Looking for Trouble(69)

Clay spit in his hand, stroking up and down his shaft, then did it a second time.

Dylan spread his legs wide, his ass hanging over the table where they shared their meals every day. The thought made him chuckle, and Clay bent over and kissed his cheek.

Clay’s cock was at his hole then, the fat head trying to push inside. “Fuck…fuck…more spit.”

“I’ll take you to the bedroom for the lube.” Clay tried to lift him, but Dylan shook him off.

“No. I want it right here. I can take it. Just get us a little wetter.”

So he did, fingers, tongue, spit on both of them, wiped their precome on him until he could slowly work his way inside. Dylan wanted to feel the stretch, the burn. Loved that they could go raw and that Clay was the only man to ever come inside him.

“You okay?” Clay asked when he was buried deep, his groin right up against Dylan’s ass.

“I will be when you start fucking me.”

Clay pulled out and thrust forward again. Over and over and over he worked Dylan’s hole. The table slid across the floor, but they just kept going. Dylan pushed down, trying to meet the pump of Clay’s hips.

“Nothing like it…nothing like making love to you,” Clay told him.

And that’s what they were doing, wasn’t it? Making love. Dylan had never made love before Clay.

The movement of Clay’s hips slowed. He pulled out and wet himself again before sliding back inside. It was like a slow kiss, the best possible tease as Clay fucked him gently, leisurely.

Dylan arched his back again as Clay’s large hands held his hips, his fingers somehow both rough and tender.

“Such a tight, pretty hole. I could watch my dick slide in and out of it every day for the rest of my life.”

“Me too,” Dylan panted, breathless. His balls were so damn full, his orgasm right on the edge, about to take a nosedive off the cliff.

Clay leaned over him, thrusting, filling him deep. Their bodies were sweaty, hot, slapping and sticking together. When Clay took his mouth, passionately sliding in before jerking out to teasingly push inside again, Dylan lost it. His vision went blurry, his hearing muffled as he felt like the whole world was exploding, and he shattered. He shot between them, once, twice, a third time just as Clay buried himself one last time. He dropped his forehead against Dylan’s, and his body tensed as his dick spasmed in Dylan’s ass, spilling inside him.

They lay there like that as Clay softened inside him. Dylan’s body felt weak, weightless, only his eyes heavy as they fluttered and closed.

“We debauched our kitchen table,” he whispered softly.

Clay chuckled. “It was fun. Maybe we’ll move it in our room and get a new one for here.”

Dylan smiled, and then he let go as Clay carried him to bed.



He was ironing.

He hadn’t been able to sleep. Hell, he’d been awake when Clay had come to bed, but he’d pretended he hadn’t been. When lying there awake had become too much, he’d gotten out of bed and tried to keep himself busy with his silly hobby.

Music played quietly in the background as he swayed to the beat. It helped…sewing and designing did, but he still couldn’t keep his mind off Clay. Off their evening. Off everything.

He watched how smooth the fabric came out as he moved the iron on top of it.

He set it down…and then Clay was there…Clay was smiling at him and dancing with him, and Dylan had never felt so loved in his life.

He’d forgotten about everything else.

He’d forgotten about the iron.

Dylan’s eyes jerked open, his body going from asleep to completely awake in no time flat.

The first thing he noticed was how much his throat and nose burned…and then his eyes. Smoke drifted in from the hallway, and in the distance he heard the beep of smoke detectors going off.

Jesus, there was a fire. He’d left the goddamned iron on and there was a fire!

“Clay! Wake up!” Dylan shook him. The moonlight shined through the open curtains. Clay jerked forward, at first looking lost before panic flared in his eyes.

“Fuck! Come on. Let’s go!” He jumped out of bed, and Dylan was right behind him. Dakota was whining and pacing the room. Dylan didn’t know how they’d slept through any of it.

Clay jerked on some sweats, and Dylan pulled on a pair of shorts.

His heart was a battering ram trying to break his chest open. He’d caused a fire in Clay’s house. Oh God, oh God, oh God.

Clay looked out the door. “The hallway’s filled with smoke. We have to go out the window.”

Dylan was frozen, unable to move as Clay jerked the window open and pushed the screen out. He lifted Dakota and put her outside first. “Trouble, come on. Let’s go.”

“Your picture…of Gordon.” It was in the living room. Dylan didn’t want him to lose it.

“I don’t give a shit about the picture. We need to get out of here.” He grabbed Dylan and pulled him. Logic settled in, and Dylan grabbed their cell phones and climbed out the window with Clay right behind him.

He dialed 911 but then noticed there were already sirens in the background. Thankfully someone driving by or the neighbor across the street must have called. Still he stayed on the line, giving them the information as Clay stood there staring at the house.

He’d left the iron on, and now Clay would lose his home. Dylan would never forgive himself.