25. Data

TWENTY-FIVE

Data

Here's the thing you need to know about Marsh: when he says "My Data," his voice completely changes. Two words. Three syllables. But, there's a softness. A yearning. Something about the way those sounds come together produces a unique reaction in his vocal cords. And I'm the only one lucky enough to hear it. My Data. My Data. My Data.

Those words, from his lips, melt my insides like a thick dab of butter on a warm biscuit. Not the cheap ones they sell at the grocery in a six-pack, but the hefty, flaky ones you get at the Portuguese bakery on fifty-fourth street. The ones that cost six dollars a biscuit, but are worth every penny. My stomach flips at the thought of his voice. Or maybe it's a hunger pang from thinking about those damn biscuits.

After freshening up in the bathroom, I find Marsh sprawled out on the bed. Even though the room is colder than we'd like, he's lying naked on top of the comforter. Standing in the doorway, I realize this is the first time I've seen Marsh naked since we broke up. Unlike our recent encounters, the lights are on, I'm fully awake and able to take him all in.

Marsh exudes a confidence in his skin I found sexy from the moment I laid eyes on him. With his hands behind his head, his cock, rock hard and ready, lies pointing at his round stomach. Light peach fuzz starts just below his belly button until it meets the barely there bush above his dick. He wants so badly to be a bear, but he's almost hairless. The one time he tried to grow a beard, he ended up looking like a naked mole rat.

Marsh spots me, and a smile overtakes his delectable face. My entire body hums with anticipation. There's no denying it. I love everything about this man. My Marsh.

"Come here often?"

I chuckle because even when his jokes delve into dad territory, his charm somehow buoys them.

"This Winnie the Pooh cosplay you're doing is everything."

I glance down and yup, only wearing the red U.S. Open T-shirt I bought solely because the fit was right, and while those men look delicious smacking a ball back and forth over a net, I look like a certain bear who wears a shirt and nothing else.

"Do you want me to take it off?" I ask, tugging at the hem.

"No, keep it on. You can be my Data the Pooh Bear."

I'm fairly certain he isn't interested in a Hundred Acre Wood fantasy, but right now, I wouldn't even object. I'll be the Winnie to his Tigger anyday.

Laying next to him, my hands immediately land on his belly. Something about it attracts my fingers like bees to honey. The words almost escape my lips, but I'm hesitant to encourage his A. A. Milne kink.

"My Data." He moves his hand around me as I snuggle into his burly chest. His smell, a mix of that ridiculous body spray and his natural scent, slightly sweet and ripe, intoxicates me and I have the desire to crawl inside him and stay there forever. Except, right now, I want him inside me.

I tilt my head so my eyes find his and hope I'm able to convey just how much I want to be his. Now. Tomorrow. Forever.

"Did you mean it?" I ask.

"About you being my Pooh Bear? "

I chuckle. "No. About missing me." I kiss Marsh's chin and study his beautiful face.

"Data Bear," he says, this new nickname flowing over me like sweet honey, "I've missed you every second since … "

The corners of his eyes prickle. There's nothing but sincerity in his voice. I rescue him from having to say it, craning my head to capture his soft lips. He still tastes like matzoh ball soup and I'm not mad about it. My tongue juts between his lips and Marsh lets out a quiet moan. There's miles between us and the closest neighbors, but years of living like sardines in the city have him on guard. I'm determined to untangle him.

Reaching down, I palm his dick, taking my time to let my fingers remember the landscape. Every line and curve comes flooding back as my thumb traces his shaft. Skating up to the head, brushing over the tip, his precum alerting me to his excitement.

"God, I've missed this," he says.

"Me grabbing your cock?"

Marsh laughs, and a wave of satisfaction washes over me, knowing I've tickled his funny bone.

"That's not what I meant, but yeah." I gently clutch him, and then slowly stroke, my fingers falling back into the familiarity of all his favorite spots.

"Did you miss me sucking it?" I ask.

He reaches up and traces my bottom lip before slipping his finger inside. Instantly, I'm sucking, swirling my tongue around his finger, giving him a preview of what I'm about to do to him.

"My Data and his magical mouth."

I chuckle and lightly bite down on his finger, a slight snarl overtaking my lips. Being this close on the bed, the intimacy not rushed, but treasured, part of me hopes Mother Nature unloads ten feet of fresh powder and we're trapped in the cabin together for all eternity. We can arrange for pizza and Mallomars to be airlifted in .

He pulls his finger out of my mouth. "Let's see if I've still got it," I tease, snaking down to his chest. He tickles my back as my tongue flirts with his nipple.

"There's my Data," he coos. "Oh, lord."

My tongue traces the perimeter, slowly flicking, bringing Marsh to full attention. My left hand joins the right on his cock. He's so fucking hard, and the nerves on my fingertips crackle under the heat.

Kissing his chest, I steal a glance at Marsh's face before resuming my journey south. He's staring at me with eyes like two giant emerald pools I want to do a massive cannonball into. Eight years of togetherness comes crashing back in that look. He can tell me he misses me until the end of time and I wouldn't tire of it. Those eyes. Marsh's missing me sends tingles rushing over my skin like a tsunami.

"I missed you too," I say. "So fucking much."

A half smile tugs at his lips, and he sighs. There's no quip. No punchline. Just him waiting for me to service his glorious cock.

Marsh reaches for my face, his thumb tracing my jawline. As he rubs my beard, he finishes with a sweep of my lips and I kiss his finger.

"I love you." The words fall from my lips like shooting stars.

He replies by pulsing his dick in my palm. He once joked he could send me the complete works of David Sedaris in Morse code with his cock. Science should study the man's erections.

"My sweet Data," he finally says. He doesn't need to tell me he loves me. His eyes do all the talking.

I push myself down and his beautiful package finally comes close enough to taste. Marsh really has a gorgeous dick—when I wrap my fist around it, my fingers barely reach my thumb. It took me months to get the majority down my throat, but one thing about me, when it comes to blowing Marsh, I'm persistent. I once tried to whittle a replica out of basswood, but I couldn't get the curve right.

"Why would you want a wood dildo of my dick? That's a nasty splinter waiting to happen," he said.

"Marsh, it deserves to be honored with a sculpture and I'm the only one qualified for the task."

Holding the real deal, inches from my face, I whisper, "Hey, you."

"Are you talking to my boner?" Marsh asks.

"Hush," I say, turning toward him. "This is a private conversation."

"Now, you," I say, turning back to his erection, "I've missed you almost as much as him." I nod at Marsh.

"What's that?" I ask, pulling the head toward my ear.

"Oh sure, a kiss first?" I gently brush my lips on the tip.

"More? Of course," I tease and pop his cock into my mouth.

My tongue brushes the head, back and forth, as my hand assists, covering more real estate and giving him the magical experience he always raved about. Marsh lifts his hips, thrusting up, and his cock fills me, but my gag reflex, still training to take him all after all these years, kicks in and small gasps and gurgles escape my lips.

"You okay, babe?"

His eyebrows are drawn together as he makes strong eye contact. The man doesn't have a mean bone in his body. Even as he jams his tastiest bone down my throat, he's concerned about my comfort, which makes me want to devour him more.

"Yeah, I'm just a few months out of practice," I say, waving his hard cock and slapping it against my beard.

"Oh fuck. The best tickles." Marsh's barrel chest shakes with laughter as I attempt to bury his dick in my whiskers, covering it from every angle. It's my secret weapon to titillate and torture him simultaneously .

"You love it," I say, massaging his dick into the thickest hairs, right below my cheek.

"Guilty."

"Now, before you pound me … " I lift his balls and spread my beard on his taint like a kitten marking his scent. His thighs shiver as I paint him with my facial hair, and a mischievous smile slithers onto my lips.

"Data. Oh, oh!"

I grab his ankles and lift. Marsh hoists his legs in the air, giving me better access, and my tongue glides down and slips right into his hole. With added pressure, my beard prickles the perimeter as I plunge into his opening. Nothing gets him harder than a pre-fucking rim job.

With my tongue darting in and out of him, his cock surges over and over in my hand. If he could deliver/I could read Morse Code, I imagine he'd be tapping out "I'm going to fuck you so hard."

Each throb in my palm is a teaser of what's about to come. My hole twitches in anticipation, knowing how much we both want this. Need this. Every rom-com I've ever seen has taught me two things: Julia Roberts can do no wrong, and the only thing better than breakup sex is makeup sex.

"There we go," I say, tugging at his erection. "You're so ready. Do you want to fuck me?"

"Um, does the Academy love comedians in dramatic roles?"

I grin at his joke.

"Except for Jim Carrey."

"You'll never get over that, will you?" I ask.

"Criminal oversight."

My face stretches and sends whiskers flying across his entire rump. Marsh trembles and mumbles, "Oooh."

"How do you want to do it?" Waiting for his reply, I lick up to his balls, continuing to his shaft and kissing the head of his cock for good measure.

"My dick. Your ass."

"Yeah, I figured, but how?"

"Data, I don't fucking care. I just want to be buried inside you." He reaches for my chin and lifts my head so our eyes meet. "Soon."

I kiss my way up to his face, peppering as much of his skin as I can until my lips land on his. Wrapping his paws around my torso, he pulls me close, our tongues playing chase inside each other's mouths until I fall on him with a thud. I may be a big boy, but he's bigger. Taller. Broader. Stronger. Inside and out. Marsh shelters me. I never have to worry about crushing him. He takes every ounce of me like a pro, welcoming my weight on his sturdy body.

Pausing the kiss, Marsh keeps his lips brushed against mine. "My Data."

My legs straddle him and his cock, already poking at my hole, lurches against me. Now it's Marsh's turn to deliver a sexy as fuck mischievous grin.

"You ready?" I ask.

"Baby, I was born ready." He slaps my ass and smiles.

He always has a plan—especially for sex. When I was in the bathroom, he smartly planted the bottle of lube from The General Store on the bedside table. No scurrying or searching when the moment hits. Grab and go.

He hands me the bottle and I squirt a generous amount on my palm and slather it on myself. When I'm ready, I warm a little more up for him and reach back and apply it on his hard-as-a-diamond cock. Marsh's face lights up like I've just told him he's opening for the late George Carlin. The way he's looking at me like I'm the only soul in the universe, I've missed that more than anything.

Leaning forward, his cock finds its target, and I slowly ease back, only taking the tip. After the hammering in The General Store bathroom and riding him like a mechanical bull in the middle of last night, my ass is more than ready. But I'm in no rush. I want to savor him. Sneaking a peek, I find him staring at me.

"What?" I ask.

"You. Who gave you permission to be this perfect?"

Here's the thing you need to know about Marsh: Yes, he can land a whip smart joke quicker than a wink, but he also can put a sentence together that takes my breath away. How am I supposed to answer him? Marsh sees me. All of me. He always has. And he's always made me feel like the sexiest, most desirable man on the planet.

Unable to reply, I rest back, allowing his cock to slide in. I reach back and caress his balls. The barely there hair always elicits a smile, and my fingers travel up the base of his dick, relishing feeling the point of our connection.

"Feel good?" he asks, running his hands up my stomach and landing on my chest.

"Phenomenal. As always." I continue alternating between gently massaging his balls, adding some pressure underneath, and feeling his thick dick sliding inside me. The pleasure from my ass travels outward and frissons of pleasure ripple through me.

"You missed me, right?" I ask.

"So much."

"Fuck me like you missed me."

He does his best to thrust up, but I want him deeper. Closer. More connected.

Leaning over, my lips land on his, and he slips out of me, the popping noise causing us both to giggle as he nibbles my lips.

"Oops," I say. My legs are tired and I fall next to him. With the lube still slick and sticky in my palm, my hand takes over, jerking him slowly.

"My Data." He kisses my nose. My cheek. My chin. His lips ruffle the small hairs in my beard and I catch his eyes studying me.

With a mix of sadness and urgency, he says, "Fuck, I missed you."

"Me or my ass?"

"Data, I missed every inch of you."

He rolls toward me, reaches behind, and slaps my ass, the sound and sting sending a jolt of passion to my core.

"But mostly dat ass. Dat ass. Dat ass." With each utterance, he slaps me.

I shift my position, allowing him better access and Marsh slips two fingers in my eager hole.

"Slide it in."

I roll away from him and lift my leg, bending and pulling it toward my chest.

His fingers spread me open, and he guides himself in. His arm wraps around my torso, clutching me close as he fucks me. Picking up speed, his lips find my ear and he whispers, "My Data. My Data. My Data."

With each declaration, he plunges into me, finally giving me the pounding I'm craving.

"There you go," I say. "Harder. Harder. Fuck me harder."

His fingers grip my chest, pulling and tugging at the hair, but I don't care. There's no way I'm asking him to stop. He's clinging to me like his life depends on it, and I'm determined to stay as close as possible.

I reach back, running my fingers through his hair, pulling his lips toward my neck. Seeking another point of contact, Marsh nibbles, kisses, and licks. This is the moment I wish could last forever. No stopping. No separating. Just us. Here. Connected .

"Data. Babe. I'm close."

But that's not how sex works. Its fleeting nature is part of what makes it so fucking amazing.

"Okay. Like this?" I ask.

"Yeah, this. Close. Fuck, I missed you."

I laugh because Marsh may never stop telling me. And I'm perfectly fine with that.

With my free hand, I reach between my legs, feeling his balls again, his cock sliding in and out, waiting for his tell. When his sack contracts, I pause my fingers, waiting for it. Before he utters a word, I feel his cock throbbing, shooting, filling me up.

"Lord, Data." He pulls me even closer, attempting to fuse our bodies together as he ravages me.

His body slows, but he doesn't pull out. Instead, he draws me to him with both arms now, kissing my upper back, whispering over and over, "My Data. My Data. My Data."

Even after he's come, Marsh's cock stays hard for a good fifteen minutes. He doesn't know why, but it has proven useful on multiple occasions. Again: science community, get on this.

"If you wait a few minutes, I can keep going," he offers.

"Marsh. You're not the Energizer Bunny. Let's not give your asthma an excuse to flare up." I scoot forward, the familiar pop of his erection leaving me echoing in the room. I lay on my back and pat his smooth chest.

"But I have my inhaler." He pulls it from a drawer in the bedside table. "Locked and loaded."

"Babe. I'm good. Truly," I say, palming myself, ready to release the first not break-up sex orgasm since we arrived on the mountain.

"Okay, but let me at least … " Marsh shimmies down and takes me in his hand. After a few strokes, he's sucking, the small room filling with the sounds of his enjoyment.

"So much fucking better than matzoh ball soup," he says, licking down my shaft to my balls, Marsh tongues them, covering as much surface area as possible.

"Don't knock your soup," I say. "It's delicious."

"Yeah, so are these." He laps at my balls.

After eight years together, Marsh knows how to make me come fast. First, he takes my cock in his mouth, rolling his tongue around the head, swirling and slurping, putting his all into getting me off. Next, he reaches up with one hand, pinching and flicking my left nipple. He's researched them both and finds the left more efficient. Finally, with his other hand, he slips two fingers into my hole. After the hammering he just gave me, I'm open, ready, desperate for his touch. With his patented three-point system, hints of my orgasm appear quickly.

With my breath deepening, Marsh picks up speed. Alternating between my chest and shaft, one hand strokes and squeezes, while the other fucks me deep, hitting my spot. My entire body shakes, my lips part, and gasps and moans reverberate off the tacky wood paneling we never replaced.

"There's my Data. Come for me, babe. Give it to me."

And that's it. My orgasm cracks me open. I'm split in two, allowing him right back into the vacancy he left in my heart. The first spurt hits his face, but he doesn't recoil. Like a firefighter running toward the danger, he lunges his face forward, swallowing me whole. My cock shoots down his throat and Marsh's gulping joins my sighs of pleasure as he takes me all in.

"Fucking scrumptious. If only I had a Mallomar with it." Marsh licks his lips and lies next to me.

Panting heavily, I say, "Maybe next time."

Marsh cuddles into my chest.

"Covers, please," he says, and we scurry under. He's immediately back, plastering himself against me. I do my best to gather him in my arms, rolling him slightly and drawing his back toward me. Even though he's bigger, Marsh always finds a way to be the small spoon .

"I missed you," he says. "So damn much."

"I know, babe."

"And I'm sorry. Again."

"You don't have to keep apologizing," I say.

"I was an idiot. A scared, insecure idiot."

"Talk to me next time. This." I pat his chest, right where his heart beats. "This is what I care about."

"Deal."

Marsh always had this ritual before bed. We had to kiss exactly three times. He swore he couldn't sleep well otherwise. The first two are soft and quick, but on the final one, he presses and stays a little longer. He says, "It locks the first two in place."

"Kiss, please," I say.

Marsh turns around, kisses me twice, short and sweet, and then finally, the last kiss comes. He lingers longer than usual, and I breathe him in. Grateful to have him back where he belongs. In my arms. My Marsh.