Page 19 of Oliver

I bring his face to mine and kiss him deeply, because his words mean more than I can say. And I believe him. For the first time in my life I know someone sees me for who I really am, or at least who I want to be, and they accept me for me.

We doze and when we wake again it’s late afternoon. I reach over and grab Hunter’s phone off the nightstand to check the time. Shit, Amanda will be home soon and Hunter and I need to pick the RV up before five.

“Hey,” I say, sliding my finger along his arm. “Wake up, we have to get going.”

He grunts and shifts away from me, opening his eyes. “What time is it?”

“Four,” I say. “We need to be at the RV place by five, and your mother will be home by six.”

He frowns, and his gaze is earnest when he asks, “Will you fuck her tonight?”

Fuck, I never stopped to think about how difficult this would be for him. Watching me with his mother, especially when it’ll be just the three of us in close quarters for the next two weeks. I won’t be fucking her in front of him, of course, but I will be kissing her, touching her. I have to or she’ll know something’s up. And not having sex with her for the time we’re on the road trip is doable. We really can’t do anything with Hunter sharing the RV with us anyway, but what about afterwards when we get back home?

“Christ, Hunter, are you sure you want this? Perhaps it would be better if you went home early?”

His frown deepens. “You said I could have your hole whenever I wanted.”

I press a kiss to his nose. “And I meant it, sweet boy, but I don’t want you upsetting yourself when something happens between your mother and me, because I will fuck her while you are here, and I don’t want to see you get hurt.”

“I’ll hurt for you, Oli. I said I would make you happy for a month and I meant it.” He kisses me. “But you will hurt for me, too.”

My eyes widen and he grins. “Just promise me you will think of me when you’re inside her,” he says, his eyes softer again. “Promise me when you come it will be because you pictured me inside you, filling you up and splitting you open. Being my good boy.”

My cock jerks and I almost whimper. Why does that affect me the way it does? “I promise,” I say, dumbfounded at how much I mean it, and he captures my lips again.

“Take off your pants,” he rumbles.

“What? We need to leave or we’ll be late. And I came twice in thirty minutes. I don’t have the same refractory period you do, sweetheart.”

“Oh, you’re not coming, beautiful,” he says. “Just me. I’m gonna use your pretty little hole to get off, and you’re gonna lay there and take it like the good boy you are.” He runs his fingers through my hair and I shudder.

“Christ, the mouth on you,” I whisper, stroking his bottom lip with my thumb. “You could tell me to do anything and I would.”

He smirks. “Then take your pants off, beautiful. And spread those pretty legs.”

Six

OLIVER

Hunter and I are in the kitchen making dinner together a couple of hours later, having returned from the RV rental place only thirty minutes before, and stealing a few quick kisses before we can’t anymore, when we hear the front door open and the thud of Amanda’s shoes and bag hitting the floor.

“Oliver?” she calls, and she sounds exhausted. “Hunter?”

“In here, love!” I say, and she appears in the doorway a moment later, looking even worse than she sounded, her face drawn and circles under her eyes, but managing a smile as she looks from me to Hunter and back again.

“You alright?” I ask. She sighs and comes to me when I open my arms. I hold her as she rests her head on my chest. The guilt I feel over being with someone as incredible as her and not being satisfied is immeasurable. What is wrong with me? Amanda is not a bad woman. No, far from it. She’s actually an amazing woman. And I hate that she doesn’t make me happy, that I don’t find myself sexually attracted to her, that I have to picturenaked men when we fuck because it’s the only thing that gets me hard, and she has no idea. No idea she’s agreed to marry a man who can never love her the way she deserves. Admitting that to myself is huge. Because I’ve spent the last three months telling myself I can satisfy her, and she can satisfy me, when in reality I know better. But I’m so utterly terrified. Terrified of the truth. Terrified of myself, of what it means.

This is easier. I’ve been playing this game my entire life. I’ve done it for so long now I’ve almost convinced myself I actually could be happy with a woman. Especially one like her. One who, on top of being intelligent, beautiful, and kind, also knows how to handle my parents. When they brought up children literally a second after I introduced them, she wasn’t upset, or dismissive. She just smiled and said, “We’ll see what happens.” And while I know that she has no desire to have another child, that answer kept my parents from bringing it up again.

Why is it so hard for me, as a thirty-six year old man, to be honest with my parents? So much so that I would risk not only my happiness, but hers as well? That I’ve stooped to sleeping with her son to get what she can never give me? Is this how it will always be for us? Me stepping out on her to fulfill some unmet need, her never being the wiser? I’d convinced myself I could be content with her, but having Hunter here is making me question that all over again. Damn him for showing up two fucking months before my wedding and turning my world upside down for a second time.

“Long day,” Amanda says with a weary sigh. “Dinner smells amazing though. What did you guys make?”

“Salmon, rice, and asparagus,” Hunter says, turning to her with a smile that looks very genuine.

“My boys, cooking for me,” she croons. “You’re both so amazing.” She kisses me and then steps towards Hunter and kisses his cheek. “I’m gonna go change and I’ll be right back.”

She leaves and we exchange glances. I’ve carried guilt and shame like a weighted blanket around me for years. Before, because of my attraction to men, now because of what Hunter and I are doing. But I can’t make myself stop. And somehow, being with him makes the pain a little bit more bearable, because he knows the real me, and maybe that takes a small fraction of the weight off of me. When he’s inside me, when he tells me I’m good, I can almost believe him. Believe that I’m not broken, that who I am isn’t an abomination, or an utter disgrace. That I deserve to be loved. To be happy.

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