36. Christian

36

CHRISTIAN

T he look in his eyes when I ask him to take me raw is sharp and possessive. Slightly smug, and I love it. It was just a matter of time before I needed this from him, too. We’re sexually monogamous with negative lab results, and we’ve behaved long enough. I want to feel him. I want to leak his cum. Lube is annoying enough without also worrying about a stupid layer of latex neither of us needs.

He sits back, keeping his eyes on me as he strokes and covers his cock with lube. I keep my hands over my head, enjoying the way he seems to get harder the more of my body he can see. “Have we talked about how fucking beautiful you are?” he asks.

I don’t remember. I don’t know. We say a lot of things. Pretty. I know he’s called me pretty. He’s gorgeous, though. The most attractive man I could imagine. Big and powerful, caring and brutal. I know I’m obsessed, replacing one fixation with another, but Gibson takes up more space in every sense of the phrase. I wasn’t lying when I said I think about him all the time.

Outside with the others, even with him right beside me, I only gave a shit what he was thinking, what he was seeing. What he was feeling with his arm around me in front of the people who know me best. Does he realize he already knows me better?

He lifts my legs by the ankles, and I bend my knees. My ass tilts off the bed as he pushes my thighs closer to my chest. When I feel his cock nudge my hole, I bear down and welcome him in. “ God .” I don’t ever want to get used to him. I always want sex to feel like this. Too much. Overwhelming. Violating. I love it.

I grab for the headboard, but my fingers meet smooth wood—nothing to hold onto as he groans and stuffs me full.

When my eyes reopen and focus on him, he’s looking down at the place where his unmoving cock is fully sheathed. I shift my hips, giving us both the friction, and craving more. “Fuck, you feel good. Please fuck me. Fuck me the way only you can do it.”

“ Mmph ,” he grunts, pulling out slightly before sliding deep again. “Baby…you feel… it’s so good .” He continues barely moving—making me sweat. Penetration this deep is intense, and not easy to take when I can barely move. I force myself to breathe and hold him. We stare at each other as he continues that relentless nudge that stretches me wide and holds me open. My ass clenches, a spasm I can’t control, and he shudders. My cock pulses, and precum jets out, spraying my chest.

Finally, he lengthens his strokes, and my nerve endings fire. Watching him fuck me is almost as good as feeling it. His hips move with rippling rolls of his abs. It’s sexy as hell, and it hits my prostate hard—as if he didn’t already feel good enough to get me off, now I’m in danger of embarrassing myself. Coming hands-free makes me feel like such a fucking slut, which I know he doesn’t care about—he probably likes it—but still—telegraphing exactly what he does to me on this basic level isn’t something I necessarily want to share with Drew or Silas.

At least Gibson knows I’m capable of lasting when I’m inside him. “I’m insanely close,” I tell him.

“I’m not far behind you. You’re still so goddamn tight. God, you should fucking see yourself. ”

I see him , though, and there’s nothing better than that. It’s nice to be out of the city, but I’m not sure I ever want to leave this room with him. I want a naked rule. I want free use. Just thinking that has me clenching again, and he winces. “Do you like this?” I ask.

He gives me a heated look and shoves into me harder, shutting me the fuck up. I flatten my hands on the headboard and use the leverage to fuck him back. Within moments, a current of pleasure shoots through me from that bundle of nerves behind my balls. Warmth explodes in my pelvis. My cock throbs, and I lose my breath as I come hard and fast, all my muscles contracting at once. Cum covers my abs and chest, and Gibson growls, pounding me hard and deep.

Digging his fingers into my thighs, his back arches as he spears inside me and drops his head back. More heat floods my body as his release pulses into me. I gulp for air and tighten again around this wild sensation, loving it and wishing it never had to end.

He manages to get a hand behind my head, lift it from the pillow, and crush our mouths together while he’s still coming. The sound he makes when our tongues meet is better than any audio porn I’ve ever heard.

I really should record him, given I can’t be with him all the time. Except for this long weekend, I can.

And we can do this as much as we want because who cares what they say? What questions they ask. How stupid they think I am or Gibson is for wanting someone like me who doesn’t “do relationships.”

I’m making a fucking exception. In whatever way this is a relationship, I’m doing this one.

He slides out of me with a grunt and sits back to watch what happens. I can’t see it, but I sure as hell feel the huge load he left dripping from my hole.

“Fuck, baby. That’s hot as hell. ”

“Feels filthy,” I tell him.

“Oh, it’s definitely filthy. Love it.”

He shoves some back inside with his fingers. I squirm, clenching on him, and it comes right back out, but that doesn’t stop him from fingering me through his mess.

“Jesus…Jesus…” I’m whimpering and shaking. It’s almost too much—similar to the way I feel when a scene starts tipping me into the dark side. But this isn’t that. And still, I don’t know if I can take it. I reach down and grab his wrist to stop him.

He meets my eyes, concerned—wounded. “Are you all right? Did I hurt you?”

I shake my head and pull him toward me, wrapping my legs around his back and pressing my mouth to his again and again in hot, wet kisses. It takes him a minute to get into it, but finally he relaxes and kisses me back.

We’ve got to work on this trust thing. If I gave him a test, I’m willing to bet he thinks I should have used my safe word at least six times by now, but he’d be wrong. It was only the one time I got anywhere close, and that was only because I thought my limbs were tearing off last night in those restraints. The soreness is only beginning to set in this afternoon.

His hand slides up to cup my jaw, and he pulls away to look at me. He doesn’t ask the question, but I hear it again anyway. “I’m fine,” I tell him. “You think you’re too much for me or something?”

“Maybe.”

“You’re a lot, but I can handle it.”

“The idea of hurting you?—”

“Other than when you’re flogging the skin off my ass?”

“Other than that—I know you can handle that.”

“What are you afraid of?” I ask.

He grimaces and moves to lie beside me. I turn to face him, running my fingertips along his cheekbone.

“Do I have to answer that?” he asks .

“No,” I tell him. “And you shouldn’t, really. It’ll probably only make me like you more, and that’s the last thing you need.”

He smiles. “No, you’re right. I can’t have that.”

I let him off the hook. “We should go back down. Surely we can get in the pool now, right?”

“If they’re still playing, we can sabotage.”

“Sounds good,” I tell him. “How are you at trivia, anyway? I need to be smart about picking my team.”

“You little shit. If we’re on separate teams, prepare to be humiliated.”

“Mm…I love it when you talk dirty.”

“Are you sure you wanna get out of this bed?” he asks.

I laugh, and his answering smile is wide enough to reach his eyes.

If I’m not careful, I could fall in love with him.

Everyone’s hung over from trivia night. The girls, along with Jeremy and Larry, went up against the rest of us, and it’d been close, all coming down to a 90s pop culture question that Gibson answered as easy as breathing. Personal pizzas were a big hit, too, everyone creating their own, but putting them all up for grabs. None of us are exactly beasts in the kitchen, but Olivier’s was the best with figs, arugula, goat cheese, and a honey drizzle.

All the sangria and several bottles of wine were consumed while we lounged in one of the larger sitting rooms and talked about everything. I know I have a great group of friends. Welcoming, intelligent, and witty. I’ve never felt a hundred percent like I fit in, but that’s more a me thing than a them thing. Their entire backstory is built around Drew and Olivier falling in love—which was a relationship I wasn’t particularly supportive of when it was developing.

I’m all for it now, though. In the entire time I’ve known him, Drew has never been happier, and although he totally screwed Jericho over in the process, she found the right person for her, too.

We’re going sailing today because that’s something Larry does. Gibson’s excited because apparently it’s something he does, too. I’m afraid of getting seasick because that’s something I do. And yet, here I am, helping Drew and Jericho put together sandwiches and snacks for the excursion, which I’ll likely never get a chance to eat.

I’m working my way up to bowing out of the boat trip, but Drew has a lot to say this morning while he spreads peanut butter and jelly on bread. “So, talk to me about what unconventional marriage means.”

“It’s not really my place to talk about other people’s personal lives.”

“It’s my job to ask, though, so you might as well give me the gist.”

I catch the look he and Jericho exchange. It makes me wonder if they planned this as an ambush.

“It’s an open marriage,” I say.

“Like…how open?” Jericho asks while she pulls grapes off the stems and puts them in a reusable Ziplock bag.

“They sleep with other people.”

“Both of them?” Drew asks, incredulous.

“Yeah.”

“ And with each other?”

“Not with each other,” I say, once again glancing at the other room to make sure no one else is coming, particularly the person I’m gossiping about. He was sound asleep when I came down to the kitchen, though.

I’d drunkenly fucked him late into the night—neither of us having an easy time coming, but it felt too good to stop. I woke up early, and we did it again to a much quicker finish, but he went right back to sleep. I was too restless, so I came down .

“You believe that?” Jericho asks gently.

“I have good reason to believe it,” I tell her, because I get how it sounds, too. “But that’s our business.” I give my head a quick shake and correct myself. “His, I mean.”

“It’s obvious you guys are into each other,” Drew says.

“Yeah—well…I know you don’t give it long, but?—”

“Before you say anything else,” he interrupts, “I want to apologize for saying that in front of him. I had too much to drink, and I thought it was funny, but Ollie and Jer helped me understand it was shitty.”

“However,” Jericho cuts in, “I’m a little concerned about the marriage part.”

I nod. “I get it. And I appreciate you guys checking in, but…” My words trail off. There’s not really more to say.

“Has he always been with other men?” Drew asks, picking up my slack.

“I don’t think so.”

“So what’s going on?”

I’ve been shredding rotisserie chicken for a salad, but I’m down to bones, so I turn for the sink and wash my hands. “We’re keeping each other company,” I say, using one of Gibson’s lines from yesterday.

“Does it feel like it could be serious?”

I shrug.

“Because it looks like it,” he adds.

“It’s been a few weeks. Who can say?”

“Me,” is his answer. “Three weeks with Ollie, and I was a fucking goner. So was he. And it was fucking terrifying, so yeah, I wanted to check in and check on you specifically. See where your head’s at.”

When I don’t come up with anything to say to that, Jericho puts her two cents in. “For what it’s worth, you seem really comfortable together. He’s pretty cool for a billionaire.”

“Yeah,” I manage to say. “He’s great. I really like him. ”

“I guess what I’m asking is if it’s just a casual thing,” Drew says.

Drying my hands on a towel, I tell a half truth. “I can’t really say.”

“I assume you see each other a lot—working for him?”

“Every day.”

“Get any work done?”

He means well, so I laugh. “Yeah. Somehow we manage to get work done, too. We even talk occasionally.”

“Do you know what you want out of this?” he asks.

I flip my hair out of my face. “I want to keep working for him. I want to keep seeing him outside work. I want to be around him. Like I said—I like him.”

He frowns at me, and I don’t miss the concern.

“What are you worried about?”

He sighs. “Look—I’ve known you awhile, and I’ve never seen you with the same person more than twice. I know I’ve given you shit for it, but I assume there’s some reason I don’t know about?”

“Could be I haven’t found the right person.”

His forehead lines deepen into a scowl. “Could be…”

“Could be something else, too,” I say with a look that I hope he interprets as I don’t want to discuss this over peanut butter and jelly.

He gives me a small nod, getting the message. “Maybe one day you’ll tell me about it.”

“It’s a long weekend,” I say. “Maybe I will.”

The idea of talking about Trinity doesn’t feel as daunting as it once did. I’m not sure when that changed—maybe I just needed to tell one person to get the words out, and it’ll be easier now. I won’t know until I try, so I’ll leave the door open.

“Whatever you need, we’re here for you, Chris,” Jericho says. “I hope you know that. I get that hanging out with a bunch of couples probably isn’t always the most fun for you?—”

“You guys are great. Trust me, I feel really lucky. ”

“Good. But you get to do you. We love you all the same. And for whoever you bring around, we’ll be equal parts awesome and embarrassing.”

I’m laughing when Olivier straggles into the kitchen and attaches himself to Drew’s side with a sleepy hug. Drew takes his husband’s head in his hands and kisses his cheek softly. “Morning, peach.”

“Mmm…” As they move into a full on hug, I go to the refrigerator to find the mayo.