Page 52 of Full Split
Instead, I bend down and kiss him.
Niles laughs softly, mutters something about morning breath, but it doesn’t matter. I kiss him harder, until he stops protesting. Until he’s moaning against my mouth, and my body is feeling a different kind of heat.
“Even your morning breath tastes sweet.”
He laughs at that. “God, you’re so gone,” he teases.
“Apparently.” I can’t even pretend I’m not.
What starts as kissing turns into more, as usual.
I roll on top of him, grinding lazily, still half-asleep and not giving one single fuck that we’re disgusting, sweaty, and still covered in last night’s cum. If anything, it just adds fuel to the fire. My body slides against his, the delicious wet friction rubbing us together in all the right places. I’m breathless from his kisses, his moans, the way his fingers are digging into the meat of my bare ass, pulling me into him.
I’m cupping the back of his head with one hand, keeping his forehead pressed to mine, my other hand caressing and kneading its way over his body. It slides down the outside of his thigh, hiking it higher on my waist. His hips rock, rubbing himself along the length of my hard cock, guided by the hot wet slide of sweat and precum.
Then one or both of us shift too much, and I’m pressing into him in a way I absolutely didn’t plan.
Both of us gasp, and I jerk back, heart slamming.
“Shit. Sorry. That wasn’t intentional. Fuck.”
Niles smiles and kisses me softly instead of pulling away, guiding me to roll so he can climb over me. He settles himself on top of me, and I shiver at the sensation of his hot, slick pussy sliding over my length.
“It’s okay. I’d like to… Maybe soon. If you want.”
“I want,” I groan. “Ifyouwant.”
He pauses. “I like it, sometimes. With someone I trust.”
That nearly destroys me.
We kiss again, gentler. I’m trying to focus on his mouth and not coming all over him when he leans in, drops his voice, and whispers directly in my ear.
“I kind of hoped I could fuck you first.”
I don’t even know what sound I make. Something between a strangled cough, a groan, and a cry. My body reacts before my brain can process, and I shoot all over my stomach.
Niles laughs, wicked and smug. He rolls his hips, sliding through my mess.
“You dirty, dirty old man,” he says breathily.
He’s not wrong.
It takes a while before we manage to get dressed and sneak back into our own houses. Honestly, I don’t know how I found the strength to get up off that platform, much less walk away from him this morning.
The next week is a blur of workouts and practices. Pretending to be a responsible adult by day, while sneaking off to make out with my son’s best friend at every opportunity. Then sneaking off to do worse every night.
I don’t understand it. I’ve never been a sexual person. I used to think I wasn’t wired that way.
Then Niles happened.
Now I’m insatiable.
Case in point: yesterday, I found his speedo. That same dark blue, tight as hell, skimpy excuse for a swimsuit he abandoned in the hot tub the night I realized I was well and truly fucked. It was hiding in a half-forgotten doom pile of clean laundry I never sorted after Nationals.
There it was, balled up next to a bunch of socks and t-shirts that needed to be folded and put away. I saw it. Picked it up. Held it. Stared at it for several long minutes.
Then before I knew it, I was walking through his yard and banging on his door. I didn’t know if Brianne was home or not. I didn’t really care at the time, but thank God she wasn’t.
