Chapter 16

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

NICHOLAS

It's hookup night, and I am more than ready for it.

I've been full steam ahead all week, drawing up my reserves of energy. Visiting the flower farms made the situation clear. Flower Hub is sticking their nose in all my best contracts, and they haven't even opened their doors. They're ordering in magnitudes that I don't understand, which means they're planning for a future without me in it.

When I try to reach them directly, I can't even track down real people. It's endless customer-service robot hell over the phone, while my emails go into the void.

With a probable rent increase coming down the road, too, it's time to double my efforts in making Blossom a financial success.

I wave to a few friends down the street before I duck into the shop, entering through the front door like I'm going to work. Snickering to myself at the subterfuge, I walk straight around to the stairway, then up to Clay's door as I whistle. I've got a backpack and a paper bag, and I hitch the weight as I wait for him to answer.

I had such a nice time with him at the flower farms, and I can't wait to get my hands on him again.

The door swings open, and he's there. The sun is setting behind him, and Clay is wearing one of his worn T-shirts, the soft ones that cling to his muscles.

He raises up half a smile. "Hey. Let me help you with that."

"It's no problem," I say as I kick off my shoes. I walk straight to the table, and I notice the place is starting to fall into order. Putting the bags down, I turn back to Clay. "I brought you presents."

"What?" he asks, voice gruff.

I laugh. "You heard me. I picked up a pillow and a pillowcase. Because how can you have only one pillow? It's a little demented. And some more lube to replenish you. Plus a sheet that isn't scratchy. That's all."

Clay blinks at me. He hitches his jeans up. "What the hell is this about?"

"You're allowed to do me favors. Now I'm doing you a favor in a return."

"Maybe I like only having one pillow and scratchy sheets."

"Do you?"

He frowns. "No," he admits.

He walks over and grabs the pillow off the table, giving it a firm, slow squeeze.

"You bought this?"

"It was on clearance."

He grunts. "Thanks." He gestures around. "I'm trying to make it nicer in here. Realized I'm going to have to show it to people to sell it."

"It looks fantastic already. The siding you repaired makes the whole building pop."

"Thanks." Clay walks over to the fridge. "Want a drink? I picked up a bottle of wine and some vodka. I could tell you aren't a beer guy."

A tingle goes over me. "That's nice of you. Is it red by chance?"

He nods. "I never drink anything but beer. Tried to get a decent wine, though."

I smile. "Thanks! Beer makes me sleepy. Wine makes me flushed and horny."

Clay arches a heavy eyebrow at me. "Let me get you a big glass."

I blurt out a loud laugh. This is the most relaxed I've seen him yet, and it's nice.

We talk casually for a while, about the repairs and Blossom, Allentown and Missouri. By the time we're on the couch, the heat is rising, and I'm pulled toward him.

"That was sexy last time we hooked up," I start.

Clay pushes a hand through his hair. "Yeah, it was." He avoids my eyes for a moment, takes a swig of his drink, and looks back at me. "Been thinking about it."

Heat washes through me, glad that he has, too. "Can I kiss you?" I ask.

Clay nods, and I move over. Throwing a leg across him, I straddle Clay as I kiss him. My tongue slides across his bottom lip, and my fingers play in the hair on the back of his head.

He pulls me to him, deepening the kiss. When I finally lean back, I let out a satisfied hum.

"I'm definitely up for more anal play," I tell him. "But there's a lot more for you to try, if you'd like."

Clay leans back, too, and drags his eyes over my body, lingering at my crotch. Heat pools there, and I get hard under his gaze.

When he pulls his face up again, I bite my lip, letting him feel how much he turns me on, and giving him a moment to think without talking.

"Yeah," he finally says. "I'm ready for something new."

I lean forward, kissing him again, faster this time. His dick is thick and hard in his jeans, and I have to fight the urge to pull him out and take him in my mouth.

I put my lips to Clay's ear instead. "Do you want to touch my cock?" I ask.

He growls under his breath, affirming.

"Good," I say and draw my hand gently up his bulge. "Your dick feels so good in my hand."

Clay grabs my side, pulling me harder against him. "What about you?" he asks as we grind slow and steady together, falling back into our established rhythms. "What do you want, Nicholas?"

"What do you think of dirty talk?" I ask, panting under my breath.

The idea has always turned me on, but I've never had the right opportunity to try more than a few words here and there. My serious boyfriends have all been vanilla, and our sex never left much room for that kind of play.

Clay considers me. "It's hot that you want that," he says evenly, "but you know I'm not much of a talker."

I whisper my fingers over his bulge some more. "But I am," I answer.

He growls. "Talk dirty to me, Nicholas," he says. "I want you to tell me every filthy word in your head."

I laugh as pleasure rolls through me. Clay pulls me back into the kiss. We roll against each other, and he quickly gets back on top, groping my side and groaning as our tongues swirl.

His hand goes up my torso, possessive. As we make out, his grip goes lower, closer and closer to my crotch.

"My cock is already so hard for you," I tell him, enjoying the words on my lips.

Clay ruts his erection against my thigh, his big body all over me. "Me, too," he says.

"Clay," I breathe. "I'm so stiff it hurts, and I'm not going to feel better until you touch it."

His big hand brushes over my dick. Clay tenses, but quickly recovers. Kissing me again, he drags his palm up my erection, feeling my length.

"That's right," I encourage him. I press my hand against his bulge again, palming him harder. "Your dick is so heavy and thick," I tell him, murmuring the words. "Drives me wild just thinking about you using it."

Clay responds to the vocalization. He pulls his jeans open and pushes them down, freeing his hard dick from his boxers, too. His thick erection slaps against his hairy abs, precum glistening at his dark crown.

"Come here," he says, grabbing at my jeans. "Your mouth is working me up."

He yanks my pants down and grabs my dick in my briefs. Squeezing my shaft, Clay rubs his forehead against mine.

I pull my shirt off. "You like it when I talk about your dick?"

"Yes." He explores me with his hand. "Nicholas with the sweet little flower shop. Never would have guessed you're so filthy."

I pull Clay's shirt off, too. "I'm still sweet," I tell him. I strip off my underwear with my pants and get on top of Clay, straddling him. We're both naked, and my skin is hot and flushed as my dick leaks. "Sweet. And hard. And wet."

Clay spits in his hand and grabs my dick, wrapping his fist around it. I moan my appreciation and take his erection, too, feeling his girth.

He holds me, his breath shaky, and then squeezes, nice and steady.

Clay and I kiss and explore each other. I stroke him softly while he plays with my dick. The sensation is enough to steal my words for a few minutes, but when I come back to my senses, the dirty talk pours out again.

"That's right," I tell him, moving my hips and pushing my dick closer to Clay's. "Feels so good, Clay. Touch my cock just like you touch yourself when you're jerking off."

Clay rubs his face against my neck. "First dick I've ever touched beside my own," he says and pumps me harder.

"You're so good at it," I tell him, stroking him faster, too. "And your cock is so slick and hot. Makes me want to touch you and suck you and play with you until you orgasm all over my face."

Our dicks rub together, and Clay's hand goes over both of us. Pleasure gushes through me as we connect, flowers blooming at my core and spreading through my body. His rough grip is steady, and we easily slide into rhythm.

I throw my leg over the back of his thigh, letting him grind me into the couch. I'm pulsing, and I could ejaculate any minute if I let myself.

"Want to feel your dick everywhere," I tell him. "Want to feel you on my skin. Throbbing against my tight hole. Plunging into me."

Clay's groan breaks into a moan. He thrusts from his hips, fucking his hand into his fist and rubbing my cock at the same time, our shafts thwapping together.

"Gonna come," he manages through a strangled breath.

I let out a long, low moan in response. "Come all over me," I gasp, and he does.

Clay bucks hard, and his dick gets even fatter against my shaft. His entire body convulses as he sprays. The hot load floods my abs, and I shake and release my climax in response, ejaculating into his fist.

We both gasp for breath. I'm sprawled against his torso on the couch, and I watch as Clay looks at his hand, processing the semen that's soaking his fingers.

I stroke his chest lightly as I come back to earth.

Finally, Clay gets up. "Let me get you a towel," he mumbles, but he looks like he's about to pass out.

I grab his arm. "I got it. Stay here."

I smile to myself, dazed, as I hurry into the bathroom, where I wash myself off first. Clay didn't balk at all at the dirty talk, and the thrill of it felt exactly right, a way to affirm him and keep communication open without taking the spark out of our fun.

Still in a happy haze, I walk back out and toss one of the hand towels to Clay.

"These are Randy's hand towels, I take it?"

"Why do you say that?"

"Because they have tiny Betty Boops printed on the bottom."

Clay wipes his hands off. "Is that who that woman is?"

"That's her. Randy loved her little dance." I wiggle my hips. "You know, boopy do."

He snorts out a laugh. "Boopy do?"

I laugh, too. "I can't remember how it goes."

"You're cute," Clay grumbles as he looks through his clothes, eyes off of me.

Okay, now I'm joking around and wiggling my hips naked and singing like Betty Boop. Hopefully, I'm not getting too familiar with Clay. Don't want to scare him away, and I don't want to let my own emotional guards down, either.

It's almost a shame he isn't available. We'd probably make a great couple, although I never would have guessed it.

Cleaned up, I pull my underwear on.

"Taking off?" Clay asks.

"I'm exhausted. And I've got another busy day tomorrow."

And I know he needs his alone time to relax.

He nods. "Me, too."

I finish getting dressed. "Soft sheets and an extra pillow," I tell him. "I think it's going to blow your mind what a difference that makes."

"Trust me, Nicholas. The sheets aren't the thing that's rocking my world."