Falling Away (12 page)

I flatten my palm against his belly and slide it under his erection, a teasing not-quite touch. He sucks in a sharp breath and pulls in his stomach. I grin a little at that. And then I can’t wait any longer. I slowly curl my fingers around his girth, and he stops breathing entirely. His face is a mask of rapture and wonder, and I can’t help wondering how long it’s been for him. Judging by his reactions to everything, quite a long time.
 

Which is fine. I’m finding myself not just willing to take it slow, but looking forward to the tantalizing journey. We’ll take it step by step, and enjoy every moment. He has this way of making me want to savor each second, each touch, each kiss and caress. I don’t know what it is, if it’s just some subtlety in his personality. I don’t know. But I’m going slow and loving it.

I don’t even pump my hand, at first. I just hold his cock in my fist and enjoy the view, the way so much of him juts up and out over my hand as I grip him at the root. My hand seems pale against his dark flesh, and I like even that subtle contrast. Slowly, I slide my hand upward, relishing the stutter of his skin against mine, and the way his belly sucks in and his breath exhales suddenly, involuntarily. I roll my palm over his head and squeeze, and then glide my fist back down enough to rub my thumb over the tip, smearing the pre-come over him.

I glance up and see that he’s watching through slitted lids, his face a mask of bliss and focus. He’s breathing deeply, now.
 

I caress his length slowly downward, and then I cup his sac, feel its heaviness in my palm. My cheek is on his chest, and I’m watching myself touch him, and even though this is by no means new for me, this somehow feels different. As if I’m doing and feeling and experiencing this through new eyes.
 

With each slow slide of my fist up his length, I curl and twist my palm over his head, rub his tip with my thumb and then pump my fist to his root. As my hand presses against his belly on the downward slide, Ben lifts up, presses into my hand. His breathing is ragged. He’s getting close and holding back. His hands are knotted in the flat sheet at his sides, as if he’s not sure where to put them. So I let go of his cock and take his hand in mine, press it to my head, into my hair. I resume the slow caress of his length and he weaves his fingers into my hair, smoothing it back off my face, and his other hand caresses my shoulder and down my back as far as he can reach.
 

When his hips begin to move with the stroke of my fingers around his considerable thickness, I press my lips to the flesh of his chest, and then to his ribs, moving over him gradually now, until I can kiss from hip to hip, chest to navel. He tastes clean and smells of soap and man.
 

“Oh…ssshhhhhiiiiit….” He gasps. “That feels so good.”

“Yeah?” I kiss his belly, mere centimeters from the head of his cock. “Which part?”

“Everything. Your hand, the way you’re…touching me. You kissing me like that.”
 

“Are you close?” I ask.
 

“Yeah…”

“You’re holding back, aren’t you, Benji?” My cheek is resting on his belly now, my eyes locked on his cock, watching it squeeze out of my fist, the head dark and straining toward my mouth.

“Yeah, I am,” he admits, with a groan.

“Don’t hold back,” I say, sliding my face over his skin, closer and closer.
 

“Echo…you don’t have to—” he starts, but then I’ve got him in my mouth, and I have to keep my jaw spread wide to take his thick cock.
 

I wrap my lips around him and slide my mouth around him until I feel him at the back of my throat, and he groans, gasps.
 

Letting him fall out of my mouth, I look up at him with a grin. “I don’t have to what, Benji?”

“Do that,” he groans. “You don’t have to do that.”

“I know.” I punctuate this by licking the pre-come off his tip, and then curl my fist around his root and put my lips to his cock and suck at the head. “But I’m going to anyway.”

“Oh god. I’m close, Echo.”
 

I hum as I slide him into my mouth. I cup his balls and press my fingers under them, and he lifts his hips off the mattress, his fingers tightening in my hair. Oh yeah, I like that, the way he’s got a grip in my hair and isn’t quite pulling, but almost. I bob, now, taking him as deep as my gag reflex will let me and then backing away. I swirl my tongue around the head of his cock, tasting his essence, feeling him throb between my lips. He strains, almost thrusting at me. I hum again, a moan of encouragement. His hips move, and I can tell he’s trying to not fuck my mouth. So I back my mouth away and take him in my fist, pump him hard and suck, swirling my tongue against the tiny slit at the top of his cock, tasting the moisture pooling there. He is thrusting now, involuntarily moving into my fist. I bob with him until I hear him groan, and then I let go of him and move my head in synch with his thrusting, sinking down as he pushes in, pulling away as he draws back. And now he’s moaning loudly and both his fists are tangled in my hair, holding my hair and gently encouraging me to keep going.
 

“Oh my—fuck, oh fuck—” he grunts, and I feel him tense all over. “I’m—I’m coming, Echo…Jesus—ohhhhhh…”

His warning comes just in time for me to prepare. His hips thrust up, and his cock nudges the back of my throat, and I feel the come burst out of him, a gush of liquid down my throat. I pull my lips up and then back down, fucking him with my mouth, hard and fast, and he comes again, and this time I taste it, a thick hot wash of come in my mouth, and he comes a third time, and I’ve got to swallow before the next wave surges out of him, and I’m bobbing and stroking him with my tongue, feeling spurt after spurt of seed explode out of him, until I’m sucking it from him and he’s groaning and stroking my head and feathering my hair away from my face.

When he’s softening in my mouth, I release him and slide up to rest my cheek on his shoulder. He wraps an arm around me, cradling me close.
 

“Holy shit, Echo.”
 

“You came
a lot
,” I say, wiping at my lips.
 

He looks down at me. “I came
hard
.”

“Yeah you did.” I brush at a stray lock of black hair on his forehead. “But then, so did I.
Really
hard.”

He’s still breathing hard as we lie together. Eventually, he glances at me. “I don’t even know what time it is, I just know I’m hungry.”

“Not me,” I say, giggling. “I just had breakfast.”
 

He laughs with me. “You’re sure you don’t need anything else?”

“Nope. Lots of protein in come, I hear.” I grin up at him, and my smile widens as I see that he’s blushing again. Seriously, this guy and his blushing is so damned cute. “For real, though, I could go for breakfast.”
 

He lifts up to peer over me at the clock. “Holy shit. It’s twelve-thirty.”
 

I shrug. “Makes sense. I didn’t get back until after four.”

“I wasn’t sure you’d be back, honestly.”
 

I lift up on an elbow and look down at him. He twines a lock of my hair around his finger. “I just needed to think, Ben. It was a lot to take in.” I rub my hand over his chest. “I thought about leaving your truck here and just…taking off, but…it didn’t seem right. And I didn’t
want
to. That kiss…it was—I couldn’t stop thinking about it. I wanted to talk to you once more, at least. Tell you I…I don’t blame you. It wasn’t your fault. And even what happened with you and Mom, as weird as it is for me to think about it, I get it.”

“And now?”
 

I shrug. “And now…we’ve got chemistry, Benji.” I slide closer to him, press my lips to his and taste my own essence on him. “And I like it.”

“There’s a lot you don’t know about me,” he says, looking at me and sliding a finger across my temple.

“And there’s a lot you don’t know about me. I mean, do we know anything about each other, really? Information-wise, I mean. No, we don’t. But that doesn’t change the fact that I feel a physical pull to you. Attraction, yes, but…something else, too. I don’t know.” I slide out of bed, and face him as I get dressed, enjoying the fact that he can’t take his eyes off me as I hook my bra on and shimmy into my jeans. “So get your fine ass out of bed and put on some clothes.”
 

He grins. “Yes ma’am.”
 

Now it’s my turn to stare at his magnificent body as he tugs on underwear, sadly covering his big, dangling dick, followed by a pair of jeans and a t-shirt.
 

We head out and I drive us to a nearby burger place Mom and I used to go to a lot, but all the way there my thoughts keep returning to what he said:
There’s a lot you don’t know about me
.

And god, it’s true, isn’t it? I don’t know shit about him, or him about me.

*
 
*
 
*

He’s moody during lunch. Conversation flows easily, but I occasionally get a sense of something deeper going on in his head. I want to ask, but I also don’t. Being with him feels insular, like the world and life beyond this thing between us doesn’t exist, or doesn’t matter. I mean, I know I have a lot to do. Mom’s house needs to be cleaned out. I have to go through her stuff, and I don’t even know where to begin or what to do with it all. And I have to figure out if she had a will or anything like that. And eventually I have to get back to school. I got a leave of absence granted, but it won’t hold forever. And once this bubble around Ben and me pops, all of that will come crashing back down around me and I’ll have to deal with it all. And this place, San Antonio, will become a place of memories, a place that once was home, but isn’t any longer.
 

So I don’t pry into whatever is percolating behind Ben’s eyes.
 

We eat lunch, have a beer each even though it’s barely one in the afternoon, and we avoid talking about anything deep. And through it all, the only thing I really want is to go back to his apartment, get him naked, and fuck him until neither of us can move.
 

He pays again, and then we’re in his truck and I’m heading to his apartment.
 

He glances at me. “Um, do you want to swing by your grandparents’ house? Get your stuff? I mean…if you wanted to stay with me while you’re in San Antonio, I’d think you might want your bag, at least, right?” He clears his throat. “Assuming you want to stay, I mean.”
 

“Hell yeah, I do. But we can’t just ‘swing by’ their house. It’s kind of far. A good two-hour round trip, depending on traffic. And…are you sure you’d want to come with me? They’d…ask questions.”
 

“It’s up to you, Echo. You can do whatever you want. I wouldn’t mind questions. I mean, we’re friends, right?”

I shrug. “Sure. But I’m pretty sure it’d be obvious there’s more, especially to Grandma. She don’t miss a trick.”
 

He laughs. “You sounded very Texas just then.”
 

I grin and can’t help laughing. “Well, I did grow up here, so it comes back every once in a while.” I cut a glance at him. “I don’t know, though. Do I want to go there? Not really. It’d just be…hard. And my bag only has a couple changes of clothes and my makeup. Nothing super important, you know? I mean, I wasn’t planning on being here very long.”

We both sober at that.
 

“No,” he says, quietly. “I suppose not.”

I try to turn the conversation back to something light. “So, I guess my point is there’s nothing I really need. I can buy more clothes, and I don’t plan on putting on any makeup any time soon.” I glance at him and wink.

His smile is bright and hopeful and amused. “You weren’t, huh?”

I shrug. “Nope. I don’t usually wear much anyway. Some eyeliner and lip gloss to class, maybe a bit more if I’m going out with my friends.”

Clearly not the response he was expecting, judging by the look on his face. “Oh. Right. Well you don’t need it at all. You’re gorgeous.”

I can’t help but glow a little at his compliment. “Thanks.” I lean toward him. “Also, I don’t wear makeup to bed.”
 

A smile spreads across his face, and he glances at me. “Neither do I.”
 

I laugh and smack his shoulder. “I’d hope not, doofus.”
 

He grabs my wrist, and then slides his fingers through mine. This does odd things to me. It makes my heart thud a little harder, even as part of me melts and part of me heats up and my belly flutters and I press my thighs together to stem the pressure building there. All from the small, simple gesture of him taking my hand.
 

I drive us back to his apartment as fast as I legally can.

EIGHT: Bare Truth and Bare Skin

So…yeah, I should know by now that nothing ever goes as planned.
 

We get back to his apartment in record time, and I’ve got my tongue down his throat before he can get his key out of his door. He stumbles inside, slams the door closed with his cane, which he tosses aside along with his keys. Ben’s hands find my ass, knead and grip, and mine go to his stomach, lift his shirt off him and I toss it away, then start on his jeans. All this while our mouths clash and collide, tongues slash and stutter. My heart hammers in my chest, even though I’ve done this more times than I care to count. I’m not exactly a chaste girl, you might say.
 

But this is different.
 

God, I keep going back to that thought, and never make any more sense of it. He’s just different, and I don’t know why, or how. Or what it means, if anything.
 

He’s got my jeans unbuttoned and his hands are digging under the denim and finding skin, rolling down the string of my thong and squeezing and cupping the flesh of my admittedly generous bottom. For my part, I’m greedily unzipping his jeans and helping him get them off, pushing them down, and then forcing myself to slow down, to pull slowly and teasingly at his tight black boxer-briefs until his huge hard dick is thick and tall between us, and I’m caressing it hungrily, sliding my palm up and down his length. And oh no, he’s not idle. His hands push away my shirt, fumble at my bra and bare my tits, and then he’s sliding his rough palms down my sides and under the string of my thong, working it free from my ass-crack and I’m stepping out of it.