When Everything Is Blue(68)

Chris seems pretty serious about me getting a sponsorship, and despite his personal feelings toward Vincent, he agrees that hosting the Dirty South tour is my ticket to more exposure. Chris prattles on, and I get the sense he’s nervous too, like he doesn’t know how to begin this part—the big build-up. We’re probably both overthinking it.

At a lull in the conversation, I reach over and nest my fingers in the back of his hair, scooting closer at the same time, so that when he turns, my mouth is there to receive him. Chris grabs my shirt and pulls me to him, starting out slow and letting it build. We’re the only ones camping out here tonight, so there’s no need to rush. No parents or housekeepers within a hundred-mile radius.

We make out by the fire on one of Chris’s old comforters, taking breaks to add more wood, then coming together again. I can tell by the way he nips and paws at me that he’s growing impatient. “Let’s go inside,” he says in a lustful, throaty voice. He goes over to the tent, fumbles with the zipper, holds the flap open, and shutters it behind us.

Inside the tent it’s a little darker, lit only by the faint glow of the fire. We shed our clothes and roll around on the sleeping bags like puppies, groping each other with more urgency, wrestling like we used to, only with a different goal in mind. The air is sticky sweet with the smell of our sweat and desire. My erection is uncomfortably hard, leaky, and tender. Every time he brushes up against it, a thrill races through me that makes me shudder. When he leaves one area of my body for another, that part of me gets jealous and wants him back. Chris pins me on my back and grabs my cock firmly in one hand. I like the way it looks in his fist: fat, flush, and at the ready.

“Bend your knees,” he says, and when I do, he touches my hole with his finger, tapping lightly, then pressing harder with his knuckle. “How’s this?”

“Feels good.”

He edges one finger inside me, and I squirm a little because it’s a sensation unlike any other. I take a deep breath and marvel, Chris is inside me.

And then he isn’t. I open my eyes to find him sitting back on his heels. He watches me with a hungry look in his eyes, but he makes zero moves toward me.

“I know that face,” I tell him, sitting up. “Talk to me.”

“Maybe we should wait.” He licks his lips, and I lean in and place a gentle kiss on his mouth.

“For what?”

He rubs my shoulder. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

His concern is touching but unnecessary. “I’m a big boy, Chris. I can handle it.”

“Maybe you should do me. I think I could take it better.”

For some reason this rubs me the wrong way. “Really? Between the two of us, you think you can handle pain better?”

“This isn’t a competition, T.” He draws his hands through his hair, upset about it.

Everything is a competition with Chris, even when it isn’t. “Well, I might inflict more pain, based on diameter and depth.”

His mouth drops open. “Are you telling me in a really geeky way that my dick is small?”

I chuckle. “No, I’m telling you in a really geeky way your asshole is small.” His brow furrows and he looks past me, so I try again. “Listen, I want to experience this with you. If you want to wait, that’s fine. But I don’t want the reason to be because you don’t want to hurt me. I can take it. I want to take it.”

I expect Chris to laugh at that, but he doesn’t. Just sits there, stiff and unmoving, with a blank look on his face. I scoot around so I can kneel behind him and rub his shoulders, thinking how lucky I am to be touching him, to have the freedom to explore. My palms glide over his smooth skin, warm to the touch. The pads of my thumbs knead into his tense muscles while my mouth trails along his shoulder and up the slope of his delicious neck. His hair brushes along the ridge of my nose and tickles my nostrils.

“This is enough for me,” I tell him, sorry for pressuring him at all.

I lean my cheek against his back, then reach around to comb through his chest hair, fondling his perky nipples with the tips of my fingers, then scaling down his muscular abs. I kiss the space between his shoulder blades and rub my nose against his skin, inhaling his scent. I try to angle my junk so I won’t poke him in the back, but I really can’t help it. He has that effect on me.

Chris grabs hold of my wrist and fills my palm with his thick cock. I stroke him lovingly. I want to make him feel better than he’s ever felt before, to be the one to give him this feeling, with all my love and devotion.

“Whatever you want,” I whisper into his ear. He moans and rocks back into me, then rises up to his knees. I drape myself on top of him, kissing the ridges of his spine until I reach his tailbone. He leans back into my lap, so I spread his asscheeks and let my cock flop against his crack, gliding slowly up and down, getting heated and antsy from the friction.

“Try me, Theo,” he whispers. My stomach drops and my senses sharpen. I pause for a moment to make sure I heard him correctly.

“You sure?” I ask.

“Yeah, you go first.”

I’m no longer in the mood to argue. My body only wants to keep on going. I finger his hole, poking gently with my fingertip, teasing, and testing to see how much pressure his muscle will allow before yielding. I just barely breach his hole and his muscle throbs against my fingertip.