Page 33 of Beyond the Stix

He then proceeds to move. Slow at first, in a lazy rhythmic glide of his hips. Clamping my hands on his hips, I watch him in utter fascination as he pulls pleasure out of my body.

But it isn’t enough. I need to move. As Connor sinks down, I thrust upward, eliciting a moan out of him that reverberates down to my balls. He shudders, gyrating faster, which has me tightening my hold on his hips and pumping harder into him like I’m chasing a carnal high, just out of reach.

“John,” he hisses in desire. “I’m going to come.”

“Yes, baby. Paint my chest.” I take over, pumping upwards in rapid succession, as towering electricity builds in my balls. Connor’s ass tightens around my cock. He throws his head back, and croons out my name before he comes all over my stomach.

One, two—three more thrusts, and I’m there with him, cresting the apex, and exploding inside the latex.

Connor collapses on top of me, and I wrap my arms around this beautiful man.

All the energy is drained out of my body. And from the way Connor doesn’t move, he is in the same condition. We lay there in absolute bliss for a good long while, before he finally slides off me. Using my arm as a pillow, he falls asleep.

I glance down at Connor, in wonderment as to why this gorgeous man is in this bed with me. I should leave, and sleep on the couch. I’ve never stayed long enough with any of my hookups to fall asleep. However, Connor is different. He’s no hookup. And he feels too good to let go.

The following morning, I find myself alone in bed, and my right arm is cramped. Heavy disappointment courses throughme, but I guess it doesn’t matter. I only promised to be there for him to chase away his nightmares. And I did.

TEN

Connor

I woke justafter four in the morning, feeling off-kilter, but from the realization of what I did with John last night. I fucked him. My bodyguard.

Me. I didn’t give John a choice… Well, I don’t think I did.

After I told Mom we had to leave, I grabbed a bottle from Dad’s liquor stash on the way to my room. The whiskey gave me the courage, but it was my desire to have this man inside me that was the deciding factor. And I wouldn’t have taken no for an answer.

It had to be that John felt sorry for me.

Connor could have been molested by his uncle, so I will have sex with him.

Jesus fucking Christ. What the hell is wrong with me? I know for a fact that John isn’t the type of guy to have sex with me because he was sorry for what happened when I was a kid. No, he had sex because he wanted it. Or he gave in to my paltry pleading.

No matter, it’s done. I can’t worry about it. It’s not like we’re going to date like Danny and Tobias.

“Fuck,” I hiss, as the soreness in my ass reminds me of the dilemma my decision put me in. Don’t get me wrong, the fucking was mind-blowing, and it made me forget for a little while about my reality.

But this wasn’t like the jack-off session that I could pass off as nothing. No. I crossed the line. A line John silently put forth months ago. I’m not going to deny the fact that he chased away the sorrow from losing Dad. And the nightmares of my uncle that have been continually plaguing me didn’t rear up last night in my dreams.

Sleeping with John may have been about more than just about sex for me. However, it’s different for John. Especially now, with the truth about my past with my uncle.

I can’t deny that it’s a complicated situation, particularly when my growing feelings for John are mingled in. After all the back-and-forth reasoning, I finally admit that I can’t keep lying to myself. I’m falling for John. Hard.

That startling realization has me freaking out. I silently move out of the cocoon created by his solid heat and slink back into my cold bed. But I don’t lay there long. I end up showering, to wash off the cum that has dried on my stomach and chest.

After cleaning up, I dress and start packing my things. No matter what I do, though, I can’t keep John and the way he made me feel out of my head.

Not wanting to dwell on what happened between us, I fall back in bed, hoping to get a few hours of shut eye before we have to leave, but sleep eludes me. So, I lay there trying to figure out what to do until my phone pings with a text message.

My heart jumps at the idea that it might be John, and that he wants me back in his bed. I quickly pick up the phone from thenight stand and glance at the screen, my breath tripping up as aggravation pools in my gut at who has actually texted me.

Jessup:Are you up?

I stare at the three words for several long minutes, not sure what to say—or if I should even answer the text.

My mind has been repeatedly going over what he said to me yesterday in the washroom. Could it be true? Could I have been wrong, all this entire time?

What a vicious circle—the truths I know and the possible misguided memories my brain is weaving.