Page 84 of Summer Lessons

“You shall have flowers every week, Mrs. Bradford.”

She looked at him limpidly. “You, sir, are the best boss in the world.”

And with that, she turned on her heel and set about her day.

By the time they met again at lunch, she had a list of apartments in Terry’s price range. And Mason had a standing order at the local florist’s shop—one moderately priced bouquet delivered to Mrs. Bradford’s desk every Monday.

She was more than worth it.

“WHY AMI taking Thursday off again?” Terry asked Thursday morning when Mason let him into the kitchen.

“Because we’re a week from the end of the month. If we find an apartment today, we can pack this Sunday and move after the soccer game the Saturday after.” Mason had done his homework.

“That’s smart,” Terry said, coming up behind Mason as he poured two coffees in aluminum mugs. He wrapped his arms around Mason’s waist and rubbed his cheek against his back between his shoulder blades. Mason took a moment to close his eyes and savor.

“I had help,” he conceded. “I asked Skip and Carpenter.”

“Mm….” Without ceremony, Terry pulled his cargo shorts down and bent low enough to kiss a line up Mason’s spine.

“Nungh!” Very carefully, Mason put the carafe in the coffeemaker and the mug in his hand down on the counter. “Wha—”

“Is Dane here?” Terry asked.

“No, thank God,” Mason breathed. Terry’s hands were busy kneading his ass and parting his cheeks.

“Good. Bend over.” Terry put Mason’s hands on the counter and nudged at his ankles until Mason kicked off his loafers and his shorts so he could spread his feet.

Mason had never felt so exposed, and for a moment, he wanted to hide. But Terry was tracing his tongue on an evil path, and Mason wanted him to find ground zero more than he wanted to save his own dignity.

Ahhh…. Oh yeah. Terry was good at this, and when he slid his hand between Mason’s legs to fondle his balls and stroke his cock, his tongue felt even better. And even though this was impromptu and overanothersink, Mason’s body shook with yearning.

Oh man.C’mon, Terry—you’ve got me wet and slack and bent over the counter and….

The sensation of Terry’s head nudging between his knees pulled him out of the moment. He looked down and Terry was looking up at him, Mason’s cock at his mouth.

He winked and opened his mouth, and Mason almost sobbed.

And then he saw the bottle of olive oil peeking out from the cupboard where they kept the coffee.

Mason reached up and grabbed it, hands shaking. Oh God—hard and quick and dirty. Terry wasn’t holding back on that blow job.

A few drops—that’s all he needed—and then he reached back and…ah….

He moaned, body pulled tight like a piano wire between the two sensations.

Terry jerked back, mouth leaving Mason’s prick, and Mason almost cried.

“What’re you doin’?” he asked, voice full of wonder.

“You want in, go for it!” Mason whined, two fingers inside, thrusting, stretching. The angle was awkward, but he didn’t care.God,it had been a while since he’d done this!

“You wantmeto….” Terry’s voice throbbed with arousal, and Mason forced himself to stop with the fingerfucking so he could gaze at him fondly.

“Please?”

Terry’s mouth made a round little O, and he reached between Mason’s thighs and grasped his wrist. “Stop,” he ordered.

Mason glared. “You had better—”