Page 20 of Wishing Hearts

When I shove the packets Harrison’s way, fumbling for his hand in the semi-dark, he hands them right back. His grip leaves my cock a moment before he turns, and then he’s pushing his pants down to his knees and bracing his hands on the hood of the riding lawn mower, his ass inches in front of me.

Oh fuck. Yessir.

I fumble with the lube, tearing it open clumsily as my hands shake. The strip of sunlight coming through the broken slat at the side of the shed runs perfectly over Harrison’s ass, lighting up the taut swells at a slanted angle, and I can not look away. Can not think of anything but what it will feel like to be buried inside that ass.

“This is what you want?” I ask Harrison. Because even though the man all but shoved his consent in front of my dick, I’d still feel better hearing the words.

I tuck the condom back into my pocket for now and lube two of my fingers, palming Harrison’s ass cheek as he says, “Yes. I don’t want to think, Sam. I just want to feel. Feel you.”

Ah, fuck.

My gut simmers. Burns.

I kick Harrison’s feet further apart and step in close. He curses, dropping his weight more fully onto the hood of the lawn mower, his ass stuck out with his bent position. He looks obscene. Perfect. A wet dream come to life inside this shabby little shed where powdery dirt flits through the air like fairy dust.

When I bring my lubed fingers to Harrison’s ass, he pushes against me. He chokes out a moan as I slip two digits inside, his body tight and hot. I start to slow as his rim strangles me, but Harrison shakes his head.

“Don’t be gentle,” he says. “I don’t want gentle.”

I think you’re perfect for me, I want to shout. I think you’re mine.

Instead of saying a thing, I press my fingers as far inside Harrison as they’ll go. He grunts, dropping his head forward as I stretch him roughly. I reach my other hand between his legs, finding his heavy balls and rolling them in my palm. Harrison moans, the sound reedy and nearly a whine.

“Good, darlin’?” I ask, turning my hand so I can rub along his prostate.

Harrison’s knee buckles before he quickly rights himself, but he shakes his head, turning to glare at me in the dark. “Don’t,” he says, voice surprisingly harsh. “Not that word.”

I falter as I run over what I said. Darlin’?

Shit, was that what his ex called him?

“All right, stud,” I say instead, feeling better when Harrison huffs a laugh. It quickly turns into a moan when I run my fist over his cock. He’s looser now, but I don’t want to hurt him any more than he wants. “Tell me when.”

“When,” he says immediately.

My cocks kicks, and I grab the condom from my pocket, keeping my fingers inside Harrison’s body and opening the packet with my teeth. When I finally pull away to roll the condom on, Harrison shuffles his weight, getting a better grip on the hood of the lawn mower. That tells me everything I need to know.

I quickly spread the remaining lube onto my cock and get into place, one hand on Harrison’s hip, the other on the base of my shaft. As soon as my crown is inside the hot press of his body, I shove forward, and Harrison keens so loud I move my hand to cover his mouth. He nods his head rapidly as I stall, bottomed out, and when he mutters out a muffled “Please” against my palm, I lose it.

I grab Harrison’s hips and make him feel, just like he asked. His hands scramble against the lawn mower, trying to find purchase, and he meets every single one of my thrusts, even more so once he finally finds a place to hold onto. His breath punches repeatedly from his lungs, and our bodies slap together as dust rolls violently through the sliver of sunlight racing over the space above Harrison’s ass.

It’s fast and hurried and beautiful, in a way, but I shove every single one of my sentimental thoughts down as I focus on Harrison. On his sounds and the tightening of his body. On making him feel good.

“Hey, Harrison,” I huff out, our bodies making a particularly loud slap as my groin meets his ass.

He chokes on a laugh. “Sam.”

“Are you still thinkin’?”

His breath saws out. “I…”

“Okay, good,” I mutter, running one of my hands up Harrison’s back to his shoulder. I grip him there, pulling him back on me as hard as I dare, and his leg gives out. He slips forward, chest against the mower, but he doesn’t bother pushing up. His hand leaves a sweaty print on the dusty hood as it slips away, and Harrison’s body starts to clamp down on me.

“Sam,” he says, voice half breath. “I’m gonna—”

I reach down, tugging Harrison’s hips away from the mower so I can stroke his cock, and he splinters apart in my hands.

“Sammy,” he calls out, fluttering around me as his cum coats my fingers.

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