“Are you ready for me to fuck you now?” he asked, almost clinically, and Grace nodded, arching his hips as best he could.
“Too bad.” And with that, Hunter thrust two fingers into his backside and took his cock down his throat.
Grace’s scream grew higher pitched, and he spurted precome, but he wasn’t quite ready to blow. Not yet.
Then, through the handkerchief, Hunter heard “Please!” and his own cock gave a spurt of its own.
“I can’t say no to you,” he confessed, standing and grabbing the condom. He made quick work of it and added more lubricant, oiling himself and squeezing, hoping that someday they could go skin on skin. “I’m going to thrust in, and when you’re ready we can get rid of the gag so I can kiss you. Is that okay?”
Grace nodded. Hunter could see that the sheen of tears in his eyes had leaked some, and his heart wrenched even as he notched his cock in the stretched indentation of Grace’s asshole and shoved slowly in.
Grace moaned, the sound throaty and low, hardly muffled by the gag at all. His head fell back, his eyes closed, and all of his struggles against his bonds ceased. He went completely limp, everything except his asshole, which was clenched so tightly around Hunter’s cock, he was afraid he wouldn’t be able to move.
Slowly, he pulled back and then rocked forward again, and he could feel Grace’s throaty moan in his balls. Again, and again, and faster, and a little harder, and a little faster and a little harder, until Grace’s steady keen under the gag was punctuated only by Hunter slamming against his ass.
And again and again, and Hunter was so close to coming, and so was Grace. “Pull the rope, baby, and touch yourself,” Hunter ordered, needing to come more than he needed Grace restrained. The rope was for Grace, not him.
Grace did what he commanded, his bonds untwisting from his wrists, from under his leg, getting lost in the tangle of their bodies as his hand came forward to grasp his cock. Hunter fell to his hands, one placed on either side of Grace’s head, and fucked as hard and as fast as he could.
Grace spit out the gag and breathed, “Yes! Yes, now!”
And Hunter felt it all. Felt Grace’s asshole clench around him, felt Grace’s come spurting between them, and felt, almost like the crack of a glass plate, the breaking of Grace’s sense of self that came with the thing—the ginormous, sexy, kinky, necessary thing they’d done.
His next sound was more of a harsh breath. Grace’s eyes closed, and his body strained, and his cock spurted, and Hunter thrust inside one final time and came, filling the condom, hot and silky and sending him into aftershocks before the wave had even finished with him.
He fell forward, his body pressing Grace’s into the mattress, his cock still inside, and Grace tried to catch his breath.
It wasn’t working.
In fact, every inhale felt increasingly like a sob, and Hunter took his mouth then, not savagely like he wanted to, but gently, oh-so-gently, kissing Grace down from wherever he’d been in his head, kissing him into gentle tears instead of sobs, kissing him back to sanity when they’d both hit the ceiling of crazy while they’d been lost in each other’s sex.
Finally, Hunter pulled out and disposed of the condom, wiping down with tissues before coming back to bed and pulling Grace’s sweaty body against his own.
“How you doing, Dylan?” he asked tenderly.
“I don’t know,” Grace said, his voice small and lost. “That wasn’t the sex I’ve been having all my life.”
“Yeah?”
“No.” Grace pulled in another breath. “Just… just don’t go anywhere, okay? Even if I talk too much or get weird in my sleep or—”
Hunter kissed him again, and he calmed. “I’m right here,” he murmured. “You can’t shake me. When we go back home, we pretty much live in the same house, okay?”
Grace nodded, seemingly out of words, which was good. Hunter was exhausted. Hunter kept stroking him, his back, his upper arm, keeping him close.
“I’m going to pull the covers over us and we’re going to sleep now,” he said softly. “We’ll have all day tomorrow to talk about this. Deal?”
“What if I don’t want to?” Grace asked plaintively. “Talk about this? What if I just want to sleep and then wake up with you and not think about this until it happens again?”
Hunter sighed. “We’ll have to talk about it sometime,” he argued, but Grace stared up at him with pleading red-rimmed eyes.
“Please?” he whispered. “Not now.”
“Sure,” Hunter whispered back. Then he buried his face in the hollow of Grace’s shoulder. “But I care for you, Dylan Li. And someday, we’re going to have to put words to that.”
“But not now,” Grace said, sounding wretched.
“Sure, baby. Not now.”
It was nearly five in the morning, and he should have been well and truly sated and ready for sleep. Grace had no problem—he dropped off almost immediately, his head buried against Hunter’s shoulder, his mouth slightly open. It was almost like watching a sleek golden Siamese cat snore—something so elegant and sure-footed, vulnerable and unguarded.
Not unguarded enough to make love, though—not without the traps and whistles. Not without talking nervously until being forced to be silent. Not without trusting that if he let go, Hunter would be there to catch him.
Sighing, Hunter kissed his temple. Ah, baby. It should have been such a simple thing. Sexual human meets sexual human, and sex ensues. But when it was more than sex, when emotion and attachment were involved, things got… tricky.
The sheen of tears in Grace’s eyes when forced to lie there and accept physical pleasure was not going to go away soon.
For all Grace’s much-vaunted sexual experience, Hunter didn’t think he’d ever let anybody touch him. It was as though he didn’t know how.
Since he was sleeping, Hunter practiced, smoothing his rough hand up and down Grace’s back, along his backside, under the covers. He found himself resenting the stiff sheets and formal cleanliness of the hotel room; he wanted to hold Grace somewhere that smelled like the two of them, not only from this one moment of intimacy.
He wanted Grace to know where he belonged.
He found himself running through the floor plan of the Salinger family mansion, remembering that there was an extra bedroom suite, for a total of three, in addition to the other individual rooms with adjoining baths. Maybe, if he asked nicely, he could move him and Grace into the suite. Maybe he could bring Grace to his apartment, where Grace could scream and talk and gibber all he wanted. Maybe they could find a way to work together and be lovers, and Grace could sleep in his arms every night.
He knew it wouldn’t be easy. Grace was an indoor/outdoor cat. But even indoor/outdoor cats came inside at regular times for food, for affection, to sleep on their humans’ faces at precise times of the night.
He might, possibly, have to let Grace sniff around other yards to make sure this was the one he wanted to stay in. But maybe if he was careful and affectionate and consistent, he could convince Grace to come back home to him.
Grace started to mutter in his sleep, ending with a little mewl and curling hard into Hunter’s body.
Well, maybe Grace knew this was where he belonged already. He just wasn’t ready to admit it.