by Gem Frost
Maybe I was born to be wild, but the minute I met Syd, I’d been tamed.
Too bad Syd never figured that out.
The house is dark and quiet when we walk in. I flip on the lights, and Syd steps in behind me, glancing around.
“Looks pretty much the same,” he says.
It’s a decent house, if a bit on the bland suburban side, with a two-story foyer, four bedrooms, and a big family room. The exterior is off-white stucco and brick, giving it that fake French provincial look; the interior is filled with cheap wooden furniture of varying styles I found at thrift shops. The eclectic mix of old, slightly worn furniture gives it a nice lived-in look without costing me a fortune. To be honest, I’m a lot more likely to spend money on shrubs or flowers or stamped-concrete paths through the gardens than I am to spend a lot of cash on interior design. I’ve poured my heart and soul into the house’s grounds, and I’ve done a shitload of work on them since Syd was here last, but it’s too dark tonight for him to appreciate everything I’ve done.
And I realize with a sigh that he won’t be here tomorrow to admire the improvements I’ve made to the yard over the past three years.
He stands there, looking around. His glasses are back on his face, and the reflections on the thick lenses hide his expressive eyes, so I’m not quite sure what he’s thinking. The light from the foyer chandelier illuminates his hair, bringing out the red highlights hidden within the gold, making it shine like a rose-gold crown. I can’t help staring at him, and a little knot of tension forms in my chest. It looks so damn right for Syd to be here.
The truth is that he never actually lived here with me, not in the sense that we came to any formal agreement, anyway. But he spent almost every night here for three months. I got used to having him around and expected him to become a permanent part of my life in this house.
He belongs here, damn it.
I do my best to shake off the ridiculous notion. I’m being stupid, letting my memories of the past color my perceptions of the present. This isn’t forever… Syd’s just here for an hour or two, or at most, a one-night stand. Nothing more.
Syd hangs his coat on the brass stand in my foyer, just as he always used to do, and the small, familiar act makes that strange tightness in my chest twang like a guitar string. I feel happiness and sorrow, all at once, a weird, bittersweet cocktail of emotions that could make me drunk with longing, if I allowed it to.
I try to shake it off, placing a hand on the small of his back and steering him toward the big kitchen, where I spend most of my spare time.
“I like the place the way it is,” I answer, trying to keep my tone light. Trying my best to keep all those emotions and memories to myself. “Once I like something, I don’t usually change it much.”
“I thought maybe one of your lovers might have redecorated.”
I almost flinch, but instead I force a grin, hoping it doesn’t look as artificial as it feels. “I don’t let anyone change me, Syd. You should know that.”
“Yeah.” He sighs. “I definitely know that.”
I flip on the lights, illuminating the stainless-steel appliances, the off-white cabinetry, and the spotless brown granite counters. I love cooking—it’s my one hobby, other than gardening and landscaping—and my kitchen is stocked with every sort of cooking implement you could wish for. In fact, I cooked about two-thirds of the feast we just ate at Madison’s. Not that I’d ever admit that to Syd. My father’s been dead for years, yet I can still hear his voice in my ears, telling me that real men don’t cook. Dad was wrong about that, as he was about so many things… but I still can’t bring myself to admit that I enjoy cooking. At least not out loud.
“You want something to eat?” I offer.
“After that huge Christmas feast? Are you kidding?”
I leer. It’s probably as artificial as my grin, but I’m no actor. “I thought you might have worked up an appetite.”
“I’m still stuffed, thanks.” He looks up at me, then speaks hesitantly. “I do wonder if I could take a shower, though.”
Yeah, I remember that. He always liked to shower after sex, claiming he didn’t smell good afterward. Personally, I love the way he smells when he’s slightly sweaty and redolent of the earthy odor of a good fuck, but Syd’s never been convinced that the fragrance of sex lingering on his skin is a good thing. He likes to smell like soap and water, which also smells good on him, come to think of it.
“Sure,” I say, reaching into the huge refrigerator and grabbing a Coke. I’m tempted to go to my liquor cabinet and pull out whisky instead, but I need to keep a clear head. I want every instant of this night engraved on my memory for all time. “Go ahead. You remember where everything is, right?”
“Yeah. Thanks.” He disappears up the staircase, and I try hard not to stare at his ass in those jeans. I don’t totally succeed.
“I’ll see you in a few minutes,” I call up after him.
His soft laughter drifts down the stairs. “I hope you’ll see all of me in a few minutes.”
Shit. All at once I’m clutching the Coke so hard I dent the can. I collapse into one of the chairs surrounding the old pine kitchen table, abruptly aware of the sudden thudding of blood rushing through my veins. The way Syd’s still able to turn me inside out with a single evocative sentence scares the hell out of me. The simple thought of seeing him fully naked, after three years, is enough to leave me gasping for breath.
Talk about unwrapping presents for Christmas. Syd’s the only present I want.
The water starts running above, and suddenly that’s all I can hear. I can’t stop listening. I’m completely and totally focused on what’s going on just over my head. Syd runs the water till it’s hot, then there’s the slight thud of the glass door as he steps inside.
Thoughts of him standing in a cloud of steam, with hot water sluicing over his slim body, fill my mind. I imagine him running his soapy hands over his slick, wet skin, imagine his cock starting to harden beneath the water, and all at once my own body feels hot and heavy with urgent arousal, as if the two of us hadn’t come violently less than half an hour ago. As if that gut-wrenching climax somehow hadn’t been enough.
I feel the rapid pounding of my heart against my ribs, and realized it wasn’t enough. God, maybe it won’t ever be enough. I’m not sure I can ever get enough of Syd to satisfy me.
But what I am sure of is that I can’t wait ten minutes to have him again.
I ditch my barely touched Coke can and head up the stairs at a half run.
✽✽✽
Syd
The hot needles of water in Nick’s big glass and marble shower feel like heaven against my skin, and I let myself luxuriate in it. I’d almost forgotten how much I loved this shower, and how, during the course of our brief but intense relationship, I used to seek every excuse to clean off in here. My condo is nice, but it has a cheap little showerhead that drips rather than sprays—not exactly the height of sybaritic bathing. Someday I really ought to get around to putting in something better.
But in the meantime, I’m happy in Nick’s huge, extravagant shower. I wash and rinse my hair, then lather up with his soap, which is imbued with the masculine, pine needle fragrance I’ve always associated with him. Even after all this time, whenever I smell pine, I think of him.
I scrub myself off lazily. My cock is half hard already, which is ludicrous, considering the way I came all over Nick twenty minutes ago. But just being here, in his house, smelling his soap, is enough to put me into a constant state of semi-arousal. Which is kind of pathetic, really. My cock is a little sensitive, and I know it’s going to be more so later. Hell, I’m going to be sore all over, because Nick is huge…but I’m looking forward to it. I haven’t been sore that way in a long, long time.
I can’t help sighing as the water slips down my body, caressing it everywhere, exactly the way I want Nick’s hands and mouth to caress me. Ugh, I think, I must be crazy to have agreed to this. I’d arranged to see him because I w
anted to see if there was still a spark between us, and there is. There very definitely is.
But what the hell do I expect to do with that knowledge? Nick isn’t capable of commitment. I mean, I know that better than anyone. This is a dead end, just as it was three years ago.
I remember what I said to Madison: Call it my Christmas present to myself, Madison. All work and no play makes Syd a dull boy, you know?
I’ve never been the kind to indulge in casual sex, but… what the hell. It’s Christmas, and I’m entitled to a little fun, aren’t I? I figure one night of sheer physical pleasure isn’t such a terrible thing.
To be honest, I’m just worried about how I’m going to feel in the morning. Am I really going to be able to walk away from Nick again? Or am I going to let myself tumble helplessly into love with someone who can’t love me back a second time?
I’m so wrapped up in my thoughts that the sound of the shower’s glass door opening startles me into a very undignified squeak. I find myself looking at Nick, who’s standing butt naked right in front of me.
Wow. He’s a sight to make anyone melt into a puddle, I think, staring at him through the clouds of mist. When we were together, he’d worked out almost every day, and it’s more than obvious that he still does. Maybe even more often than he used to. Or maybe it’s just the physical labor that makes him look like a bodybuilder. His chest is broad, with a heavy overlay of well-developed pecs, and his biceps are corded and defined. My gaze drops lower, and I admire his abs, lean and taut. And beneath that—
I know I’m staring, but I could stare all day and not get enough of the sight. His cock is every bit as huge as I remember. And it juts upward, curving inward slightly, every bit as heavy and thick as it had been in the truck.
The memory of him moving against me, hard and fast, fills my mind. He felt so hard, so hot, so slick…
My knees go weak, but I’m determined not to instantly collapse into his arms. I mean, the man already knows he’s sexy. He’s got an ego the size of Jupiter, and he doesn’t need me to inflate his big head even further.
“Come on in,” I say casually, as if I’d been expecting him to join me. “You’re letting all the steam out.”
Obediently, he steps in and shuts the door behind him, staring at me every bit as hungrily as I’d stared at him. Which is absurd, because where he’s carved and sculpted like a Greek statue of Zeus, I’m just an ordinary guy. Short, slender, and not particularly handsome. He’s a gourmet meal created by a master chef… and I’m chopped liver.
My point is, I’m nothing special. Even so, his gaze is avid, and I feel my body tense. My cock rises to full mast, and moisture that has nothing at all to do with the shower begins seeping from the head.
“You’re as beautiful as ever,” he says at last, hoarsely.
I know that’s just a line, the sort of thing a player like him says to lure potential lovers into his bed, but he sounds sincere, and I can’t help the little quiver that runs through my gut.
“So are you,” I whisper, and unlike him, I mean it. He’s about thirty-three now, I figure, and there are a few strands of silver in his hair that weren’t there three years ago, but they only emphasize the midnight black of his too-long mane. There are a few more lines around his eyes, too, but that simply gives him a look of maturity that he didn’t possess back when I knew him.
God, he’s stunning, and he’s only grown more beautiful with the passage of the years.
Nick takes a step toward me, and his big hand touches my chin, tilting my head up. Suddenly his lips are against mine, hard and hungry, and I part my lips for him instantly, giving him free access. There’s nothing gentle about our kiss—it’s hot and intense, almost feral. He tastes sweet, like the Coke he was drinking, but there’s another flavor beneath that, something dangerous and addictive, and I can’t help moaning into his mouth.
His hands slide up my slick skin, dancing lightly across my ribcage, skittering to a halt at my pecs. He obviously remembers my nipples are sensitive. He brushes his thumbs across them gently, and they harden into little peaks, aching.
My cock twitches, and he looks down at it, chuckling at my instantaneous reaction.
“It’s still gorgeous, too,” he whispers.
I feel my cheeks turn red, and not from the heat. I’ve always been self-conscious about my size, and it’s worse around him. Next to his huge cock, who wouldn’t feel inadequate? “It’s still small.”
“No, Syd. It’s perfect. It always was. And so are you.” His thumbs trace my nipples, unhurriedly, gently, and I can’t hold back a moan.
“More, Nick.”
A rumble of laughter rolls from his chest at my demand. His left hand continues to play with my nipple, but his right hand slides across my abdomen and begins stroking my cock, the way I stroked his earlier. Softly, teasingly. I know he’s turning the tables on me, quite deliberately, and I want to be annoyed, but it feels like heaven, and I can’t seem to maintain my grasp on any emotion except pleasure.
I’m dripping now, and not from the shower. He wets his palm in my moisture and begins jacking me, slowly but firmly. His hand is so big my cock practically disappears in it, but any self-consciousness I feel fades away at the expression on his face. He looks like a man in the desert who’s just spotted an oasis, and the reverent wonder in his eyes makes my chest ache.
I’ve always been putty in his hands, and within moments I’m panting, writhing against the green marble of the shower wall, desperate for an intense, shattering release like the one we shared earlier. But he doesn’t give it to me, only teases me slowly, deliberately, until the tension coils like a tightly wound wire inside me, so taut it’s simply unbearable.
“Please,” I murmur into his mouth.
He pulls back, looks into my eyes, and shakes his head. “I’m afraid not, sweetheart. This time I want to be inside you when you come.”
The image those words put into my head almost sends me to my knees. The thought of him filling me up makes me ache with longing. And yet I need release now. I catch at his hand as he tries to pull it away.
“Please,” I whisper again. “I can’t wait.”
He clenches his eyes shut like he’s in pain. Then he moves his hand faster, jerking me hard, giving me what I need.
The shock of the sensation almost sends me to my knees. Pleasure, so hot it’s all but intolerable, surges through me. I hear myself crying out helplessly, and the explosion is on me so fast I’m stunned. I fall back against the marble wall, sobbing his name, as his hand moves on me hard and a climax rolls through me in wave after inexorable wave.
When my cock starts to soften in his hand, he staggers back from me, panting heavily. I force my own eyelids open and look up at him. His face is tense with lust, his dark eyes wild with it. I glance down at his erection, seeing that it’s swollen, incredibly hard and thick, the broad head flushed a dark red color. I realized he can’t wait, either.
God, I remember we were always hungry for each other… but not like this. This is something else again, something so fierce and desperate I don’t have words to describe it. I’ve never wanted anyone so intensely. I’ve never craved another human being this way.
I try to remember that I’m just another in a long line of conquests, and that he probably makes everyone feel this way. But then I push the cynical thought away. Just for tonight, I’m going to let myself pretend that I’m special to him. That I’m the one he really, truly wants.
I’m going to pretend that he craves me, too.
Putting a hand on either side of him, I back him against the wall and drop to my knees, licking at his hot, hard flesh, tasting him, teasing him, until his breath hisses through his teeth.
“Ah… yes. Yes, Syd.”
He tastes just like I remember. A little salty, like the ocean. And he’s so big. I open my mouth wide and let him slide inside, sucking in a frenzy of need, taking him as deeply as I possibly can. He thrusts against my mouth roughly, making ragged, incoherent
sounds of need deep in his chest.
It’s been such a long time since I tasted him, explored him, and I feel like I could do this for the rest of the night, and love every minute of it. But he grasps frantically at my hair in a matter of moments.
“Syd. You need to stop—I’m going to—”
As if I’m going to stop now. As if this isn’t what I’ve dreamed about, for years now. I pull back, just for a moment, and let my tongue swirl around the head of his cock. It’s more swollen than before, round and wet with salty precome and my spit. His entire cock looks shiny and slick, highlighting the bulging veins that snake along the sides of it. It’s a thing of beauty, and I think I could get off just staring at it.
But no. There are far better things to do with it than look at it. I lean back toward him, taking him fully into my mouth again, and his hips jerk forward like he just can’t stop himself. He’s fucking my mouth now, thrusting fast and deep, totally out of control. I hear him groan, feel his cock jerk hard, and then he’s crying out hoarsely, shooting his load right down my throat.
When it’s over, he stumbles back against the wall, then slowly falls to his knees. I rise to my feet, turn off the water, and look down at him, feeling shocked and delighted by the extent of his reaction. His dark head is bent, his shoulders heaving. I literally brought him to his knees.
I did that. I made this big, strong guy weak with ecstasy.
The thought fills me with a warmth I’ve never known before. I push open the glass door, step out into the steam-filled bathroom, and find two fluffy, emerald green towels. I lean back in, intending to rub him dry, but he takes the towel from me, rises to his feet, and starts drying himself.