Page 45 of Tribute Act

Softly, Mack said, “Can I touch you?”

My heart was banging in my chest. “Okay,” I breathed.

He surprised me by going straight to his knees on the floor, moving his lean body into the space between my open legs. My dick throbbed as I watched him, waiting, wanting.

Slowly he reached out, sliding his warm palms up over my belly, past my ribs and my pecs, curving his hands over my shoulders, his touch gradually growing bolder and firmer as he learned every inch of my body.

Keeping as still as possible, I let him do just as he wanted, afraid to make a sound in case I broke the strange spell between us. I never wanted this to end. I loved having his hands on me. His dark, melting gaze on me.

I held my breath as he leaned forward and kissed my stomach, turning his face to rub his cheek into the slight softness after, his closed eyes and moan of pleasure telling me just how much he liked this. He pressed little kisses against my skin as he moved higher and higher, his lips tracing over my ribs, teeth catching on one small, tight nipple, making me gasp. Eventually, he clambered right up onto the couch again, straddling my thighs with his own, and grazed his teeth up my throat till he reached my ear.

“I think your body’s fucking perfect,” he whispered.

I turned my head—his eyes glittered with lust, and I knew mine probably did too.

I whispered, “Let me kiss you.”

He seemed puzzled. “Why?”

I smiled at that. At his confusion. “Because I want to. How come you never let me?”

“I let you,” he protested. “The other day, in your room. Before we blew each other.”

“Not really,” I said, smiling to take the sting out of it. “Not the way I want to.”

He hesitated.

“Come on. Please. You might like it.”

He sighed. “Okay then.”

I took his face in my hands and guided his lips to mine, watching him the whole time, till I settled my mouth over his. I didn’t go in with my tongue, not yet, but alternated tiny suckling pulls and nibbles at his lips with glancing sweeps of the very tip of my tongue that made his breath catch. And all the while I was arching my body against his and pushing my hips up, getting us both so hot that, in the end, it wasn’t me but Mack who parted his lips and thrust his tongue right into my mouth, deepening the kiss the way I wanted.

I moaned with satisfaction, tunnelling my fingers into the hair at the back of his neck as I opened to him, letting him take whatever he wanted from me. And God, did he take. He pinned me to the back of the sofa with his wiry body and his hands got busy shoving down my joggers as he tongue-fucked my mouth.

And I just sat there, uncharacteristically passive, letting him do whatever he wanted to me, helplessly turned on by his apparent need for me. I gasped into his mouth when his questing fingers grazed my cock and he began to draw it out of my joggers. And then he was pressing it against his own bare dick, and beginning a rhythmic stroking.

For a guy who wouldn’t kiss me before, he was suddenly very into it, lips mauling mine, tongue in my mouth. But as his hand sped up on our dicks, he tore his mouth away, pressing his forehead against mine and closing his eyes as he worked us together.

“Nathan,” he moaned. “Fuck, what you do to me.”

My heart swelled with gratitude at his words. I was amazed I did anything to him, but right now, he did seem to like me—

—and fuck but I liked him.

In fact, going by the ache that spread in my chest as I watched him coming, I liked him way too much.

After that night, there was no more will-we-won’t-we? We fell into the habit of sleeping together—or rather, fucking—most nights. Mack never stayed over in my bed though.

We didn’t talk about it either. Mack made it pretty clear, pretty quick that he wasn’t comfortable acknowledging what we were doing too explicitly. Whenever I said anything—even if just to ask him if he wanted me to suck his dick—he’d shut me up with his mouth.

Which was something of an incentive to ask him a lot.

His aversion to kissing seemed to have faded too—at least, he didn’t seem to mind the tongue-fucking sort of kisses we’d shared that night on the sofa. He still didn’t seem to like the more tender variety though, making sure to quickly sexualise any embraces we shared.

Looking back, I was amazed that what was going on between us wasn’t obvious to everyone else. We couldn’t get enough of one another at that point. We spent every night holed up in the flat together, fucking, and whenever we were working together in the café, I spent the whole shift eyeing him.

And yet, we didn’t talk about any of it. Not what was happening between us. Not my fear that Mack was just going to up and leave one day without warning.