Then he felt Carl’s cock, poised at his entrance, and Carl’s harsh whisper.
“Look at me.”
Michael’s eyes flew open, and he whimpered.
“Still want this?” Carl asked, and Michael nodded.
“Please.”
Carl slid in slowly, very slowly, and Michael didn’t even think to be afraid. He wanted this, craved it, and Carl filled him long, strong, and hard.
Michael gave a little gasp when Carl’s cockhead pushed in, and then his shaft kept going, wide and full.
“More,” he whispered, aching for it all, shuddering when Carl thrust in the last bit until his hips were flush with the backs of Michael’s thighs. “Yes,” he hissed. “Yesssss….”
Carl stayed there for a minute, resting, giving him a chance to adjust, and as Michael relaxed into the mattress, melting into the joy of being possessed, Carl began to move. First he pulled back, and Michael’s greedy asshole clenched down, not wanting him to go.
Then he thrust forward, and Michael’s head fell back as sweat popped out on his forehead, his entire body flushing hot and cold with the ache of submission.
“More,” he begged again, and Carl began fucking him, hard, slow, making every thrust count.
Oh wow. Michael couldn’t move, couldn’t play with his nipples or grab his cock. His entire being was consumed with what Carl was doing. One more electric zap of his nerve endings would send him rocketing into the stratosphere without a net.
And Carl kept fucking him, harder and harder, until every breath felt like a climax, until Michael couldn’t think anymore from the combination of desire and arousal.
Then Carl’s fist closed on Michael’s cock as he thrust, and Michael cried out, his entire body coming off the bed as he came.
He clenched down on Carl’s cock as he jetted come all over both of them, and Carl cried out too, rutting hard inside him, setting off a series of aftershocks that Michael couldn’t control and didn’t want to.
Then he felt the pulsing of Carl’s cock, filling him hotly, and he shuddered, his limbs splaying out as he collapsed weakly into the damp sheets, Carl on top of him, hips still pumping as though he couldn’t help himself.
For a moment the only sound in the world was their harsh breathing, the little moans and grunts of orgasm that had never completely faded.
“You… good?” Carl asked, still lodged solidly inside him.
“So good,” Michael managed to say. He was falling asleep, his body limp and exhausted, Carl’s come drizzling down his crease and coating the back of his thighs.
It was an amazing sensation.
“Good,” Carl whispered, embracing him hard. Michael tried to hug back and mostly succeeded, but then his eyes were fluttering closed, closed, his entire body buzzing with climax and white light.
He’d wanted Carl to pay attention to him. He hadn’t expected that attention to electrify his bones, his skin, his flesh.
He would want this again, he thought muzzily. Again and again and again.
Best thing he’d ever done.
“Love you,” he mumbled before his mind went dark.
“Love you back,” Carl told him, and that gave him the peace he needed to sleep.
“WHAT’S WRONG with him?” Chuck asked suspiciously.
Michael caught Carl’s quick puzzled look before Carl replied, “Nothing. Nice place, by the way.”
They had taken over the patio of a small restaurant outside of Napa, not too far from the hotel. The restaurant itself was sided with faux rock walls, and the patio was fenced in with white-washed timber, bougainvillea draped over the struts and the also white-washed wire between the posts. Both the inside and outside were paved with polished stone, and the tables and chairs were sturdy farmhouse-style affairs that looked like they could hold two of Carl on a rainy day.
Michael approved of places that looked sturdy—he’d grown up with his brothers roughhousing around him, and the idea that furniture could break had never been very far from his mind.
“No, no, something’s wrong with him,” Chuck replied, still squinting. “Michael, are you feeling okay?”
Michael gave him a serene smile, not even trying to come down from the sexual buzz Carl had given him. “Peachy,” he replied, before trying to study his menu. He touched Carl’s arm. “Do you mind if I have a beer?”
Carl shook his head. “Doesn’t bother me,” he said. “Beer was never my drink anyway.”
“What was?”
“Vodka and gin. Clear stuff that tasted like cooking oil. Fabulous.” He glanced up at the patient waitress. “I’ll have a sparkling water with the chicken salad. Michael?”
“Craft beer?” he asked, thinking about what a luxury it was to order something that would taste wonderful and he didn’t have to drink a six-pack of.
“I’ll get you the house brew,” the woman said. In her thirties, dressed in black pants and a white shirt, she was the type of woman who turned waiting tables into an art form of customer care and empathy.
“And a hamburger, rare, thank you.” Michael beamed at her, and she went around the table.
Lucius ordered a glass of pricey white wine and a steak, Chuck ordered the same beer Michael got with steak, as did Hunter, and Grace looked at the menu and then looked at Hunter and said, “Know what I’m not gonna get?”
“Wine,” Hunter said dryly.
“Believe me, I’m as surprised as you are,” Grace muttered, sounding incredibly contrite.
“He’ll have a whole pitcher of soda,” Hunter told the waitress, who tried hard to hide her smile. “And a chicken sandwich, no bread, no mayo, nothing but chicken, lettuce, and pickles.”
“You know me,” Grace said, beaming at him.
“I’ll have soda,” Molly said regretfully, rolling her eyes. “Because I have to work my shitty job.” She sent Stirling an evil look. “And a chicken sandwich with everything.” She glared at Grace. “Because I don’t have to crawl through drainpipes.”
“I’ll have soda because I’m not twenty-one yet,” Stirling told her blandly. “And a hamburger because they’re delicious.”
“Two months,” Molly said grimly. “He’s got two months, and then he can stop bragging about being the youngest.”
“Josh is the youngest,” Grace said quietly. “He’ll be twenty-one in December.”
They all took a deep breath, and the waitress, seeing that she’d taken everybody’s order, scurried discreetly away.
“Is Torrance meeting us?” Carl asked.
“Yeah.” Hunter checked his phone, which was sitting on the table in front of him. “He wants us to put in an order for chicken too. I’ll wait until she gets back.” He glanced at Michael meaningfully. “And Chuck is right. Look at him. He’s practically luminescent. What happened to him? Were there murder-bird hormones in the water or something?”
Chuck shuddered. “Bwah!” he said, shaking like a dog. “Y’all, I got a good look at those things, and they were not friendly. I thought Carl was exaggerating, but no. If anything, he understated their absolute ugliness and ability to haunt a man’s dreams.”