I settled down at Rob’s computer again, pulling up the browser so I could check my email.

  There was his account again, still wide open.

  I pushed the coffee aside, drumming my fingers on the table, the internal debate revived. After last night, the parameters seemed slightly different somehow, the desire to snoop stronger.

  This is creeper territory, I chided myself. Biting the inside of my cheek, I decided I’d limit my snooping to three emails. It turned out my limits were unnecessary, though. Everything in his inbox seemed work related, and I didn’t touch those. I was just about to close the browser, when an email at the very bottom of the page leapt out at me. The timestamp was months old, but I guess Rob had kept it for some reason.

  The subject line read: Lunch? and was accompanied by some smiley faces. Inside was Sean, I guess, a shirtless selfie in front of a mirror, freshly showered with droplets of water dusting his shoulders and pecs, a towel wrapped low around his hips. He was attractive enough to send a pang of jealousy shooting through me as I imagined the two of them. He wasn’t pretty so much as handsome in a classic, Bogart-era way. Strong jaw, straight nose, a mouth that managed to be masculine and sensual at once.

  I closed out the email. My own damn fault for snooping. After loading myself with the cereal bowls, spoons, a carton of milk, and coffee, I returned to the bedroom. Rob was sitting up in bed, twisting his shoulders side to side.

  “That’s talent right there,” he said as I carefully unloaded the items.

  “That’s hours of practice trying to avoid one last trip up three or four or five flights of stairs.” I smiled. “How’s the back?”

  He picked up the coffee mug, took a small sip. “Not bad. Not bad at all. The ankle is still pretty bum, but I think my back has forgiven you.”

  I made a face. “Don’t put that on me. If anything, you should be thanking me.”

  “Oh?” He poured some milk into the bowl of Cheerios, glancing at me sidelong.

  “That orgasm last night probably released about a year’s worth of tension collecting in your back.”

  “Mm,” he murmured, but I caught his mouth curving up.

  “I thought after we finished eating, we could see about a shower.”

  “‘We’.” He deadpanned, but that hint of a smile widened until it was a full crescent, a little boyish, and so damn sexy I almost crawled in his lap right then.

  Affecting a nonchalant shrug, I replied, “I could chaperone from a safe distance.”

  “I suppose it’s possible I might need a little help.”

  We showered together, which entailed more mind-blowing orgasms, and afterward sat on the edge of the bed, pulling our clothes on. He grumbled about the air cast, finally taking it off, sliding his boxers over his hips, then snapping it back in place.

  “I have two jobs this afternoon,” I said, poking my head through my T-shirt.

  “No problem. I’ll probably head back into the city. Get settled with Winslow.”

  I chewed my lip, and frowned at my toes. I’d been hoping he’d stay another night. Would it really change anything, though? What was one more night in something that had a preset expiration date besides another opportunity for me to become more attached to him. “You sure you’re good to drive?”

  “I think so. Doctor said not to stay down too long, remember?”

  I nodded. “I’m not expecting anything, you know.”

  Rob ran his fingers through his hair, looking me over. “Good.”

  Good? There had to be a better answer than that, Jesus. We’d reverted back to old Rob, and I immediately missed the one who’d been with me in the shower seconds ago, the one whose hands had moved over my body like he’d discovered an eighth wonder.

  “So you don’t have to get all weird like you did last time.”

  “I know, and I won’t,” he said, brushing his lips over mine.

  “Keeping it simple,” I muttered, and he nodded.

  Right. Okay, then. Time to get a grip, Alex.

  “Just saying phones are handy, you know? If you find yourself this way again, and want to ‘keep it simple’ as hard as you did last night, you just let me know. I’m game.”

  He laughed. “You’re shameless.”

  I was. And desperate for more of him, too, but I’d also known the score going in. He hadn’t tried to make me believe otherwise, so if the best I could get out of him were a few more earth-shattering orgasms and the worst was I got nothing at all, so be it.

  “I’m young and horny and I get off like a motherfucker with you.”

  “Mm. I’ll keep that in mind.” He kissed me once more and then reached for his shirt. “The house looks fantastic, by the way. Thanks for your help. Really, I appreciate it. All of it.”

  This wasn’t the sendoff I wanted, but it wasn’t entirely unexpected, either.

  “You got laid,” Tom said as I climbed into the truck that afternoon. “That’s the only time your shit-eating grin amps up to intolerable. Sad dude?”

  “Quit fucking calling him that.” I punched him in the shoulder and pulled the door shut.

  “Is he a top or a bottom?”

  “Technically, there was no penetration. And there you go with your unusual interest in mechanics, again,” I said, then shrugged. “I think he’d do both, but it doesn’t matter to me, anyway.” Or in general, at that point. I was unlikely to ever know.

  “Does that mean you’re a switch?”

  My eyes narrowed at Tom again. “Are you writing a news article or something?”

  “Excuse the fuck out of me, dude. I’m just expressing an interest in your life.”

  “My sex life,” I corrected. “And I already told you, any time you get curious, you just let me know. I’ll be happy to give you your first taste of cock.”

  He grunted derisively and I laughed. “For the record though, I guess I’d qualify myself as versatile, yeah. I get off on getting off, however it happens.”
/>   “What do you think I’d be?”

  “You? You’re absolutely a bottom.”

  It was his turn to give me a narrow-eyed look. “Based on what?”

  He swatted my finger away as I leaned and drew it along his jawline, “Just gut instinct.”

  He scowled again and I laughed harder. “It’s not like there’s a right or wrong preference, it’s just a…preference. If you think otherwise, that’s just cultural indoctrination on masculinity talking, in my opinion.”

  “All right, professor, class is over.” Tom pulled into a gravel driveway in front of a house that looked as if it had been built by blind elves. We both squinted at the numbers painted on the door.

  “Is this the right place?” he asked.

  I double checked the clipboard. “Looks like it.”

  “Shit.”

  We got out of the truck and approached the front door. Tom knocked, stepped back, waited. Finally the door opened in a crack just big enough for a shaft of rancid air to spill out and a suspicious eye to peer out at us. A shiny Cadillac pulled in behind our truck. Great, hoarder and concerned family member, I guessed. These were my least favorite jobs. And somehow, that made me think of Rob, pulling up to his parents’ house that first day, how he’d come racing down the stairs after Winslow.

  God. I needed to stop. I really, really needed to stop.

  19

  Rob

  Walking back into my apartment was like returning from a tropical vacation and taking a cold, lonely shower in the midst of a snowstorm. I opened all of the windows, in spite of the heat, to let the place air out. After sticking so close to my heels that I almost unintentionally kicked him a few times, Winslow relaxed and spent a solid half hour trotting from room to room, sniffing baseboards, corners and closets until he’d mapped his new domain. Finally, he hopped up into one corner of the couch, pawed at a pillow until it fell off, then curled up and fell asleep. I guess that meant he’d completed his survey of his new home and found everything satisfactory.