Under Wraps

by Louisa Keller

  “Carson,” I said contentedly, laying my head on the pillow and closing my eyes.

  “Good night, Ainsley,” he murmured, heading for the door. My hand shot out to stop him. “What’s wrong?”

  “Don’t leave me,” I pleaded. “I don’t want to be alone anymore. You make me want more than loneliness.”

  I listened to him breathing for a moment, considering how to respond. And then I heard the click of the lock and the sound of his pants hitting the floor. Carson climbed into bed beside me, and I promptly pulled him in so that his head was settled on my chest. Our legs tangled together, and my arms wrapped around him, loose and comfortable.

  “Sleep well,” he muttered into my t-shirt.

  “Thank you for everything,” I slurred, already descending into sleep.

  I lost consciousness listening to his breathing—between one breath and the next, everything faded to blackness.

  It is a decidedly strange sensation to wake with someone in your arms after a decade of sleeping alone. I typically took my time transitioning from rest to wakefulness, but as soon as I registered that someone was moving against me, I jerked awake. My arms tightened around him instinctively, the urge to protect and comfort Carson somehow more natural than the desire to figure out who the hell was sleeping with me. As soon as I saw his face, slack with sleep, a wave of relief settled over me.

  The events of the night before were strange and abstract, but I remembered most of the details. Enough, certainly, to register that we had drunk far too much Seagram’s Seven and shared incredibly personal details about our sex lives. God, we had wanted so deeply, craved each other in a way that was alien to me.

  “Ainsley?”

  There he was, blinking the sleep out of his eyes and peering up at me with a soft smile. I had never seen anyone lovelier.

  “Good morning,” I murmured, smiling back. “How did you sleep?”

  “Mmm…better than I have in ages,” he said. “I felt safe here with you.”

  Warmth spread through my chest. Making Carson feel safe made me feeling prouder than I ever had before, which was impressive given that my life’s work was philanthropy. I wanted him to be as happy and cared-for as humanly possible—and I wanted to be the one to ensure that it happened.

  “Thank you for staying,” I whispered, looking into his gorgeous green eyes.

  “I’d stay forever if I could,” he replied.

  There is something magical about the morning, about waking up with someone. It allows you to be honest, open, pure. The harsh light of day is tempered by the curtains, and everything feels soft and welcoming. There is no need to hold anything back. That morning, we both allowed ourselves to be honest, in ways we never could have been at another time, in another place. My quaint room in Abshire Manor protected us, nurtured our bond, gave us a venue for the truth in our hearts.

  “I know I have only known you for a couple of days,” I told Carson, and he laughed, nodding. “But the things I feel for you…they are immense, Carson. Immense and breathtaking. I hope that you are not scared off by my frankness, because I feel so fortunate to have you in my life, in my bed.”

  He shook his head, that beatific smile still firmly in place. “It doesn’t scare me, Ainsley. It doesn’t scare me at all.”

  “It seems impossible that even just last week I had never met you,” I mused. “I hesitate to use metaphors about being two halves of a whole, because you are a complete and stunning being all on your own.”

  Carson’s smile widened into a grin. “You are too, you know. Complete and stunning. But I get what you mean…it’s like something fell into place when we first met. And now…god, I can’t even imagine just going back to my life the way it was.”

  “My life will never be the same. This week is transforming me, uncovering facets of myself I had no idea even existed,” I admitted.

  “Like your bisexuality?” he asked, smirking.

  “Among other things,” I replied primly.

  “Well, I don’t know about you, but I would love to take a shower,” he said. “You know…wash off the whiskey that’s been leaking out of my pores all night. And maybe get to know your body a bit better while I’m at it.”

  My heart leapt into my throat. I had known, of course, that sex was going to happen sooner or later. All that talk the previous night about our experiences, our preferences, the electricity sparking in the air between us as we teased each other. That was all going to come to a head at some point. But it seemed surreal, almost impossible, that we had reached that point already. I wanted it so badly that I could hardly keep my voice steady as I rasped out a response.

  “Please, please—”

  “Oh, thank god,” he sighed, climbing out of bed and linking out fingers together as he tugged at my hand. “I would’ve waited, obviously, if you needed more time, but—I really need to get my hands on you. Like, so badly.”

  My cock, which was already hard as a diamond, throbbed in my underwear. I stood up, flushing as I saw just how obvious my arousal was, and followed Carson into the en suite. It was beautiful, all hardwood flooring, a clawfoot tub, and a small shower with rustic tiling. He went straight for the shower, turning the knob and testing the temperature of the water against his hand. I turned to the mirror above the vanity, looking myself over.

  Will there be a visible difference after we do this? I wondered, running a hand through my hair. Will other people be able to see it on me? Will I?

  I stripped off my t-shirt and folded it neatly before setting it on the corner of the vanity. Then I kicked off my underwear and spun back toward the shower to find Carson, naked and waiting for me with an indescribable look his face. I wanted so badly that it felt as if I might implode if I didn’t get my hands on him at once. Striding forward, I pinned him up against the cool tiled wall and licked into his mouth. We were in the cavern all over again, naked and pressed together, kissing like our very lives depended on it.

  Our hard cocks brushed together, sending sparks up my spine, and I moaned into him. It was the very best kind of torture, the need to be ever closer, and the inability to do so. Except—no, that was not quite right. We could be closer, we could be inside of each other if we so desired, our bodies tangled as tightly as anything could be.

  “I need you,” I gasped against his mouth, and Carson’s arms tightened where they were wrapped around my neck. His hands were digging into my hair, pulling just enough to light me up, the edge of pain tempering any overwhelm that might have popped up. “Need you, Carson, need you now—”

  “Okay,” he panted, pulling back. “I’ve got you, baby, just tell me what you want, what you need.”

  “Closer,” I rasped out, “need to be closer.”

  “Yeah,” he moaned, and then he was spinning around.

  “No,” I gasped, panicking. That was not closer, it was further away. But then he was turning his head, pulling me back into that dizzying kiss, and his ass was pressed tightly against my throbbing cock.

  “Do you trust me?” he asked, his voice barely loud enough to be heard over the running water.

  I trusted him with every fiber of my being. He was the epitome of good and fair and gentle, the very essence of trustworthy. I would have followed him over a cliff if he asked me to. But that is not exactly the sort of thing a grown man should be saying to someone he just met a couple of days ago, so I settled for nodding, my eyes glazed over and my jaw slack.

  “Okay,” he said, smiling. “Here.”

  And then Carson was spreading his legs and leaning forward to brace one hand on the tiles. With his other hand, he reached back and stroked my cock. He was soapy, his grip loose and gentle, and he took his time teasing me before finally relenting and guiding my cock between his thighs. I thrust forward instinctually, and he squeezed his thighs together, giving me a slick, warm tunnel to fuck into.

  My cock was cradled between those thick, muscular thighs, and it felt heavenly. This was a far cry from what I had been anticipating,
and I felt tension I hadn’t even realized was collecting in my shoulders melting away. There we were, touching each other tenderly, intimately, and yet—there was no need for me to fumble through preparations, no need to worry about hurting him, nothing to be concerned about at all. He was easing me into this glorious new landscape of gay sex, somehow aware that it was intimidating to me before I even realized that myself.

  I let my hands fall to his waist, tracing the slender curve above the flare of his hips. Breathing in the smell of his damp hair, I slid my hands down a few inches and tightened my grip. He let out a shaky little sigh, and my hips pistoned forward of their own volition, fucking the space between his thighs. The head of my cock nudged his balls, and we both shivered fiercely. There were sounds emanating from my mouth, little moans and gasps of pleasure, and it was like I was hearing someone else. Could the union of our bodies possibly be teasing those passionate noises from my lips?

  Of course it could. Nothing had ever felt better than Carson’s body against mine. Not in my life, and not in the history of the world. This was bliss, this was what human bodies were made for. How had I gone so many years, decades, without realizing that I was meant to be here, in this cramped shower, fucking Carson’s thighs?

  “You feel so good,” Carson whimpered, planting his free hand firmly on the tiles to steady himself. He was shaking—we both were—and I suddenly feared that his knees would give out.

  “I—Carson, I’ve never—”

  How could I articulate what I was thinking? Feeling? The English language was failing me, its limitations never more disappointing than when I was in the throes of ecstasy. And I was…good god, I was hurtling toward the point of no return at an alarming rate.

  “Harder,” he gasped, “fuck me harder, Ainsley.”

  My name spoken in his voice…it was almost too much. My whole body throbbed and I dug my hands into his hips hard enough to leave bruises. I ducked my head, sucking kisses into his throat as I sped up the thrusting of my hips. He leaned even further forward, letting his left forearm rest against the tiles and dropping his head to rest on it. Then his right hand flew to his own cock—rock hard, flushed an angry red, leaking steadily even as the running water washed it away. I wanted to howl, to give in to my most primal instincts and make a steady stream of noise, let everyone in the vicinity know that Carson was mine and I was his, that we were pleasuring each other as no man had ever been pleasured before.

  But, of course, I could not make noise. Some tiny voice at the back of my mind reminded me to stay quiet. Because I wasn’t ready to explain this yet, to share it with everyone else in the house. So, I sucked a mark onto Carson’s shoulder and shuddered through the pleasure, silent.

  “Please,” he moaned, “please, Ainsley, I need—”

  I was draped over him, thrusting wildly, and I could feel his balls drawing up tight as he approached orgasm, his entire body tensing up. Every muscle was locked tight, and with a shout that he muffled in his arm, I felt him come. He was incandescent, his body arching with the pleasure, his thighs tightening almost unbearably around my throbbing cock, and that was what pushed me over the edge. My vision whited out as an immensity of pleasure rushed through my veins, saturating my whole body. I felt like I was floating, hovering in some delightful liminal space that cradled me through my orgasm.

  Carson drew me back to reality, bit by bit. When the fog cleared from my mind, I found that he had spun around to face me, his arms around my neck once again, and I was looking down into his startlingly green eyes. He was the most beautiful thing I had ever seen, and I knew for a fact that he always would be.

  “That was,” I tried to get out, but my throat felt raw. I cleared it and tried again. “That was magnificent, Carson.”

  He beamed up at me. “Yeah?”

  “Words cannot describe…” I trailed off, still reeling from the intense rush of physical sensations and emotions.

  “I know,” he murmured, a smile playing across his lips. “God, I’m so glad it was as good for you as it was for me.”

  I nodded toward the mess running down his thighs and said shyly, “You have the evidence right there.”

  He laughed, warming my heart, and said, “Just because you came doesn’t mean it was good for you. But your face, your inability to form a complete sentence—”

  “Are you teasing me?” I asked, playing at being aghast. In truth, I found it charming.

  “Maybe just a little,” he said, eyes bright as his smile stretched into a grin. “We should probably clean up.”

  I glanced back down at my cum making its down his perfect skin, and all at once I ached to taste us mingled together. His skin and my completion…I knelt down before I could think better of it. The tile floor was hard, but I didn’t mind. Love, after all, involved sacrifice, and this was something I was more than willing to give to him.

  “What are you doing?” he asked, running his hands through my wet hair.

  “Cleaning you up,” I told him, before pushing his legs gently apart. I licked across the curve of his knee, heading upwards at an agonizingly slow pace. Above me, I heard him groan as he realized what was happening.

  I lapped tentatively at my cum, unsure of how it would taste, or how it would make me feel. But it was fairly innocuous, a taste that neither excited nor repulsed me. What did excite me was the noise Carson made as I licked him clean. He was tugging at my hair, moaning and panting out my name, and his legs were trembling like mad. I had come far too recently to get hard again, but caring for Carson this way, taking care of him, was lighting me up in unfamiliar and exhilarating ways.

  When every last bit of my cum was gone, I pressed a tender kiss to the scar that bisected his abdomen, and got carefully to my feet. Carson looked dazed, blissful even. He wrapped me in a tight hug and we stayed there, holding each other beneath the stream of water until it began to cool off. Then we headed into the bedroom to kiss each other on the bed, still dripping from the shower, laughing as we made a mess of the sheets.

  And that’s when we heard it: a sharp knock on my bedroom door.

  Flashback

  On the one-year anniversary of the incident, Dom and I got epically stoned.

  We were at the brownstone again, on summer break, and I couldn’t face being sober. We went up in his treehouse and spent the day passing a bong back and forth, FaceTiming with our friends and talking about everything except my family.

  It became a tradition: first, between Dom and I, but eventually with all of our friends in the house we shared in Seattle. The anniversary was for getting stoned and ignoring all the feelings that bubbled up.

  A date shouldn’t have power over me.

  It couldn’t make me feel anything I didn’t want to feel. Not when I was genuinely doing well the rest of the year.

  Eventually, getting stoned on the anniversary wasn’t so much a necessity as something we did to honor my past. I didn’t need my coping mechanisms the way I had at first, so now getting high with my friends could be fun, even celebratory. It loosened my tongue, allowed me to talk about my parents and sister without the sharp edge of pain.

  That’s why it didn’t occur to me to be concerned about the anniversary overlapping with our trip to Ponderosa.

  I was as healed as I ever would be, so mixing up the stay-home-and-get-stoned routine wouldn’t be a problem.

  Right?

  13

  Carson

  Knock knock knock.

  Ainsley and I froze, twin expressions of panic on our faces.

  Jesus Christ, we’d been careless.

  I didn’t even know what time it was, but it was definitely late enough that someone thought it was acceptable to knock on Ainsley’s door. Or maybe they’d heard us and come to investigate…

  Oh fuck.

  “What do we do?” Ainsley hissed.

  My eyebrows shot up.

  Knock knock knock.

  “Get dressed, I’m going to hide in the bathroom,” I whispered, shoving him
carefully off of me.

  And, shit, my traitorous dick was completely unaffected by the threat of discovery. It was hard again, jutting up proudly as I scuttled into the bathroom and shut the door quietly behind me.

  Get it together, Carson, I told myself fiercely.

  I heard Ainsley hastily pulling on clothes as he called out, “Just a minute!”

  Gritting my teeth, I grabbed a fluffy white towel and wrapped it around my waist. At least I wouldn’t be completely exposed if whoever it was barged into the en suite.

  Pressing my ear to the door, I heard Ainsley opening the bedroom door.

  “Beau,” he said, sounding unbelievably shifty.

  Goddammit, Ainsley, I thought, you need to pull it together too.

  It wasn’t that getting caught would be the worst thing for me. I mean, I was out and proud and all that. I just didn’t want to deal with the inevitable drama.

  And Ainsley deserved the chance to come out at his own pace—the last thing he needed was an accidental outing during a family vacation he hadn’t even wanted to come on.

  “God, Ainsley, what’s up with you?” Beauregard asked, sounding suspicious. “You’re all…blushing. And your hair is going in a million different directions.”

  “Oh, really?” Ainsley squeaked, and I put my head in my hands. Apparently, he was the world’s worst liar.

  “Ainsley,” Beauregard said, drawing the word out. “Do you have a woman in here?”

  “No,” Ainsley said emphatically, and I rolled my eyes.

  “I’m just saying, it took you like ten minutes to answer the door and I heard an awful lot of scrambling around while I was waiting,” Beauregard pressed on.