Page 16 of Erotic Temptations 2

Ryan sped up, hand jerking my cock in a rough rhythm. “Yeah, do it. Want to feel you squeeze me.”

That ripped the climax out of me. I came hard, all over my stomach and his fist, muscles locking as the orgasm crashed through me. Cum splattered up my chest, dripping between us.

Ryan fucked me through it, hips driving harder, cock swelling inside me. His face twisted, and then he gasped, practically shouting.

He emptied inside me, cock pulsing, hands gripping my thighs. For a long moment, he was frozen over me, sweat dripping onto my neck.

Finally, he collapsed, catching himself just enough not to crush me. Our breaths mingled, shaky and uneven.

“Holy shit,” he said, his voice wrecked.

I laughed, dizzy and sated. “You’re not so bad at this.”

He nuzzled my neck, peppering kiss on my skin. “Stay the night?”

“Try and drag me away.”

* * * *

My eyes opened on Christmas morning, my first thought. Ryan.

Not my parents. Not the mystery casserole waiting in the fridge. Not even the cheesy holiday playlist leaking out of the living room like some kind of seasonal gas leak.

Ryan.

A dumb grin hijacked my face.

Downstairs, Mom had gone full spectacle. Table heaped with pancakes, bacon, and about six kinds of jam, which was, apparently, the Clark version of “we missed you.” Dad already had the news on and didn’t bother hiding his bedhead. At least we were united in holiday glamour.

Mom fussed like she’d never seen me eat before. “Slow down, Alan. Nobody’s taking it from you.”

“As long as you don’t make me fight Dad for the last piece of bacon, I think we’ll survive.”

Dad’s eyebrow twitched. “I’m faster than I look.”

They made me open presents, even though I’d told them not to bother. Socks, a Chicago mug, and a popcorn tin the size of my torso. Christmas, sponsored by calories and nostalgia.

Breakfast was loud, cozy, weirdly sweet. Every five minutes, Mom dropped a hint about “getting out, seeing old friends,” as if she didn’t know exactly which “friend” I’d be seeing.

By ten, my phone buzzed. Ryan’s name. A Christmas text.You up?I grinned into my orange juice. Subtlety was not his strong suit.

“Heading out,” I told Mom, who offered a travel-sized Tupperware of cinnamon rolls like I was about to cross the Rockies.

“You go have fun!” she said, cheek kisses and all.

Trekking through the snow, I nearly face-planted twice but managed to make it to Ryan’s porch without breaking bones or losing my dignity. He opened the door before I knocked, wearing a red flannel shirt and grinning like a goof.

“Merry Christmas,” he said, his voice low. “You look good.”

I stepped inside, warmth and the scents of pine and coffee enveloping me. Ryan held two mugs, one extended my way. “Come on in.”

Presents glowed under the tree, not many, just a few in shiny paper. A stocking hung by the fireplace, probably from his mom, his name stitched in crooked thread.

“Got you something,” he said, handing over a wrapped box. “Don’t laugh.”

Inside was a T-shirt that read, “World’s Okayest Skater.” I choked on my coffee.

“That’s…accurate.” I couldn’t quit smiling.