Page 81 of Poetry On Ice
The only kiss I’ve ever wanted this much.
Robbie is holding himself up on his elbows, but hisweight on me is still solid. Heavy. Hard. Our bare legs wind together, course hair scouring skin as we struggle to get closer to each other. Our bellies press against each other, warm skin melting into warm skin.
He rocks his hips as we sink into another only kiss. His lips are soft and gentle on mine. Sweet and honeyed, a taste I can’t get enough of. His body is strong and hard. He’s hard in his underwear too. So am I. It’s electric where our cocks meet, a hard, relentless pressure with nothing but a thin layer of cotton keeping us apart. We start moving together without really meaning to. We move like we’re floating or treading water. Like it’s the most natural thing either of us has ever done. Our hips lock, and we groan as we sandwich our dicks tightly between our bodies. Need blooms, a quick, savage swell that steals my breath and makes us move harder and faster to sate the growing hunger we pass back and forth between each other.
At first, it’s foreplay. A gentle, almost haphazard stimulation designed to arouse us. A lazy, greedy thing that comes before something else. Something bigger. Something better. And then it’s not. There’s a shift, a change that’s as real and visceral as a gear lever shifting down, an audible grind that slows time when it happens.
It’s not just foreplay anymore.
This is it.
This is how we’re going to come. We’re too far gone. We’ve wanted each other for hours and hours and we’ve gone as long as we can without touching.
Robbie reaches down, fumbling as he pushes his underwear down to mid-thigh. He pulls mine down too. Badly. He does it roughly, yanking them down withoutcoordination and only managing to get them out of the way enough to give us the skin-to-skin contact we crave.
I hiss when our naked cocks touch. It’s hard and hot where our bodies collide. His shaft juts against mine, butting against me repeatedly, a dull impact that sends sparks up my spine. Our cocks start to dance, sliding over and under each other. I grab at him, fisting big handfuls of his ass cheeks as I try desperately to climb under his skin. Robbie raises himself off me a little more and starts thrusting in earnest. We both know we don’t have long. He knows it, and I know it. Neither of us can hold back. His hips undulate against mine in a graceful, erotic movement that lets me know exactly, precisely, what Robbie McGuire looks like when he fucks.
Hot.
Robbie McGuire looks hot when he fucks.
“Hot,” I rasp as I start to flail beneath him. “So hot. You’re so fucking hot, Robbie.”
He does look hot. He looks so goddamn hot that my climax isn’t a climb or even a struggle. It’s a forgone conclusion. It’s a decision that’s made before I get there. Unequivocal. Unnegotiable. He takes me with him, holding me and not letting go, looking into my eyes as his smile falters and turns to an open-mouth grimace. We plummet over the edge together, shaking and laughingin each other’s arms once the space between us is hot and wet and our bodies have stopped spasming.
He throws himself onto his back next to me and sighs loudly. His lips curl up in a way that gives me a feeling I know what he’s going to say before he starts talking. “So, are you ever gonna let me fuck you, or what? ’Cause I’m telling you, Ant, I want to put my dick in you more than I want air.”
I don’t skip a beat. “Don’t you mean your clit?”
He swats me and starts laughing again. A soft, bubbling brook that spills out of him and drizzles all over me.
“I don’t care what you call it,” he says reasonably. “As long as you say my name when it’s inside you.”
Oof.
It’s late, and I’m packing for my next block of away games. Packing, packing, packing. Always fucking packing. I do most of it on autopilot, but I have a bad case of post-Christmas blues slowing me down.
I did the right thing by coming home tonight. We have an early flight tomorrow morning, and I have a lot ofshit to get sorted before I leave. Bodie left the McGuires when I did, and I can promise you, that man would not have left that house unless it was absolutely essential.
I felt for the guy. I’ve never seen a clearer expression of terror on anyone’s face than on his when he waited for Beth to come downstairs this morning. It was clear something had happened between them the night before because he was completely unable to speak or tear his eyes off the stairs as he waited for her. I guess it was one of thosewere we just drunk or is this somethingsituations. It was eating him up.
When Beth finally blessed us with her presence, she shlof-shloffed over in her slippers and fluffy robe to where Bodie was sitting, turned her back on him, and dropped into his lap as if it was something she’d always done. She folded her arms and legs into him. He didn’t skip a beat. He wrapped his arms around her as if that was something he’d always done too.
His smile didn’t fade until it was time for us to leave at the end of the day.
Once I’ve zipped up my bag and checked my flight itinerary, I head downstairs.
I love my house. Always have. It’s a great house. Tasteful and stylish, it’s been featured in a bunch of décor magazines, so it’s definitely objectivelynice. It’s just that it’s a lot quieter here than it was at the McGuires. Tonight it feels a little echoey and empty, lacking in personality almost.
Fuck it. It’s too designer-y, isn’t it?
Speaking of design, Robbie loved the lamp I gave him. He really loved it. He wasn’t pretending or being polite. He was so excited. He looked like a kid when he unwrapped it, all big-eyed and spluttery with happiness. The McGuires liked the massive block of Belgian chocolate I got for them, and Dr. McGuire wasted no time putting to use the set of oversized bone China mugs I bought to go with the chocolate.
Mr. McGuire tilted his head far back and said, “Who’s up for somechocolat?”
“Don’t start,” said Beth, but of course, they started and didn’t stop for a good long while.
In the middle of the fray, Robbie pulled me aside and handed me a small, badly wrapped gift. He watched intently as I opened it, hands drifting toward mine in a subconscious attempt to help when I struggled to free it from the yards of tape he’d used.