Page 62 of Maybe
I pushed down his jeans, wriggled out of mine too. I ran my fingertips along his wispy trail and gave it a little tug. Dipped my hand beyond the waistband of his boxers to cup his firm arse. Knocked him back onto the bed, roughly, and clambered on top of him, manoeuvring my skinny thighs into the gap between his bigger, hairier ones.
“Want me to stop now?” I grinned down at him.
“No.” He pulled my face closer to his so our foreheads touched. Our dicks touched too, through the fabric of our boxers, heat coming off them in waves. “No. I just want you.”
We kissed, his mouth on mine hard and perfect. Delicious strokes of his tongue met the delicious grind of his hips as he pushed up into me. I broke off, but only to slide down his body, shove his boxers aside and taste his dick.
“Ez…” he panted, “that’s… yes… like that. Oh fuck.”
He was thick and veiny and swollen and wet, like he was about to come. I sucked him down until my nose was buried in his pubes and he blocked up my throat. Like a starving man eating to stay alive, I devoured him, sucking at the tangy, bitter heat. His hands pulled tight on my hair. The noises he made semaphored his need to come as urgently as the salty precum I swallowed down. And kept swallowing, all through his release, not stopping until he exhaled in a long shuddery breath at the end and pushed me off.
“Ez… fuck, Ez,” He didn’t get a chance to say more as I straddled his chest. Framed by my shoved down boxers, I roughly guided my straining dick and balls towards his still gasping mouth. As he took me in, I thrust against the roof, his teeth grazing my shaft like he was dining on it. He gripped me tight so I didn’t need to, so I could grab the headboard and pound into him. The sound of it—oh fuck, the glorious sound of it. Four, maybe five thrusts if I was being generous, and then I pulled out to coat his face and neck. And he laughed and ducked and pushed me away, the fucker, until we were wrestling and kissing and loving and fooling around like loversandbrothers.
And, yeah, like he was my wonderful, perfect Isaac.
CHAPTER 23
ISAAC
I woke to the warmth and weight of Ezra curled around me, one long leg draped over my hip and the hard line of his cock up against my arse.
“Morning,” he murmured as I stirred. He pressed himself in a bit tighter and reached down for a friendly stroke. “And what a delightfully refreshing way to start it.”
“Mmm. What about Jonty?”
Ezra laughed. “Whilst you’ve been sleeping like the dead, Jonty has been up, had his cornflakes, had a wash, discussed the state of the nation, decided he was too wheezy to do any schoolwork but not so wheezy he couldn’t play a couple of rounds of his gamedu jouron the PlayStation, had some meds, and then gone back to bed. He’s out for the count but feeling better. Snoring like a chainsaw. So we’ve got loads of time.”
“For what?”
“One of these.” He wriggled closer still, if that were indeed possible, cuddling my junk like his favourite plushie. “A snugglefuck. Invented for slacking doctors with yet another day off.”
“You’re going to have to teach me what to do. Usually at this point, I’m feigning sleep or an urgent appointment while trying to retrieve an AWOL sock from under the bed.”
“Then you’ve been missing out. Morning sex is the best thing ever.” Ezra paused a beat. “Unless you’re sharing a jail cell with a psychopath, of course.”
Sniggering, I relaxed into his snugglefuck. To love it. To ease into the caress of his confident hand, twisting up and over my swollen head. His drowsy kisses, his biscuity warm bed smell. The heat of his breath on my neck did things to me I wasn’t expecting. When his lips planted a path there, I shuddered, biting back a whimper. I felt like my soul was answering his, saying,oh, so this is what it should be like. He fiddled with something behind me, and then his lubed dick found a home between my clenched thighs, skimming my sensitive hole and my taint. With small rocking movements, he got himself off against me, wrapping us up so tightly together I couldn’t have squeezed a cigarette paper between us. And all the time working my dick, his panting gusts on my neck matching his thrusts against my hole.
Making me come took embarrassingly little effort. I finished him off with my hand. Then after we mopped up, we settled into bed again with two cups of tea and mundane plans for the day.
Like we’d been doing this together for all our lives.
Tomorrow, I’d be back at work. Five long days before my next day off. I’d dragged my heels towards the hospital plenty of times, not in the mood for the predictable shitshow that lay ahead. But today, for the first time ever, I genuinely didn’t want to go. I wanted to stay here, in my flat with Ezra and Jonty, which, overnight, had been turned into a home. I wanted to do the laundry, empty the dishwasher, take Jonty for a wander into the park across the road.
“I listened to what you said,” I told Ezra as, reluctantly, he dressed for work.
“About the mid-range electric car?” He sat on the bed next to me and planted a kiss on my nose. “And swapping it for a Porsche? Cool, babe. I’ll help you choose. Fuck-off yellow would be a great colour.”
I swatted him around the head, rolling my eyes. “No, I’m keeping that Golf forever, just to piss you off. I meant not becoming a cardiac surgeon. I… I’m going to have another go at the exam, but I think you’re right.”
A couple of weeks earlier, a sheaf of paperwork had arrived from the solicitor, David Trethowan, relating to the blasted Fitz-Henry memorial medal. What with Ezra, exams, work, and a weird sort of grief I was gradually coming to terms with, I’d clean forgotten about it. Mustard Michael, bless his interfering cotton socks, had already produced a shortlist of nominees. But as I leafed through, spreading them out on the coffee table, I felt my will to live seeping out and disappearing through the floorboards. Two Ruperts, one Henry, and three Charles. In terms of diversity, he might as well have been selecting English cricket team sheets from the 1920s. Home Counties, XY chromosomes, and so terribly Anglo-Saxon.
“Do you want to play Sackboy with me on the PlayStation, Uncle Isaac?” interrupted a breathy voice. Jonty stood right next to me, really close, in that freaky, oblivious way that children had of entering your personal space uninvited. But…Uncle Isaac. My belly dissolved into a warm puddle. How I adored the sound of that. For the first time ever, I didn’t mind a child breathing down my neck. I’d never heard of Sackboy, mind.
“Or we could play something easier?” he suggested, seeing my hesitation. “Although if we play Sackboy, I’ll let you be Oddsock. He runs quicker than Sackboy and jumps off walls.”
“I’d love to.” How could I say no to those bottomless brown pools? After all, I was yet to manage the same with his father. “But I warn you now. I’ll be rubbish.”
“Yeah, but you’ll be better than Daddy. I have to let him win quite often. Otherwise, he might stop playing with me.”
