Page 73 of Ancient History

“What can I say? I’m an optimist.”

“You’re a genius.” I grabbed his collar and threw Hutch backward on the bed to sex the life out of him.

The mattress let out a petrifyingly loud squeak.

“Was that your bed?”

“It’s creaky,” he said.

“Ya think?”

“We wore it out back in the day.” His cheeks blushed, but his smile was full of confidence.

“We’re supposed to be quiet.”

“We can be quiet.” Hutch pulled me down to him, a lusty rasp in his voice. “Pop’s hearing has gotten worse over the years, so he keeps the volume way up.”

He pointed up for me to hear. The dialogue and music of a television drama floated up from the living room. I tried making out what show it was – was it an NCIS or a Law & Order – until I remembered I should be making out with Hutch.

“Get over here.” He kissed away my worry. We had a locked door, fresh sex supplies, and a loud TV.

I sank into the warm, special feeling of his arms wrapping around me, holding me close. His muscles flexed against my chest as he moved me on top of him. I straddled him, his dick willingly poking into my ass.

“It’s tight quarters,” I said of the twin bed. “How did we have sex on this thing?”

“Sheer force of will. Enough talking. Take your shirt off.”

My dick twitched at his command. I looked over my shoulder once more to ensure the door was closed and locked and that the loud, soothing sounds of procedural television were audible. Then I was off to the races.

Hutch’s rough, calloused hands ran up my flesh, flicking over my nipples, sending a pulse of desire shuddering up my spine. I ground against his crotch, willing the denim of our jeans to tear so he could be inside me already. I was hungry, so incredibly, tortuously hungry, for his touch, for him to take control of my body.

He sat up, eliciting another squeak from the mattress, and whipped off his shirt. I happily raked my eyes over his muscular frame.

He looked down at his chest, unimpressed. “I’ve let myself go. I’m not as ripped as I was in high school.”

Hutch had an awfully peculiar understanding of the phrase “let myself go.” His muscular chest and arms were slightly rounder instead of cut glass, and a little layer of thickness lay over where there once were rock solid abs. I freaking loved it. He was like a weighted blanket I wanted to wrap myself in. Make no mistake, the guy was still sex on wheels.

“I prefer the Hutch dad bod.” I gave his shoulder, then his nipple, a quick bite. It was my seal of approval.

Our chests rubbed together as he pulled me into another kiss. He was so close I could feel his heart beating into my chest. I didn’t know where mine ended and his began.

Hutch dragged his teeth down my neck and kissed along my collar, making me shiver and pulsate with want. His eyes shined in the darkness, electric currents sparking me to life.

With one fluid motion, and accompanying bed creaks, he took us off the bed and carried us to his dresser, pushing aside random papers and his old soccer jersey.

“I want to taste you,” he uttered in a low tone.

There was no need to answer. He could see it in my eyes. I was his, completely his.

Another fluid motion, and I was bent over his dresser, pants and underwear at my knees. I groaned into my arm as his tongue swept over my opening. He pushed me open, swirling his tongue deeper inside me, past the tight ring of muscle

“You’re so damn hot. Want you so bad,” he said between deep gulps of air to catch his breath.

“Need it,” I croaked out.

He spat on my hole, smeared it around with his thick tongue, hitting every erogenous zone inside me like a pinball machine. His thumb slid in and out of my hole, then drifted down to brush against my balls, sending a shiver of heat through me.

“Need you inside me.”

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