8. Ford

CHAPTER 8

FORD

I didn't want to open my eyes.

Like a fool, I'd sent Boston home after kissing him senseless for well over an hour on my couch. When was the last time I'd ever done that? Made out like it was the end goal of the evening? Probably not since some time in high school, but with my lips still swollen from the insistent way Boston had explored my mouth, I didn't want to wait twenty years to do it again. Sending a man away at the end of the night with an erection was rarely my style, but I told him it was kissing and I wanted to stick with the plan. The longer I drew out his education, I wagered, the more chances I'd have to be with him.

The way he'd looked at me as we said our goodbyes, standing there in the entryway, his lips slick with our mixed spit and puffy from how I'd sucked on them…his eyes glassy and dilated behind the clear frames of his glasses… it had been unmatched. Boston's hair was mussed from where I'd tangled my hands into it and tugged on the ends, his t-shirt rumpled from how I'd wanted to ruck it up and get my hands on his skin . I'd kept my fingers above his clothes as much as I could manage, only grazing a pinky over his hip one time when I tried to push him into a better angle so I could get my tongue deeper into his mouth.

I'd never shown that kind of restraint.

And I'd never wanted anything more.

"What's the next lesson?" he'd asked, feet firmly on the porch, the evening air dancing through his hair as it whipped across the front walk.

"Kissing without clothes," I murmured, reaching up and tugging his bottom lip with my thumb.

He let me.

I imagined he'd let me do anything to him, all in the name of learning, of course, and that was a terrifyingly powerful aphrodisiac. I was a dominant man in all things, but Boston made it even harder than normal to play by the rules.

"When?" he asked. "Tomorrow?"

"What an eager boy." I let his lip go and shoved my hands into the pockets of my sweats. My cock had been hard since before he'd even arrived, and there was now more than one wet stain on the front from where I'd leaked the proof of my arousal across the gray fabric. "Friday night, after I'm done with your brother, or Saturday night. It's up to you."

"That's forever." Boston rocked forward on his toes, body bowing as he pumped his hips at me. He was hard too, and I tried not to salivate at how massive the bulge between his legs looked. I knew he was hung. He'd been rubbing his erection on me all night, and it had taken a lot of willpower to not put my hands on it like some man off the internet would have.

No, I wanted Boston to have time to really appreciate the physicality of being with a man so he could be sure if it was what he wanted. I was not going to rush through things just to get him into bed for the grand finale, so to speak. I would go slow, so he could make an informed decision. At least, that was what I told myself as we agreed on Friday night after I was done with the boys.

By the time I made it back to the couch, I already had a text message from him. The sight of his name on my home screen made me laugh. He hadn't even been gone for a full minute, but the message he'd sent sucked all the air right out of my lungs.

Boston : Am I allowed to jerk off when I get home?

Even though, on a surface level, I understood what he was asking, I'd come up with stupid rules and a stupid plan, and he wanted to abide by all of them to get the full experience, the question still stirred something heavy and deep in the pit of my stomach. Boston had no idea just what the question did to me.

There was no way.

Palming my phone, I went into the kitchen to get the bottle of wine I'd opened on his arrival. Milo was sitting in front of his water bowl, clearly annoyed that I'd ignored his dinner time instead of my own. He gave me a loud meow, and I kicked his food bowl with my toe. He had plenty of kibble, but the bottom of the bowl was visible which was so far beyond the pale for his tastes. Once the stainless steel was covered, he let out another meow, swished me with his tail, and set to eating.

Me : What do you think ?

Boston : I don't know. That's why I asked.

Me : You and I don't have those kinds of rules.

My phone stayed silent for so long, the screen went black. I exhaled, almost feeling relief, then I turned on the TV and took a drink of wine. The pinot noir blend would forever remind me of him now because I could taste the grapes on his tongue the first time I kissed him. I was going to order a case or ten of the particular vintage as soon as I was at my desk the next morning. That was a perfectly reasonable and sane thing for a man who was coaching his best friend's brother through the ropes of his potential bisexuality to do, right?

My phone flashed Boston's name across my screen, and I swiped the message open, choking on the next swallow.

Boston : Why not?

I set the wine and my phone down, then got up and walked out of the living room.

This was too much. This was…not sustainable, not even for a man like me. I could handle pretty much anything life threw at me, but I didn't see how I was going to survive Boston Sheffield. My own dick had finally gotten the better of me. I should have let him fuck a rando off a hookup app and washed my hands of the whole thing. But no. I'd been prideful and boastful, and a thousand different kinds of arrogant, and the only man I wanted was the one who didn't even understand the cost of what I'd agreed to give him.

Me : Call me when you get home .

I drank half the glass of wine, tried to watch whatever channel I'd turned on, but my brain was not having it at all. Thankfully, my phone rang less than twenty minutes later, Boston sounding a little breathless on the other end of the line after I answered.

"So, why don't we have those rules?" he asked after I said hello.

I bit the inside of my cheek. "Because you're in Sex 101 and that's more like Sex 208."

"That can't be more than three classes ahead, and I'm a pretty quick study," he said.

"It's a different subject entirely," I assured him, silently praying he would understand that while I couldn't tell him no, I simply could not play those kinds of games with him.

"It doesn't feel like it to me."

"Boston." I scrubbed a hand down my face, pinching my lips closed and squeezing my eyes shut.

"Ford."

"Are you home?" I asked.

"You told me to get home before I called you," he said.

"And you listened." I cursed under my breath.

"Of course I did."

I dropped my head against the back of the couch and stared up at the coffered ceiling, counting each square while I tried to steady my breath and slow my heartbeat.

I was already damned.

If Kale caught on to what Boston and I were up to, shit was going to hit the fan. As it stood, the reward outweighed the risk, but if I was already in over my head, I might as well commit to drowning myself entirely .

"Those rules would mean you do what you're told, Boston."

"I already am," he said. "You said only kissing, and we only kissed. You told me to go, and I went. You told me to call?—"

"And you did," I finished for him.

"I know I told you I wanted to know what it was like to be with a man, Ford, but honestly…I think I just really want to know what it's like to be with you."

It was like all the air had evaporated. This wasn't what we'd talked about and it was nowhere near what we'd negotiated.

"This is just sex," I reminded him. "We agreed."

"I know," he said quietly, clearing his throat and sounding a lot like a wounded deer. "I know we did. I'm sorry..."

"Don't be sorry, sweetheart. You win." I shoved the waistband of my sweats down past my balls and fisted my cock. I put my cell phone on speaker and sat it on the arm of the couch. "If I go too far, just tell me to stop."

The spark of excitement was nearly palpable through the phone as Boston said eagerly, "You won't."

I barely heard him speak, all the blood rushing to the incessant erection between my legs. I gave a rough stroke up my length, groaning when precum leaked out of my slit and smeared across my fingers. It was the first time all night I'd well and truly touched myself, and I didn't think I had a lot of stamina in me.

"Get comfortable and get your dick out," I told him.

"Oh, fuck," he whispered, breath huffing loudly through the speaker and filling my living room. I turned the volume up as loud as it could go so I didn't miss a thing.

"Put your hand on your cock," I instructed him next, forcing my own fingers to relax so I didn't strangle myself. "Tell me how you like to touch yourself."

"I've never thought much about it." Boston whimpered. "I just squeeze it and jerk off."

"But what types of things make you feel good?" I pressed my thumb against the flared tip of my cock, applying just enough pressure for it to hurt.

"Any touch on it makes me feel good, Ford. I'm easy."

I chuckled, even though I'd known off the bat nothing with him was going to be easy. My heart beat loud in my ears, and the warm leather of my couch creaked as I shifted my weight to stretch out my legs. I was dangerously close to coming, after having kept myself on edge all night to make sure Boston completed his lesson on kissing.

"Well, until you can figure out how to explain it to me, you'll only touch yourself the way I tell you to. Do you understand me?"

Boston sucked in a short breath. "Yes, Sir," he whispered.

I clenched my jaw so hard, I worried about shattering my molars. Hearing the honorific come from his mouth in that nervous baritone rumble was almost enough to undo me. Gooseflesh raced up the back of my neck, and I tightened my fist around my cock so I didn't come on the spot from words alone.

"You don't need to call me Sir," I told him, even though I liked it. I actually really more than liked it.

"It just felt right. I'm sorry."

"You can if you want to, sweetheart." I was quick to offer him the option because I was a selfish man and wanted him to say it again. "Whatever feels right is fine."

"I like when you call me sweetheart," he said quietly .

I wanted to dig a hole in the ground and bury myself before I said another word to him, before I gave another instruction or listened to another whimper tumble out of his mouth. Boston was fucking perfect for me in a hundred different ways and he truly had no idea how special that was. He didn't know how hard it was going to be to let him go when all was said and done.

"I'll keep that in mind. Are you ready now?"

"Yes," he rasped.

"I want you to lie down on your stomach, put a pillow beneath your hips and make a loose fist around your shaft." I closed my eyes, imagining Boston arranging himself on his bed, pillow propped beneath him, pushing his ass up into the air.

"Okay. I'm there," he said.

"Hold your arm still," I said. "Use your hips to fuck your cock into your fist."

Boston groaned, and a shiver wracked its way through my body.

"I'm already so close," he croaked.

"Then fuck yourself faster," I told him.

I spread my legs, bringing my hand to my mouth and licking my palm before reaching down and taking hold of my cock. I was probably as close as Boston was, if not closer. The sounds that filled my living room were some of the dirtiest I'd ever heard, and I knew that kissing Boston with no clothes on was not going to end with only our mouths joined.

"I'm close," I warned him, eyes rolling back as I stroked myself faster. "I want you to come first, Boston. Come for me, sweetheart. Let me hear it."

"Oh, fuck. Fuck." Boston cried out, cursing and moaning as he reached his end. I imagined his asshole quivering as he got off, clenching and searching for something to fill it as he shot his load into a pillow.

"Just like that," I whispered, letting out a low grunt. "Fuck, you're such a good boy, aren't you? Such a good listener."

"Oh, God. Ford." He whispered my name and that was the end of me.

Cum shot out of my cock like a geyser, painting stripes up the front of my undershirt, all the way to my chin. I curled my toes into the floor, lifting off the couch to chase after the end of my orgasm. On the other end of the phone, Boston had quieted down and was making soft mewling noises that sounded almost like a purr. The unbridled sensuality of the sound was enough to milk the rest of the cum from my balls, and when it hurt to touch myself, I let my hand fall on top of my thigh.

"Boston."

"I'm here." His voice sounded muffled, and I pictured him with his face buried in the pillow, ass still up in the air.

" Use your hand this time," I said, pinching the bridge of my nose with my dry hand.

"This time?"

"You're not done yet, sweetheart. I want you to come again. This time, roll onto your back and stroke yourself."

He groaned. "It hurts."

"It's going to hurt until it doesn't," I assured him. "You can stop if you want to, but I'd like for you to try again."

"Do you think I can handle it?" he asked softly.

Fuck, I wanted him back in my house. On my couch, in my bed, anywhere. I wanted to brush his hair out of his face and whisper words of praise and promise in his ear while he hurt himself with the pleasure of it all.

"I know you can."

Boston gasped softly, and I listened to his moans and sighs, appreciating the way they crescendoed into a beautiful and desperate cry as he came a second time. My own cock was still hard, but I let it be, perfectly happy to listen to him get himself off at my command.

"How did that feel?" I asked, minutes after his breathing had settled down to normal.

He huffed into the phone like a bull. "It was a lot."

"That's not an answer."

"It felt really good," he said, breathless. "Thank you."

I finally swiped the drying cum off my chin with my thumb, then sucked it into my mouth, biting the pad after I'd gotten it clean.

"You don't have to thank me, Boston." I stared down at the wet cum splatters on my shirt, keeping the last part of the thought to myself.

And I really wish you wouldn't.

Instead, I told him what I knew he wanted to hear, what he needed to hear. And it wasn't a lie. It was very much the truth, just one I had no place speaking.

"You are absolutely perfect, and it was entirely my pleasure."