31. Brooks

CHAPTER 31

brOOKS

Tate tipped his head back, lashes fluttering like butterfly wings when I flexed my hand around his cock. He was half hard, hot and already leaking precum by the time my thumb dragged through his slit, and the moan that fell out of his mouth was music to my ears.

“It’s not soundproof back here, darling,” I warned, shifting my weight so I could cover his mouth with my free hand. He blinked his eyes open, revealing wide and dark pupils, deep with enough lust that my own cock jerked at the sight of it.

Tate grunted against my palm, teeth bared as I tightened my hold around his shaft. I wanted to fuck him there, more than I’d ever wanted him, I thought, but the logistics of managing that in the back seat of a larger than normal, but smaller than a limousine, town car was something I hadn’t put much forethought into.

“Give me your hands,” I said, and he lifted his ass off the seat and stuck his wrists at my face. It was careless, but I made quick work of getting him unbuckled, then I wound the seatbelt around his wrists and latched it back into place. It twisted his body to the side, hands restrained against the seat, cock accessible through the fly of his pants. He grunted, and whether it was in protest or approval, I wasn’t sure. His face and body told me he wanted it and Tate knew what words to use to make it stop.

I tugged his pants down until his bare ass was pressed against the seat, but the denim was in my way, so I pulled his jeans and his underwear all the way down to his ankles before situating myself back between his half-spread legs. Reaching up, I shoved two of my fingers into his mouth, depressing his tongue and reaching for the back of his throat. He sputtered and gagged, muscles seizing around me as I reached deeper.

“Get them wet, Tate,” I said, voice quiet. “And settle down before he pulls over to check on your welfare back here.”

He sealed his lips around my knuckles and sucked like if he was good enough at it, cum would spurt out of my fingertips. I appreciated his eagerness and decided that when all was said and done, I’d be sure to let him use the lube after all. But said and done was definitely not going to be in the back of this car. It might not even be this weekend at all.

Spit leaked down his chin, and I imagined they were as wet as he could get them. I pulled my fingers out of his throat, my dick surging at the sounds Tate made when he caught a breath. Teasing behind his balls and lower still, I hauled him to the edge of the seat to allow myself more access. The back seat was bigger than most cars, but still cramped, and the heels of my own shoes dug into my ass, knees resting against the floor. I traced spit-slick swirls around the soft skin between Tate’s balls and his asshole, then I teased both fingers into him at the same time.

He moaned, spreading his legs wider and using the muscles of his ass to grab around my knuckles. Sweat had already started to bead on his forehead and he looked positively debauched…and I’d barely gotten him going.

“Be quiet,” I warned again. I was too far below him to reach his mouth and he wasn’t going to be able to gag himself with his hands ratcheted to the seat. “Did you need help?”

“I need you,” he whispered.

I needed him too. More than he’d ever know.

I tore both his shoes off his feet and then fought his pants the rest of the way down until I could get his underwear off. His boxer briefs were still wet with precum, and I balled them up, shoving them as deep into his mouth as the material would reach. Tate made a choked-off gagging sound, eyes rolling back in his head as I pushed both of my fingers into his asshole again.

“That’s better, yes?” I asked, tone teasing.

He nodded fervently, jerking his hands against the seatbelt. He was tied up and tied down, sucking in breaths of his own arousal while I fucked his asshole with my fingers and his cock with my fist. Tate’s erection was long and hard, thick with the skin pulled taut and hot to the touch. He’d gotten enough spit onto my fingers that his hole made indecent squelching noises as I pushed into him, spitting down onto my hand so I could add a third.

Tate tried to shout, the sound barely smothered by the cotton in his mouth. I’d told him earlier the driver would stop if he made too much noise, but the truth was Tate could scream the roof off the car and he would have kept rolling on. I paid a lot of money for the luxuries in my life, discretion being at the top of that list.

With three fingers buried to the knuckle, I levered myself up off the floor of the car so I could get deeper into Tate’s body. He thrashed beneath me, fighting so hard he locked the seatbelt in place, which only caused him to fight harder. Against my palm, his cock thickened, and I smiled, kissed his forehead, and pulled away from him entirely. Tate screamed against the gag, tears springing out of his eyes before he even had a chance to think about holding them back. His cock cried too, precum leaking out of his tip and sliding down toward his balls, which were hardly visible for how high they’d lifted toward his body.

“I want you beyond belief,” I whispered, fighting my own fly down and taking my cock into my hand.

I laid myself on top of him, as much as the position would allow, stroking my cock against his while leaving his erection untouched. Tate’s eyes flew open, wide and frantic, and I pressed a kiss against the top of his mouth, getting more of his underwear against my lips than his skin.

“I want you so much I can’t stand it,” I told him, stroking myself so the head of my cock bumped against his swollen and slippery head. I repositioned, jerking myself against his tender balls, his stretched and ready asshole.

The seatbelt continued to hold him tight against the back of the seat, so when I stroked myself to completion, he was helpless to do anything besides whine and choke. I shot all over the dark and hot skin of his shaft, using the side of my finger to drag it up to his slit and push it inside.

After gathering my cum with the tips of my fingers, I pulled Tate’s underwear out of his mouth. He sucked in a sputtering breath, which I quickly cut off by shoving my fingers into his mouth. He immediately closed his lips and sucked me clean, swirling his tongue around my fingers and chasing after every drop of my release he could catch. His hips bucked again off the seat, chasing after friction he wasn’t going to find.

“Look what you do to me,” I whispered, kissing my way toward his ear. The salty tear stains on his cheeks were enough to draw another dribble out of my dick, which I promptly rubbed against his asshole. My leg was asleep from the awkward twist of my body, but the way Tate whined and whimpered against my hand made the discomfort worth it. “When we get to the farm, I’m going to take such good care of you, darling.”

It wasn’t a lie.

Tate would be restless and needy by the time we arrived, even worse off after enduring dinner and drinks with my friends and their significant others. I imagined he would beg for it by the time we made it to bed, and as a reward for his graciousness and his patience, I’d give him everything he asked for.

“I love you,” Tate gasped, trying again to get loose of the seatbelt and falling short. “I need you so much.”

“I’m yours.” I licked my way back down to his mouth. “I’m right here, Tate.”

He dropped his head against the back of the seat with a groan, and I smiled against his lips, kissing down his chin to his throat. He tasted like tears and sweat and cum and soap. He tasted like he was mine.

“You’re not going to let me come, are you?”

“Not in this car,” I said.

Another tear slid from the corner of his eye, outlining the dimple of his nostril before spreading out over his upper lip. I kissed him there too, catching my breath. Once I could hear more than the thunderous beat of my own heart, I reclined off of Tate just far enough to get him re-dressed, sans underwear, of course. I took my time with his shoes and his socks, tightening and knotting the laces before collapsing with a huff into my seat beside him.

Tate rolled his head to face me, expression tight but sated.

“Would you stay like this the whole ride?” I asked, pulling at the seatbelt around his wrists.

He hummed, nodding and closing his eyes.

My perfect, tired, darling man.

“I love you too,” I whispered, undoing the latch and unwinding the nylon from his wrists and pulling him over the hump of the center seat so I could reach him better. Tate sagged against me with a groan, and I massaged my thumbs into his wrists, wearing the striped pattern of the belt out of his skin. Minutes passed, and Tate finally cleared his throat.

“I almost forgot how well you massage.”

“Then I’m failing you.” I brought his wrists to my mouth and kissed each one before moving my fingers up toward his forearms to knead those muscles next.

He pried open one of his eyes, giving me a wary expression before he sighed and settled back against the seat.

“What was that for?” I asked.

“You say things like that sometimes, but you mean them.”

“Did I not mean it now?”

“You meant it, but not as a shortcoming I don’t think.” Tate groaned when I pressed into a knot. “Not in the way you used to.”

I traced my tongue across the underside of my top teeth, thinking about how I understood what he’d meant, even if the delivery had been far from clear. Even though our relationship was new, in the earlier days of it, I was filled with doubt, worried that I was going to do the wrong thing or too much of the right thing, and lose him entirely. That fear wasn’t gone, but it was a far softer thing than it had been before, and the thought hadn’t even crossed my mind when I’d made the comment.

“I really meant I just need to up my game,” I clarified, kissing the top of his head.

“A month ago, you would have died before saying something like that.”

“You’re not wrong,” I agreed.

My fingers were starting to cramp from the awkward angle of the massage I’d set up to give Tate, so I forced myself through it until I reached his elbows, then I lowered both of his hands into my lap. He turned his palms up and threaded our fingers together. I tipped my chin toward my chest to admire the way our hands fit together, the way our fingers twined like a braid.

“You know so much about me,” I said, turning our hands over to study the connection points from the other side. “But I don’t know much about you.”

“You know more than most,” he said softly.

“I know how you look when you come.”

“And you know how to make me come.”

I chuckled, remembering Tate’s fruitless pursuit of a man like me after our first night together.

“So, more than most after all.”

He laughed, tucking himself against my chest. I should have buckled him up, but I wrapped my arm around his shoulder instead, trusting myself—maybe for the first time—to keep him safe.