by Kelly Fox
His tongue laps at me, the sensitive skin giving up sensation that I’d forgotten existed. I am often so anxious to serve, that in bed sometimes I did not make sure that I was serviced, and Jean-Pierre has made it his mission to right all of those wrongs.
The sounds pouring from my mouth, the curses, the grunts, the groans, only incentivize him to go in deeper, and my balls begin to tighten. Jean-Pierre’s grip on my shaft tightens in turn, preventing me from coming sooner than he’d like. I turn back to register a protest, and he catches my gaze, a warning.
Oh yeah. I am so not the one in control here, and it is glorious.
Just as I can’t hold out for one more second, he withdraws, and my groan is mighty. “Jake, patience.”
He smiles at my ineffective grumbling and reaches for the lube, kissing my nose as he does. “Are you still comfortable going bare?”
That question in a deep Montreal accent is insanely hot. Like shove a vibrating butt plug up my ass and set it to fifty hot.
“Fuck yes.” I’m not trying to be eloquent here because I am ready. I am more than ready; I am overdue, and I am impatient. He catches my raised eyebrow, but I nod anyway in deference to his need to be absolutely sure. He lines up with my entrance, that beautiful head knocking against the sensitive skin.
Taking a moment to compose himself, Jean-Pierre pushes gently, feeling out the resistance. I bear down and push back, allowing his gorgeous fat head to ease-pop through the first tight ring of muscle. Fuck, that burns so good. Jean-Pierre sees my expression and moves to pull back, but I grab him and pull him toward me, bringing him in that much deeper. I never want to be just comfortable with his size. I hope it always burns at the beginning.
Gently, I place my hands on his arms, stroking them. The burning stretch of his massive cock touches that dark part inside of me, and I melt into it. Wanting the pain, loving the feeling of being too full, I have to focus and remember to breathe.
I smile and wrap my legs around him, pushing against him so he can feel that he’s giving me everything I need.
Soon we begin moving in concert with one another. He continues to kiss me as he edges into my body, the burn and stretch so delicious. I press my hips up, encouraging him to push down. Within seconds he’s fully seated, and he leans in to whisper in my ear, “Jake, you feel like heaven, like home. I never want to leave here.”
“Oh, I’m not letting you go anywhere,” I laugh against his lips, my eyes wet.
“Laugh all you want, but I have never felt this way before.” He kisses the wetness from my cheeks, and we wrap ourselves up in each other, looking deeply into each other’s eyes, both letting the other see their entire truth.
After a moment we smile at one another, half-dopey, half-lit on fire for each other. He pulls back until the head of his cock threatens to leave my body. After a breathtaking pause, he slams back into me, punching the air from my lungs, causing my cock to twitch and drip. Within seconds he’s going at a pace I can’t keep up with, and he’s pounding into my ass like it’s the last sex he’ll ever have.
With one of his punishing thrusts, he hits that perfect spot and precum drips like a faucet from me, my breathing is constricted and rabbit-fast, the moans being pulled from my body increasing in volume and length. Fuck, he draws it out of me.
Jaw tensed, I grip the sheets beside me. Jean-Pierre pulls me to him and hits that same spot again and again and again, completely merciless, completely in charge. I feel as though all of the energy in my body has concentrated in my balls, and after he hits it one last time I detonate, hands-free, shooting so forcefully it hits him in the chin.
Jean-Pierre lets loose a delighted laugh and pounds me even deeper, milking everything from me again and again. He crashes into me with a kiss, then pulls back, still pounding into me, and licks the cum from my chest.
“Jake, I’m so close, I’m so close,” he says, his arms shaking, his body quivering. My body tightens around his cock, and I can tell that it’s almost painful when Jean-Pierre’s eyes fly open. He’s experiencing ultimate pleasure with that bite of pain, pushing him over, and he comes on a shout as his pulsing warmth fills me to overflowing.
He stays in me as he collapses a little to the side to avoid an oversquish-claustro situation, and we both breathe heavily for a few minutes, letting the emotion work us over. Jean-Pierre starts kissing up and down my neck and shoulders, and I close my eyes to enjoy the sensual experience.
Still connected, he nips at my ear and whispers, “Can you breathe, Jake? Are you awake?” as he thrusts gently, still inside of me, chasing every last drop of orgasm.
My eyes flutter open. “Yes, mon ange. I’m awake. I am so very awake.”
Chapter Thirty
Jean-Pierre
I wake the next morning with light filtering past the edges of our makeshift window coverings. Given the brightness, I assume that it is much later than my usual 6:00 a.m. wake-up time. After last night, I am grateful for the extra sleep.
I look down at Jake, who is attached to me like a barnacle. A beautiful, dark-haired barnacle clinging to my side, his head on my chest, drool pooling near my nipple.
No matter.
I do need to take a piss, which means I need to get this barnacle to release me. Slowly, gently, I place a pillow under his head, wiping the drool from my chest. I slide out, allowing the extra pillow to support him, and it seems to work. He immediately pulls the pillow to his chest and snuggles in, resuming his adorable snore.
I go to the bathroom and take care of business, then walk outside to get a better view of the landscape. Yesterday we were too busy for Jake’s stars, but tonight we will turn our gaze to the universe together. I have my phone with me, and it begins to go off, notifications flying. I’m shocked by the sound of it until I realize that our cell service must have been quite poor this far out into the countryside.
The text that causes a catch in my throat is the one from Jake’s buddy DB. Call me are the terse words staring up at me, and I imagine that if he’s texting me, it’s bad. Very, very bad. With my hands shaking, I hit the phone icon next to his number, and he picks up on the first ring. “DB here.”
“DB, it’s Jean-Pierre. What’s happening?”
“Well, I’m giving you the all clear on the Russians, but something else is brewing. Have you seen the news or gossip sites today?”
I inhale the fresh air and walk farther away from the cabin, turning down the caliche road that leads to the private paved road that leads to the property’s entrance and the two-lane highway. “What? Did we start World War III by killing someone’s cousin?”
“No, but… you don’t have much of a closet anymore.”
I hit the paved road and walk past the private entrances to Heath’s other rental properties I’d missed on the way in. Damn, Heath has done well for himself. As I walk around the bend that leads to the main road, I’m immediately brought back to the conversation at hand. DB wasn’t kidding. There’s a handful of reporters and a satellite van blocking the entry gate, but they haven’t seen me yet.
“Shit.” I turn around and duck onto one of the winding caliche roads leading to a larger cabin in the distance.
“No shit,” DB responds with a sarcastic laugh. “I hope you didn’t enjoy it in there.”
Now that I’m off the main road, some weird-looking hens (quails?) have joined me on my walk. “No, I don’t care about the closet. I mean, shit, they’re here at the gate, blocking the entrance.”
“Damn, dude. I’m sorry.”
“DB, do you think that the Russians set us up?” I feel creeped out by asking the question and scan the area, just in case. The weird quail hens are ruffled by my sudden movement and shuffle off into the scrub brush off to the side of the road.
“No, my sources say they plan on staying well clear of Central Texas for the foreseeable future.”
“That’s some powerful friends you’ve got there.”
“You have no idea.”
Honestly, I
don’t want one; I’m just glad they’re around to keep us safe. I let the line go silent as I inhale the dewy-crisp morning air and contemplate what a pain in the ass this is going to be. After a moment, DB asks, serious as a migraine, “Do you want me to take care of them for you?”
I laugh, though the sound is slightly bitter. It’s shaping up to be a gorgeous day out here; there’s a group of does with tiny baby deer about fifty yards from me, and the birds are singing. Aaaand I’m having to deal with the damned paparazzi. “No, DB. I do not need you to ‘take care of them.’ I don’t even want to know what that would look like. This is a job for my publicist, and she’ll know exactly what to do.”
His laugh is rich. “I’m just sayin’ that my way is more fun.”
“No doubt, but Hollywood will not give me bit parts in movies if reporters end up mangled on the highway outside of my business manager’s property, and that’ll get Cricket mad, and you don’t want to get Cricket mad.”
“I’m guessing Cricket is a person, and, not, you know, some imaginary cartoon fellow with a top hat… right?”
“Oh, she’s real. She’s my publicist, and she can be vicious if provoked.”
“I take it that she’d find something that prevents you from getting a cameo in the next Marvel movie provoking.”
“Yes, my friend. Very.” I stand in front of a large, family-sized cabin and wonder if I shouldn’t just buy this from Heath and move into the country with Jake and leave the world behind for a while.
I’m not doing much to keep up my end of the conversation, and DB clears his throat, then jokes, “Okay then. Is it wrong that I’m starting to think that reporters will find my team’s methods less painful than this publicist of yours?”
“No, DB. I think that you’re finally catching on.”
“All right then, I’ll let you get back to it. Offer still stands if you need a nuclear option.”
I turn back toward the cabin where Jake and I are staying and finally allow myself to smile. I’m nervous, but I’ve got good people in my corner. “Thanks, DB. I’ll keep that in mind.”
We say our goodbyes, and then I check my messages. I’ve received three texts from Heath and about fifteen texts from Cricket. All have come in within the last hour, and the lovely, lazy feel of this glorious morning is but a distant memory.
Cricket: Turn on the TV.
Heath: Jean-Pierre, the cabin is compromised. You should pack and leave immediately. I’ll have new accommodations for you right away.
Cricket attaches a series of grainy pictures of me and Jake embracing before we walk into the cabin. There are also pictures of us in the cabin until I put the quilt over the windows.
Unfortunately, there was a small window in the bathroom that neither Jake nor I noticed, and through it, the photographer was able to get pictures of us in the shower. I suppose I could be grateful they didn’t get anything below midchest, but the photos leave nothing to the imagination. I am angry about the intrusion but save the picture that captures Jake, with bubbles perfectly framing his beautiful, disgruntled face looking up at me with trust and lust and love.
I go in to wake up my boyfriend and tell him he’s about to be front-page news, and a lick of familiar rage burns through my chest. I’d brought him out here to get away so that he’d be safe, and they followed us. I’m used to the photographers, used to my privacy occasionally being intruded upon. But for Jake… I can’t imagine. This will be such a setback for him, and I don’t know what it will mean for us.
If these assholes ruin what I have with Jake… I don’t know what I’ll do. Aside from DB’s generous, if scary, nuclear route, our only option is for Heath to press charges against the trespassers. I doubt that’s much of a deterrent.
I walk back into the cabin and find that Jake is a naked swirl in our rumpled bed, smelling of our sex. I can’t help but smile and hope to get him through this in one piece. He’s so beautiful in the morning light, I hate to have to wake him.
“Jake, mon amour, I need you to get up.”
He scowls and dramatically throws his arm over his eyes, adorably grumpy. “Why do you hate me so much?”
“I don’t hate you. I love you. And, unfortunately, the world knows about our love.”
He lets out a long, low groan. “Paparazzi?”
“Oui. The enemies are at the gate.”
“Ah, fuck. I think I preferred the Russians,” he says, cracking a brilliant smile.
“You don’t seem that upset.” Which I find entirely puzzling.
He runs his hands through his hair, then rubs his face before sitting up against the tufted headboard, the white sheet pooled in his lap. “Do you want me to be more upset?”
“No, of course not. I was worried that… that you might not want to deal with all of this.”
He scratches his stubbly cheek, one eye scrunched closed as he looks at me. “Isn’t that just something you have to live with?”
“Yes and no. The people in Austin don’t really care who I am, and I forget that it is different outside of our bubble.”
His eyes sparkle as he grips the back of my head. “Mon ange, I never forget who you are. I’m proud to be your boyfriend, and I want to make a life with you, so if it means occasionally dealing with the madness, so be it. You deal with the shit in my head, I deal with your paparazzi, so I guess that makes us even.”
He kisses me on a laugh, and I have no choice but to accept that he willingly puts up with them so that he can be with me.
A few minutes later, Jake and I sit cross-legged on the bed with Cricket and Heath on speakerphone, and we’ve worked out a pretty good strategy. Instead of trying to find another place and stay out ahead of the ever-resourceful paps, Cricket has her contacts pull back their folks in exchange for an exclusive press conference. While the photographs have gone viral, the media presence was limited to the asshole who’d followed us from town and his entourage.
We ring up Nick, Roly, and Scout, and we all agree to hold the press conference at Wrecked, and to use that opportunity to announce our charity for helping people with traumatic limb injuries to get the best resources and the best prosthetics.
It’s not our favorite move, feeding the sharks, but it’s also not a big “Sehene is gay” tour, and it gets the reporter away from the gate by noon, so I’ll take it. Also, DB did give us the all clear, so I’m thinking we could have some fun this weekend.
Chapter Thirty-One
Jake
We meet at Nick and Elijah’s because I am not going to do this in that damned small kitchen, and because in a few weeks, Nick and Elijah will move into the house they bought down the street from Roly, and this will become the offices for Scout and Jean-Pierre’s various investments. I’m a little nervous as Nick, Roly, Scout, and Jean-Pierre look up at me expectantly, but we’ve come this far, might as well go a little farther.
Roly grabs a warm jalapeño sausage pastry from the box of goodies I brought in from the Kolache Shoppe on Burnet and starts to talk and chew at the same time. “So, are you two—oh my god, this is so fucking good—are you two getting hitched or something?”
“No!” I say, laughing at him. God, Roly can be ridiculous sometimes. I glance over at Jean-Pierre, who is sitting like a king on Nick’s overstuffed chair, and his eyebrow is arched.
“Not yet,” he supplies.
We’ve been inseparable since our little jaunt into the country, and I feel the heat creep up my cheeks as I think about him using that same phrase with me over and over again this morning. “Not yet, my Jake,” he would whisper roughly as he edged me into a state of babbling begging so that when he finally did let me fly, I was practically sobbing with relief. And wiping my cum off the wall.
My shit poker face has the room erupting in laughter and good-natured ribbing.
“Oh, gross. I did not need to know that my brother-in-law got laid this morning,” grouses Scout as she pulls a raspberry kolache from the box of magical pastries. She’s a six-foot-two badass wit
h a skunk-stripe undercut, so the fruit jelly on her chin is pretty funny.
Nick grabs the box from his cousin and hands her a few napkins. “I feel like we’ve gotten off track here. Jake, do you have something to tell us?”
I nod at Nick for the assist and take a deep breath, centering myself. “I wanted to bring you all here because, while I appreciate the incredible opportunity, I can no longer serve as your manager of operations. And… I’d like to transition out of that position over the next month or so.”
I’m most nervous for Scout’s reaction, who sets her breakfast on a napkin, then rises to give me a hug. She and Nick share a genetic penchant for sternness, so the move surprises a few tears out of me. “Your art?” she asks softly. I nod, and she gives me another hug. “I’m going to miss working with you, but this is what you should be doing, and you know it. We’ll commission you on every construction project, and I’ll make sure my friends know. You won’t hurt for work, I promise.”
We hug for a few more seconds, and then she returns to her kolache because #priorities. We talk briefly through a transition plan, and I bring up something that makes me almost more nervous. “So, obviously, you should go with whoever is the best fit for the job, but I have a suggestion,” I say, looking over at Nick. He smiles, I think knowing what I am going to say. “Elijah has been taking night classes toward his business degree, he’d be reporting to Evie, and they get along like a house on fire, he does amazing work at the gym, and…” I let the words die off, not sure if it’s appropriate for me to give my opinion on this.
“… he’s an excellent candidate,” Nick says, smiling proudly. “He’ll still want to be heavily involved in the gym, but, frankly, he could do so much more.”
Roly pipes up, his mouth still full, “Oh, yeah. He’d be great at it. But, hey, are you going to be able to make enough off of your art to live comfortably?”