But judging by Mack’s reaction, he liked what he saw.
“Hmm,” he murmured approvingly as he ran his hands up the back of my bare legs, giving his attention to my desperate thrusting cock. “Very nice.”
He stuck out his tongue and lapped at my tip. I groaned, touching my hand to his shoulder to balance myself. Christ, it had been so fucking long. Mack glanced at up me, grinning, then set to, licking a stripe up the length of my cock, then back down, right to my balls. He did it over and over, getting me wet and sloppy, and I moaned my pleasure—I’ve always been quite loud in bed and he seemed to like my noises, his enthusiasm rising in response to each reaction I gave him.
After a couple of minutes, I shifted my legs apart to give him better access and reached out to stroke his hair. When he pushed his head against my hand, I understood he liked it there and threaded my fingers into his dark, silky mop, loving the helpless groan of pleasure that elicited. Easy to see that little gestures of subtle dominance aroused him, his licking motions becoming ever more ardent when I tugged gently at his hair.
So that’s what you like, I thought. And I liked it too. I wasn’t into spanking or anything, but I’d always been a little bit on the toppy side.
After a while—and with a supreme effort—I pulled him off me, urging him to meet my gaze by tilting up his chin with my fingers. He blinked at me, glassy-eyed already.
“Can you take me deep?” I asked softly. “Right to the back of your throat?”
His eyes gleamed and he nodded.
“Okay, then, show me what you can do.” I loosened my grip, giving him his head, and he dived back on to my cock, taking me all in one go, spluttering a little in his eagerness.
“Hey,” I murmured. “Easy, okay? We’re not in a hurry.”
He nodded without glancing up and went down again, more slowly and smoothly this time.
It was hard to stay on my feet as he serviced me. The physical sensation of his mouth on my cock was amazing enough, but it was his eagerness that grabbed at me like a riptide. How he reacted to my words, to my touch.
His cock stuck out from his body, hard and dripping. He went to touch it, but I tightened my grip in his hair and whispered, “Not yet.”
He dropped his hand, moaning round my shaft, seeming to love being told what to do.
“Good boy,” I said tenderly.
I let him suck me another minute before I carefully pulled him off me. He strained a little to get back to my cock, and I smiled, enjoying his ardour, and the ebb and flow of this strange new dynamic we were building between us, the hints we were each throwing out and responding to in turn.
I tugged his hair again, more firmly this time, and he stilled. “Come on,” I coaxed. “Let’s get you ready for my cock now, shall we? Get on the bed on your stomach.”
He obeyed, quickly getting to his feet and climbing onto the bed, though he growled at me impatiently, “I don’t need you to get me ready. You can fuck me now.”
I ignored that. “Do you have some lube?”
He sighed, but answered me. “Wash bag near my rucksack.”
I found the wash bag tumbled to the floor, its contents falling out onto the thin, rough carpet. I snagged the lube and a box of condoms and, on my way back to the bed, grabbed a hand towel from the folded stack on the shelf outside the bathroom.
Mack lay on his front on the white sheets. His arse was phenomenal. Firm, rounded buttocks with deep dimples at each side. I settled down beside him, stroking his back, his pale buttocks.
“Spread your legs,” I murmured.
“I don’t need any prep,” he insisted, even as he did as I said. “Fuck me now. I want your cock.”
“Trust me,” I soothed. “You’ll enjoy this. I’ll have you so ready you’ll be coming as soon as I get inside you.”
He moaned at that promise, and I smiled, drizzling lube over my fingers.
One thing about being a serial monogamist—you get really good in bed. Well, you can’t beat regular practice at any activity, can you?
It wasn’t just the sex I loved, though, it was the intimacy. And this—what I was about to do to Mack—was one of my favourite intimate things to do to my partners. To work them up, so slowly, so inexorably, that they’d be sobbing and begging to be fucked, riding my hand in desperation.
Somehow, I just knew this was exactly what Mack needed. The way he’d pressed his head against my hand as I’d stroked his hair. The way he so eagerly sucked me down, then told me he needed nothing. These clues pointed to a man who wasn’t comfortable asking for things with words but his body was crying out for what he needed, silently begging me. For some reason, it felt like I could read him—and that maybe he could read me too. That maybe he knew how very much I liked my side of this.
I started slow, trailing my fingertips down his crack, easing his legs further apart before gently grazing his hole with my lubed fingers. Pressing a little harder, I rubbed at the taut ring, carefully slipping a single finger inside before topping up the lube. I added a second finger as I kissed his neck, his shoulder, and began to work his hole in earnest. My fingers dipped into him shallowly, then more deeply, until finally, I crooked my fingers inside him, brushing his prostate so that he just about came off the bed with pleasure. And through it all, he moaned and cried, hips helplessly jerking, a barrage of incoherent pleading on his tongue.
All of it so sweet to me.
“Look at you,” I marvelled as he writhed beneath me, near sobbing. “Christ, you’re gorgeous.”
“Please— I can’t—”
“Are you ready for me, Mack? I think you might be close now.”
He babbled his agreement as I withdrew my fingers from his body, using the hand towel to wipe the lube from my hands before tossing it aside. “Turn over then.”
He stilled. Then shook his head. “Let’s do it like this.”
I paused, disappointed, but there was no hint from him that he was willing to be pushed. Not on this.
“Okay. Can you get up onto your hands and knees?”
He complied, somewhat unsteadily, while I smoothed a condom over my painfully hard shaft.
I positioned myself behind him and looked down at him, all stretched and oiled and ready for me. Practically quivering with need.
Fuck.
I lined myself up and pressed forward. I’d prepared him so thoroughly that his body seemed to actually draw me in, welcoming me with a tight clasping heat that had me moaning at the sweet pleasure.
“Fuck,” he gasped. “You were right, I’m going to come in about ten seconds.”
I groan-laughed. “Me too.”
We lasted a little longer than that, but not much. A few minutes at most. Mack came first, moments after I reached round and took hold of his cock. I’d intended to stroke him to completion, but as soon as I circled my fingers about him, he started pulsing come, and after that, I had no hope. A few more thrusts and I was coming too, flooding the condom, my forehead pressed hard against his right shoulder.
We sank down onto the mattress together, slick with sweat and come.
Bliss suffused me. I was overcome with the desire to kiss him, but wasn’t sure he’d allow it and wasn’t brave enough to risk rejection.
After a minute, when I began to soften, I gently eased myself from his body, and stood to dispose of the condom. “Mind if I take a shower?”
He turned onto his back, sending me a lazy grin. He looked well fucked and very pleased with himself. “Sure. Go ahead.”
“Thanks,” I said, a little disappointed when he made no move to join me.
When I emerged from the bathroom later, a towel wrapped round my waist, Mack was sitting up on the bed, seemingly unconcerned by his nudity.
“I don’t normally invite hookups to sleep over,” he informed me, yawning. “But since you don’t live here and your friend’s taken someone home—and since this bed is huge—you can stay if you want.”
It wasn’t the most enthusiastic invitation I
’d ever received to sleep over, but I was grateful for it. The last thing I felt like doing was trudging back to Gav’s, to listen to him and Adam going at it all night. Besides, I found I was reluctant to leave Mack. “Thanks. I appreciate it.”
I got into bed while he showered. By the time he came back, I was just about dropping off.
“Sorry,” I mumbled as he crawled in beside me. “I’m beat.”
“Don’t worry about it,” he said gently. “Go to sleep. I need to anyway. I’ve got stuff on tomorrow.”
Gratefully, I let my eyelids slide closed again and drifted off.
It was late—or rather in the very early hours—when he woke me. He was tossing around and mumbling, obviously upset. After a few moments, I realised he was dreaming.
At first I let him be, hoping he’d settle, but when he grew more distressed, I shook his shoulder.
“Hey—you okay?”
He came to slowly, in waves. First his voice quieted, then his body stilled. Eventually, he said, his tone weary, “Sorry. Nightmare.”
“It’s okay. Do you want—” I hesitated “—a hug?”
“No,” he said quickly. “No, no, I’m fine.”
“Okay.”
We lay there, silent and awkward in the darkness. I felt strangely awake, hyperaware of him lying beside me, still and unhappy. I could sense his unhappiness, and it bothered me. I wasn’t sure how I knew he was miserable but I did, I knew.
At last I couldn’t stand it any longer. “Do you want to change your mind about that hug?”
“What?” He sounded so surprised I almost laughed.
“Why don’t you let me hug you? It might make you feel better.”
“Oh, for God’s sake,” he muttered. Then, almost crossly, added, “All right, fine. If you want to.”
He was facing away from me and he started to turn, but I said, “Stay where you are.”
He stilled, and I snuggled myself up against him, my groin against his buttocks, my torso against his back. I tucked my legs up like his, spooning him, and draped my right arm over his side. Kissed his shoulder. A little shudder ran through him.
For a little while he lay stiff as a board in my arms, plainly uncomfortable. But gradually his body relaxed until finally, his breathing grew slow and steady and he was sleeping again, peacefully this time.
I must have fallen asleep soon after.
I woke just once more that night. I’d rolled away from him at some point and he was reaching out to me, touching my hip.
“Don’t go,” he whispered. “Hold me.”
So I did.
It was hours later when I woke again. It was still dark, and I was briefly confused as to my whereabouts. Then I remembered. I was in Mack’s hotel and, discount or not, the giant bed was supercomfortable. I had fallen asleep in my usual position, lying on my right side, facing the door. I didn’t have to turn over to know I was alone.
I could feel that I was alone.
Sure enough, when I sat up, the other side of the bed was empty.
The darkness was puzzling, since I was feeling incredibly well rested. Leaning out of the bed, I hooked up my discarded jeans and fished around in the pockets for my phone, swiping clumsily at the screen.
10:09.
The fuck?
I glanced at the window. There was one line of bright sunshine where the curtains didn’t quite meet in the middle. Black-out curtains.
Oh well, at least I wasn’t due in for a shift in the café today—though I had planned to make an early start on the paperwork mountain waiting at home...
I got out of bed and headed to the bathroom, where I took a long morning piss. I stared at my dick and thought about what I’d done with it last night. About Mack’s face as I’d pushed my cock into his mouth. The way his body had arched and writhed under me as I fucked him.
His words in the night between us.
“Hold me.”
Had Mack had left, or had he just popped out for some reason and intended on coming back? And if he did come back, would he be up for another round of sex, time allowing? When did we have to leave the room anyway? Wasn’t it usually eleven for checking out of hotels?
I slouched back into the bedroom, switched on the lights, and cast my gaze about the room. The rucksack and guitar case were gone.
Then I spotted the note.
Nathan,
Didn’t want to wake you, sleeping beauty :-) but I’ve got to be somewhere today, so I’m off. Room’s paid—you’ve got to be out by 11.
Have a great life.
M
Short and to the point.
Nice note. Nice guy. Great sex.
The reason I felt so hollow? It had to be that serial-monogamist gene kicking in. The one that turned every guy I fucked into a potential boyfriend.
Yeah, that was it.
Gav picked me up at the hotel an hour later in my car. He’d brought all my stuff so I could drop him off, then drive straight back to Porthkennack. We spent the journey to his flat teasing each other about our respective hookups and how quickly we’d both ended up leaving Club Indigo.
“You going to see Adam again then?” I asked, waggling my eyebrows at him.
Gav grinned. “Well, I’d definitely fuck him again. My God, Nath, his mouth.”
“Is that all? He seemed to be very into you. And a nice guy.”
“He is a nice guy.” Gav shrugged. “But I need to be single for a while longer. I can’t just jump into another relationship like—” He flushed.
I understood immediately. “Oh. Like me, you mean?”
He sent me a brief apologetic look. “I only mean I don’t want to end up in a rebound relationship.”
“Hey!” I protested. “None of my boyfriends were rebound guys.”
“No,” Gav agreed. “You were never in love enough with any of them to need a rebound guy. The point is, you just sort of fell into every one of those relationships.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” I said, offended. “I didn’t fall into anything.”
“Yeah, you did,” Gav scoffed. “You’d let their eagerness to be your boyfriend carry you along for a while till you finally came to your senses and realised you weren’t in love. And then you’d fall into exactly the same pattern with the next poor sap!”
“It wasn’t like that!”
“So you loved them all, did you?”
“Of course I loved them—I still love them—all of them.”
“You see?”
“What? No.”
“You still love them now—all of them—the same as when you were with them. You were never in love with any of them. Not like I was with Carrie.”
I opened my mouth to protest, then closed it again, frowning.
“Anyway,” Gav said, waving an airy hand. “What about you and this Mack?”
“One-nighter,” I said firmly. “Didn’t even get a number.”
“Disappointed?”
I sighed. “Maybe a bit.”
Maybe a lot.
“I thought you weren’t looking for a relationship either?”
“I’m not.”
“Then why . . .?” he trailed off invitingly.
I said, “There was just . . . something about him.”
“Hold me.”
I swallowed against a sudden lump in my throat, then before Gav could ask me any more questions, I changed the subject, saying thickly, “Hey, keep an eye out for a coffee place will you? I need to get some caffeine before I head back to Porthkennack.”
Thankfully, it was enough to distract him. “Fuck, yeah, coffee,” he groaned. “I need a triple Americano right now.”
And after that, Mack was forgotten.
By Gav, at least.
Chorus
I’ll be hanging up my Christmas stocking
So, when Santa comes a-knocking
There will be a place for him
To put my Christmas presents in
But I don’t need no fancy parcels
/>
I don’t want no bows or sparkles
All I want this Christmas Day
Is you telling me that you are gonna stay.
— “Christmas Stocking” by The Sandy Coves, 1989
I had a lot of paperwork to deal with that afternoon, so the first thing I did when I got in the flat was make more coffee. Then I fired up the laptop, opened up Office, and forced myself to start right away without even taking five minutes to check Facebook.
Dealing with the finances for Dilly’s had been my first introduction to the family business, almost two years before. Mum was great in the café with the customers, but she had absolutely no head for numbers. As for Derek, he was happiest in the kitchen. He made the ice cream and did some baking too, though most of our pastries and cakes were bought in.
Neither of them had been particularly vigilant with the finances. They’d let the books slide for years, and it had come to a head over a big tax bill.
I’d been home the weekend Mum had her meltdown over it, or she mightn’t even have told me. As it was, I’d asked to look at the books to see how bad things really were. Since my degree was in marketing and business studies, I had a decent grasp of basic accounting.
I’d been shocked by what she’d handed over. The records were shoddy: none of the invoices or receipts were properly filed and the tax files were a total disaster—they hadn’t kept half the stuff they needed in case of an inspection—and when I checked the name of the company they’d set up in the company registers, I discovered it was about to be struck off for failing to put in returns.
I’d told Mum I would try to sort out the tax situation for them. My job at that time had been demanding but I’d figured I could spend a couple of months of my weekends sorting out the immediate mess and setting up new systems for them to follow, then once they were in place, I would hand everything back to Mum and Derek and just check the books every once in a while.
Only the situation was worse than I’d imagined.
Tribute Act Page 3