41. Olivier

The bathroom Drew shows me in his apartment could probably fit inside my shower, but that's not a very fair comparison because my shower is absurdly big, built to accommodate three or—if I was having a really wild night—foursomes. I want to call this one cozy, but the beige tile does make it depressing. It's also obvious that it's a shared bathroom between men who don't have a maid coming in behind them once a week. I wouldn't call it filthy, but my mother would.

"You're seriously following me in here?" Drew asks over his shoulder as he turns on the water and adjusts the temperature.

I, who am already taking off my shirt, give him a look that I hope says I'm not letting him out of my sight. Especially not in here.

"Fine." He stands straight and pulls his shirt off, too.

We watch each other as the water heats, and we undress. "Were you alone last night?" I ask.

"Were you?"

"No." I shake my head. "Answer the question."

"I went to break up with Jericho."

I pause midway through shoving my jeans down my legs and look up at him, nearly stumbling into the vanity. "What?"

"I told you I would if I had some free time."

"So, you did it?"

"I did," he says.

"After you told me you never wanted to see me again?"

"I don't think I said that."

"That's what it felt like."

He gives me a weak excuse for a smirk. "You're such an only child sometimes."

I frown at him. "I'm not sure what that's supposed to mean, but I guess I have to take your word for it."

His pants drop before mine do, and I find myself at eye level with his semi. With my mouth suddenly watering, I swallow and try to be casual while inside I'm bursting into flames.

We haven't been hooking up long enough for me to take the fact that he has a beautiful dick for granted—nor long enough for me to feel like I'm not doing something I shouldn't be doing. It doesn't feel taboo on the same level that screwing a cousin would feel, but fucking a man does still feel illicit, and something about that gets me very hard, very fast. Can a cock be a fetish? Is that a thing?

When I straighten up, he stares down at mine like he's asking himself a similar question. Then he turns to the shower again and shows me his ass.

I rub a hand over the back of my neck, already sweating in the increasingly steamy room.

"Not much space in here," he says.

Not a problem for me. It means I'll have plenty of excuses to brush up against that perfect body of his. It's been a matter of hours, and I feel as touch starved as a child who was left alone in the woods for a year.

"I don't mind," I say, but I'm not sure my voice carries over the noise of the water.

Naked, I walk over to him, running a hand down his spine and waiting for him to look at me. When he does, I'm instantly leaning in to press my mouth to his, my hands driving through his hair. He sucks me into a deep, knee-melting kiss where I swear I can taste his relief. I have no doubt mine's rolling off me in waves.

Twenty minutes ago, the idea of winding up here was so remote I couldn't even let myself think about it, but I'm so, so glad I didn't give up. This kiss alone makes it worth it. I send one of my hands down to grasp his cock, but he catches my wrist before I get a good hold.

"Easy, now. What's the rush?"

I bite my lip and scowl, frustrated and feeling called out by the question. The "rush" is that he implied we don't work, and I want to remind him—assure him—that we do. "Don't make fun of me."

"Just get in the shower." He gives me a nudge in the hip, and I step over the edge of the bathtub and into the warm stream of water.

He follows and pulls the clear curtain closed. Stubbornly, I face the shower head, push water through my hair, and scrub at my face.

As I sulk, he crowds close to me, soaping up my chest as his cock twitches against my ass. "I thought I was the one who needed freshening up," he says.

"You're also the one who's acting like he'd rather just be friends."

He runs his hands down the front of my thighs, his thumbs grazing my sac. "Is that what this feels like?"

"Why are you always such a dick?"

His hand wraps around my cock and gives it a long, slow tug. "Why do you like it so much?"

"I don't."

"Part of you does."

"Seriously, though," I say. "Why?"

"Would you rather I tell you what I'm actually feeling?" he asks.

"Maybe…?" It comes out like a question because his tone noticeably darkens.

"I fucking love you," he says, pressing his mouth to the curve where my shoulder meets my neck. "I'm so glad you're still here. I'm not sure what I would have done if you left when I told you to, but it wouldn't have been good."

I close my eyes and arch into his touch, my hand rising to keep his head in place. This is different than what he told me last night. He's not falling in love. He loves me.

"I need you," he says.

"I'm right here."

His mouth moves up my neck. "But I need you closer."

I don't know how I can get any closer. "Tell me what to do. What you need."

"Will you do it?"

"Yes," I pant as his strokes on my cock quicken and tighten.

"Tell me you love me."

"Drew—fuck…"

He wraps an arm around my chest and his erection slots between my ass cheeks. We both grunt. "I'll fucking choke it out of you if I have to."

"Oh, God…"

He gives my nipple a tight squeeze before pressing his palm to my throat. His shaft ruts against my hole. He's got me locked to him so tight, I feel trapped, but in the best way. Like being locked in a closet for seven minutes in heaven with the prom queen. But now that I'm thinking about it, the prom king—Jason Kepler—was way hotter.

But no one's as hot as Drew.

"Tell me," he says. "Say the words."

"I love you." The words burst from the center of my chest.

He hums into my temple as he jerks me with wild abandon and puts more pressure on my throat. "Good boy. Say it again."

"I love you," I gasp, desperately trying to stay on my feet. I brace my hands on the tile in front of me, the stream of water pouring directly on my head.

"Say my fucking name."

"I love you, Drew."

With one knee, he nudges my legs apart. Letting go of my throat, he grabs the bottle of conditioner and squirts it into my crack, smearing it in with his hands and notching his slippery cockhead against my entrance.

I brace myself. Being fucked by him the first time was the most intense experience of my life. It was so uncomfortable, and it felt so good. From the first moment he nudged inside me, I'd needed every inch to stretch and fill me. I'd begged him for more—harder. I'd almost bitten off my own tongue as minor suffering had morphed into deep, visceral pleasure—the feel of him reshaping my insides, of tearing me open.

"Yes," I say now. Needing all that again and more, if it's even possible.

"Tell me what I want to hear, baby."

"I want you. I need you. I love you, Drew. Please…"

He presses infinitesimally forward, enough to stretch my hole and make it burn so fucking good. "You choose me."

"Yes…yes. I choose you."

"You choose who?"

"I choose you, Drew. I love you, Drew."

"That's it, baby." Holding my hips in place, he slams his cock inside me, and I shout with how harshly satisfying it feels.

My groan as I adjust conveys profound desire. Primal need.

"You want me to fuck you?" he asks.

"Please. Yes."

"Say it again."

"I love you, Drew."

He pulls halfway out and thrusts back in so hard, I have to roll onto my tiptoes. His hand squeezes my dick all the way up in a tortuous stroke. "Take it then," he says. "Take what you need."

Trembling, still braced against the wall, I grind my hole up and down his dick, searching for the muscle control he's all but jerked out of me. I think of all the time I spent teaching myself how to properly twerk to show off my ass on Manhattan dance floors, and though I'd felt ridiculous in front of the mirror at home learning how to flex and extend my lower spine, they were hours well spent. It made me a more memorable lay, and it allows me to give Drew exactly what he's asking for—and take what I need.

"Oh, fuck," he groans as I find a rhythm to work myself from both angles—into his hand and onto his cock. He slaps my ass before grabbing a fistful of it but doesn't stop me from going on this journey on his dick.

Christ, it feels so fucking good. The angle, the grind, the mind-numbing pressure on nerve endings I've ignored for far too long. I don't know why I thought I wouldn't like this. I feel like I was fucking made for it.

"You're mine," he breathes. "Say it."

I can barely make words, but I want to say these enough to try. "I'm yours, Drew. All yours."

"You feel so fucking good," he says, and it almost sounds like he's on the verge of tears again, but we're making a lot of noise. Between the running water, my grunts, the slapping of wet flesh and his low growl, it's hard to discern whether he's at his breaking point.

I'm not even close to mine. I've found a zone. My hole is a slut, and I'm feeding it exactly what it craves. Over and over again in rough, aggressive rolls and clenches. I work him over like his cock is a dildo suctioned to the wall, steady pleasure burning in my core.

"Baby, you're gonna make me come if you keep moving your ass like that." His voice cracks. "I'm gonna lose it."

I think he's already lost it. I'm choosing him so hard right now, my prostate might as well have his name tattooed on it. I'm relentless, higher on this moment than I've ever been on cocaine.

His breath comes out in jagged rasps, he even whines like he wants mercy, but I don't only want him to get out of his head, I want his mind blown. I look over my shoulder at him, his head thrown back, neck tendons straining, his brow drawn in what could easily be mistaken for agony, and his lips parted to let all his sounds escape.

"I love you, Drew," I say.

His head jerks, and our eyes meet. He glances from my face to the place where we're joined, then he grabs me by the hair and lets himself come.

He sounds totally wrecked as he cries out in the narrow shower stall, his moans bouncing off the tiles with resonance. The sight—the sound, the heat filling my hole, his hand growing clumsy on my cock, but still so tight—we nearly always come together, and the reason, for me at least, is that nothing turns me on more than making Drew come. Even thinking about it gets me hard, so when it actually happens, I'm a goner.

My cum streaks the beige tile in rapid, erratic spurts as I fight to stay on my feet.

Drew still has me by the middle, but based on the fact that his cock is still thumping in my ass, I'm not sure he'll be much help if I suddenly collapse.

I need to kiss him, though. I need to kiss him so badly my mouth is aching with how much it wants to feel the pressure of his.

I move my hands up the wall and straighten my back. His cock slides out of me as does a good helping of his cum. I shiver as its thick, distinct warmth slides down my balls and inner thigh. Turning, I wrap my arms around his wet shoulders and go after his mouth.

He opens immediately, wrapping his tongue up with mine and pulling me close. We breathlessly make out as the orgasms work their way through our systems. Minutes later, we're panting against each other's lips, foreheads pressed together and fingertips digging into flesh. "I won't hold you to it," he says.

"Hold me to what?"

"All the shit I made you say."

God, of all the men, why'd I have to get the impossible one? "Fine, Drew. Whatever. Let's get you clean and go fuck again."