You & Me

“Da-ad!” Emmet’s voice rang through the house Saturday morning. “Hey, Dad?”

My eyes bolted open. Landon was lying in my arms, spooned against my chest. We were sharing a pillow. We’d kissed until four in the morning, until our eyes were drifting shut as we tried to kiss one more time.

My bedroom door was wide open. Emmet’s feet were coming up the stairs.

I vaulted over Landon and out of my bed. Crashed into my open door, lurched into the hall, and shut it behind me. Eyes wide, I faced Emmet.

My son was frozen, one foot in the air above the second to top step. He stared at me like I’d burst out of a cartoon. “Dad?”

“Em? What are you doing here? I thought you were going to Austin.” Did I sound accusatory? Or guilty? Like I’d spent the night in bed with his best friend’s dad? Could he tell I’d made out with Landon for hours, before and after showing him my sketches?

“I texted you,” Emmet said slowly. “I told you I was coming.”

“I didn’t see it.” My heart was about to beat out of my chest. How the fuck was I going to sneak Landon out of my bedroom if Emmet was home?

He shrugged. Continued up the steps and turned into his bedroom. “I forgot my charger and some stuff. Bowen and his mom are waiting outside. We’re about to hit the road.”

Oh, awesome. Bethany and Bowen outside my home while Landon was in my bed. Jesus, I had Landon’s precome on my skin. Did I smell like Landon? “Okay.” I folded my arms over my chest and waited for Emmet to emerge.

When Emmet did come out of his bedroom, I wished he’d stayed inside. “I thought Mr. Larsen was staying over here?”

“Yeah, he is. He’s, uh, in the bathroom.” My eyes darted downstairs, to the couch that was obviously not slept on. “He’s an early riser. Been up for a few hours. We’re going to go to breakfast when he’s done.”

Emmet smirked. “I hope you shower, Dad. You’re always saying I smell.” He bounded down the stairs. “See you tomorrow!”

“What time tomorrow?” I shouted after him. The door shut halfway through my question.

My bedroom door opened, and Landon poked his head out. His eyes were wide, and his hair looked like someone had spent hours running their hands through it. I raised my hand to my own hair. Felt it sticking out wild around my head. Shit. “Well, that’s a wake-up.” I scrubbed my hands over my face. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. It’s probably a good thing we were pulled out of bed.” He smiled and took my hand. Kissed my fingers and then rubbed his cheek against my palm. His stubble tickled my skin. “Why don’t I start breakfast while you shower?”

Saturday flew by, him and me together for all of it.

What was most extraordinary about us, I thought, was how normal our lives were, and yet, how amazingly, incredibly, beautifully wonderful everything had become. I’d gone to the farmer’s market before in Old Town. But I’d never gone with him. The sun was brighter, the air crisper. The produce seemed fresher, the local honey sweeter. Landon stocked up on vegetables for the week while I picked out a tray of strawberries that looked so plump and juicy, I could taste their tartness in the air.

We walked the river trail, came out at the town park. Watched the afternoon kid football games and laughed at the herd ball scrambles. The boys were knee-high to a grasshopper, and with their big football helmets, they looked like waddling bobbleheads.

Landon said he wanted to have a lazy, indulgent evening together, nothing but a couch, a bottle—or two—of wine, and each other. I agreed, but I had a question. I wanted us comfortable, with not much between his skin and mine. “How do you feel about Netflix in our boxers?”

“I thought I’d have to work a little harder to get there.” Landon winked. “That’s where I was hoping we’d end up after an episode or two, though.”

I grinned as I shucked my jeans and kicked them onto the living room floor. “Maybe we’ll be somewhere else after an episode or two.”

This time, instead of retreating to opposite corners of my couch, we wrapped up in each other’s arms. I leaned back against Landon’s chest while he draped his arms over my shoulders. I took his hands in mine. Dropped kisses to his thumbs. “I didn’t watch anything. I waited so we could do it together.”

He kissed the back of my head and nuzzled my hair.

We shared a glass of wine. The series Landon had picked out a few weeks back was great, and it still gripped me… but not as much as being in Landon’s arms did. Every exhale ghosted over my neck, and when he smiled or laughed, I felt his lips moving against my skin. He’d kiss my hairline and the curve of my neck randomly, and when he did, I went into a full-body shiver.

One and a half episodes in, Landon started a slow massage beneath my shoulder blades. He dug in his thumbs, found and unwound knots I’d carried for years. I groaned. He slid his hands up to my shoulders, started kneading with those strong, steady hands.

“Lay down,” he said. He knocked a pillow out of the way and cleared the couch for me before he pressed Pause on Netflix.

We’d reached the chill part of Netflix and chill.

I was all in. I pulled my shirt over my head and went belly down on my couch. Landon knelt behind me, his thighs straddling mine as he began to work my back. Long, deep strokes up my spine, slow kneads into my trapezius and down to my shoulder blades. He even massaged my slender deltoids and my biceps.

Months of stress melted beneath his touch. My muscles turned to jelly, my bones to Play-Doh. I was moaning, practically drooling, facedown in the cushions. He shifted, moved his hands lower. Dug the heel of his hand into the meat of my lower back, flared his fingers all the way out to my hips.

The first few times his thumbs drifted beneath the waistband of my boxers, I was too lost in the massage, my eyes rolling back, toes curling, breaths coming short and fast, to notice. The fourth time it happened, a tickle of flame followed his touch, sparks setting fire beneath my skin. I could follow the exact path his thumbs had traveled, from my spine and down, beneath cotton and over the swell of my ass. My breath hitched. Would he do it again?

Landon’s thumbs stayed above the waistline for two, three, four deep strokes into my muscle. Maybe it was a fluke. An accident.

Again, he dropped beneath the elastic of my boxers. Thumbs and the lower part of his hand, this time, sweeping from the base of my spine and out, almost caressing where my ass and my back met, where the modest little rise I had back there began.

I pushed the side of my face against the cushion and looked back at him with one eye. He was focused, intent, his gaze lasered to my ass. I squeezed my cheeks together. His lips parted. I did it again. His pupils, already blown wide, darkened further. An exhale fluttered out of him.

He must have felt my gaze. His eyes flicked up, met my squished face lying sideways on the couch. I grinned. He flushed, and his hands roamed up to my shoulders before he stretched himself over my back and nuzzled my neck. He kept his hips away from mine, though.

“You caught me,” Landon breathed into my ear. “I’m totally a butt guy.” He ran his palms down my arms until our fingers tangled together.

“I’m sorry to disappoint you.” I brought our joined hands to my lips and kissed his knuckles.

“You’re perfect, Luke.” He slipped one hand free and ran it down my side, over my hip and the outside of my boxers, until he had a solid handful of one ass cheek. He groaned and buried his face in my hair. Smiled and kissed me a dozen times as he squeezed. “I really like what you have. Really, really like.”

He pulled away. I grabbed his hand and pulled it back to my ass. I tried to be flirty, sexy, even, when I looked over my shoulder into his eyes and said, “You missed a spot on your massage.” I flexed my ass beneath his palm.

His eyes blazed. He’d been trying to hide a boner in his boxers, and I watched it swell and stiffen. “Did I?”

“Mmhmm.” I hooked my thumbs in the waistband of my boxers and pulled them lower, exposing the tops of my ass cheeks. “I think you need to be more hands-on this time. If you want to.” I kept my boxers half on, half off. He would decide the next step.

He tugged my boxers down, not just down my ass, but down my thighs, past my knees, over and off my feet, until I was naked. Completely naked for the first time in front of Landon.

I shifted. My own cock had taken an interest in what was happening, and I’d gone from relaxed and indolent to half-hard to straining at full mast against the couch. I was going to leave a stain on the cushion, guaranteed.

Landon’s lips landed on each of my shoulder blades as he straddled my thighs. I felt the tickle of his boxers and then the thick hardness of his fabric-covered cock when he leaned forward. It brushed against the crease of my ass and my leg, his covered cockhead poking into my flesh and muscle.

I sighed. Spread my legs. Landon made a noise like he was fighting to breathe.

He ran his hands down the center of my back, down, down, until he had my ass in both hands. I buried my face in my couch to smother my moan. He wasn’t just groping me. This was a real massage. Landon used the same techniques on my ass as he’d used on my shoulders. Deep, slow kneads, fingertips working over the attachment points between my lower back and my glutes. His thumbs worked deep into my hip flexors.

He kept coming back to my cheeks, though. He palmed them and squeezed, dug his fingers in. His thumbs drifted, this time down into my crack. I heard his breath hitch. My ass cheeks parted. Kneaded together and then parted again. I pushed into his touch.

I was so hard I could feel my pulse pounding in my cock. My balls were tight, like I was on the edge of coming. My fingers gripped the cushion beside my head.

He kissed my spine, and then lay his cheek on the small of my back. His exhale fluttered over my skin. I shivered down to my toes.

Another kiss, this time to the top of my ass crack. Another, a millimeter lower. And another. If he kneaded my ass, spread me open, and kissed me again, his mouth would be on my hole.

“Luke?” His word was a whisper on my skin. “Luke, do you want—” His voice cut out.

I spread my thighs as far as they could go on the couch. I wanted his hands, his touch, his mouth, his kisses on me, everywhere. I wanted it all. “I want.” My voice had dropped, wanton and husky and needy as I arched my ass toward his face.

Landon spread my cheeks. I heard him whisper, “Fuck—”

And then his mouth was on my hole.

I bucked like electricity was bouncing through me, like raw wires had been dug under my skin. He hummed against my ass, both hands digging into my flesh again as his lips and his tongue—Jesus Christ, his tongue—worked into my hole. I had no idea this could feel so good. Rimming was hardly the scandalous activity it had been twenty years ago, but I’d never done it. I’d never felt it. Holy shit, what had I been missing?

Landon worked his tongue deeper inside me. My hole opened for him, to him, around him. I roared into the couch. Slapped the cushion, bit down on microfiber and fluff. My fingers curled, nails digging into fabric. I humped backward, trying to get more of Landon’s tongue. More of his lips sucking on my ass, of his tongue flicking hard and fast around the rim of my hole. More of his moans, his pants, the way he gasped for breath and whispered my name like a curse before he dove back for more.

I was so, so close to coming. I could feel it building, feel the explosion about to happen. I didn’t want to, not yet, and I reached between my legs to grab the base of my cock, trying to hold off.

Landon sucked on my hole, then grasped my hips and flipped me onto my back. I hit the couch and bounced, legs spread and up in the air. Spit dripped down the crack of my ass.

I’d never been fully exposed to Landon. I stared into his eyes. He stared into mine. My cock was quivering, so hard I couldn’t hold back any longer. I gasped his name—

He wrapped his lips around my cock and sucked me into his mouth. Sucked deeper, taking me down, all the way down, until my cockhead hit the back of his throat. He looked up, his cheeks hollowed around me.

I erupted, screaming his name, curses, nonsense, his name again. My hands sank into his hair as I writhed, my back coming off the couch, legs wide, toes curling, knees bent. My vision went white, like someone had pulled the cord on my optic nerves. He swallowed, swallowed again.

I felt him trembling as he laid his cheek against my thigh.

I reached for him, my only thought, He has to come, too. I wanted him to crawl up my body and straddle my face. I wanted to wrap my lips around his cock, try my hand at giving him a blow job. I wanted to get my hands around him, stroke him, taste him, feel him. I wanted it all, like he’d just given to me. I tried to pull on his arm, urge him to crawl up.

He made it to his knees and collapsed against me, burying his face against my chest as he wrapped his arms around my waist. A wet spot puddled on my leg. “Did you—?”

He nodded. “Same time you did. I couldn’t stop it. You’re too perfect, Luke. The way you feel. The way you taste.” He shivered.

I stroked his back and kissed his hair. My heart hammered. I still couldn’t see right. Thoughts were slow to connect, floating in a postorgasmic honey haze.

“Was that okay?” I finally asked. Last night we stopped. Tonight we hadn’t. We’d chosen every step we’d taken, though, from the massage to the removal of my boxers to my saying yes to Landon.

And it meant something. More than just a blindingly good orgasm. Opening myself up, putting myself in Landon’s hands. I felt a new thread in our relationship braiding into the bridge we’d already built. A deeper, more intimate trust. You saw me, all of me, and you loved what you saw. Inside and out.

“Yes,” he breathed. “I’m good. Are you okay?”

I nodded. I was fucking fantastic. I was still trying to count to three in my mind. I got lost somewhere between one and remembering the look on Landon’s face when I’d exploded down his throat. I looped my leg around his and rubbed my calf over the back of his thigh. “I’m great. More than great. I’m…” My thoughts separated. I sighed. Wrapped my arms around him and held him in a starfish hold.

He laughed against my chest, and then kissed a path from my neck to my jaw to my ear and back to my lips. I could taste myself on his lips, the inside of his mouth, on the back of his tongue. I pulled him deeper, wanting more. My cock gave a valiant effort at rising again. But I’d emptied myself down Landon’s throat, and I had nothing left.

We rinsed in the shower, taking our time as we soaped each other. I got to see Landon fully: his strong thighs, taut ass, tight hips, flat belly. His cock was thick even when soft, as perfect as the rest of him. He was manscaped, too. I’d taken a beard trimmer to myself and had weed whacked everything into less of an unruly situation. He looked like a work of art.

Check, again, for my mental list. Looking at a cock—looking at Landon’s cock—made my mouth water. Whether all of this within me was a newfound discovery that I appreciated men more than I’d realized or whether this was because I’d fallen for Landon, I still didn’t know.

And I wasn’t sure it mattered. I wasn’t interested in testing either theory. Landon was the man I wanted.

Bottom line: life worked in mysterious ways. I was so damn happy it did.

I woke to lips caressing my shoulder, kisses dropped on my spine. Sunday morning sunshine puddled through the cracks in my blinds. Landon was behind me, cradling me. One hand stroked over my hip, drifted down to my thigh. I moaned and dropped my head against his shoulder. He kissed my cheek, my ear, whispered, “Good morning, lover,” and wrapped his hand around my straining cock.

We kissed as he stroked me, lazy, soft jerks to match the lazy, slow way our tongues glided. Eventually I spun, wanting more than an over-the-shoulder kiss and only one of Landon’s hands. I wanted to touch him and caress him, too. I wanted to press our bodies together, rock in his arms, fall apart in his hold.

I dragged him on top of me, wrapped my arms around the back of his neck and my legs around his waist. We were naked. We’d fallen into bed naked after our shower, had spent hours kissing and running our fingers over each other’s arms and chests and cheeks. It was as easy to be naked with Landon as it was to be volunteering, or walking by the river, or holding him on the couch. It was easy—exhilarating—to do and be everything with him.

He kissed me gently, our eyes locked, his hands in my hair. Our cocks slid against each other, hard and hot and heavy.

I stilled, and my hands went to his face. I stroked my fingers down his cheeks. “Okay?” He nodded. Kissed me again, tender nibbles against my lips.

I held him to me and tightened my legs around his waist. He thrust forward. Circled his hips, and ground his cock against mine. I met him thrust for thrust, rocking up into him, our lips never leaving each other. I gripped his hair, dragged my hands down the back of his neck. Clung to his shoulders as I threw my head back. He bit my collarbone on an exhale and a deeper thrust. I slid up the bed until my shoulders were pressed against the wall.

My skin was on fire, crawling with white heat, pleasure like silk flowing in my veins.

He loomed over me, mouth open as he breathed my name. I reached for him and pulled him down. Foreheads together, lips brushing, tongues tangling. His hips against mine, his cock driving against me. My ankles locked behind his back. Our bodies were slick with sweat.

Raw sensation, the feel of Landon, rocketed through me. Made my muscles quiver and shake, my calves clench and tremble. My hand slapped the wall behind me. My fingernails scratched down the drywall. I grabbed my sheet and tore it from my bed. My head tossed to the side, pushed into my pillow.

His hand flew to my thigh, grasping my leg and holding it to him, right to his side, as he buried his face in my neck, my name chanted like a prayer on his lips as he thrust, thrust, thrust—

“Luke.” He gasped against my throat, lips over my pulse as his come scorched my skin. Wet heat slickened our thrusts, my cock suddenly moving through his come. Landon came because of me. And I—

He held me as I shattered. As I bucked against him, my cock erupting in spurts that soaked our stomachs, our hips, our sides. He kept rocking into me through my orgasm, gentler than before. His kisses were drops of rain on my shoulder and beneath my ear. Up to my jaw, over my cheek, down to my lips. I was still panting. Trying to say his name. Unclench my fingers from the sheet I’d grabbed. “Landon…”

He nuzzled me. I didn’t think we could get any closer, but he found a way for us to slide just a little more into each other’s arms. Come slipped on our skin. Us. Us, together. I still couldn’t think more than two words at a time.

“Where did you come from?” His words were whisper soft. “How did you find me?”

He had it all wrong. How had he found me?

We couldn’t laze in bed all day. Emmet was due back at noon, and Landon had agreed to go to lunch with Bowen and Bethany before taking Bethany to the airport. I questioned this, but he said it was going to be okay. Bethany seemed different, he said. Happier. Some of their tension had fled.

I thought back to when she waved at me from the stands. I’d thought she’d dislike me, that my—at the time—white lie about being Landon’s man would set her and me at odds. I thought by planting a flag on Landon, I’d be forever ostracizing Bethany, the woman he’d first loved and who still loved him. Maybe I’d thought wrong.

Our shower wasn’t as long as either of us wanted. All too soon, Landon was dressed and ready to go, and the clock was ticking down to Emmet’s imminent arrival.

I kissed Landon against my front door, my hands on his hips, thumbs through the belt loops of his jeans. “I don’t want you to leave.”

“I don’t want to go.”

Our noses brushed. All those barriers between us that had fallen away on Friday were coming back: the weeknights apart, our sons, this secret relationship we were building between us. I thought dangerous thoughts. What if we threw caution to the wind? What if we held hands at practice or kissed in front of the other booster moms? What if we didn’t hide?

What if I kissed Landon in front of Emmet?

What if Emmet reacted with rage, ran away from me as fast as he could? What if he couldn’t accept this? What if the delicate spider silk Emmet and I had flung between us snapped?

I stepped back reluctantly, still looping my fingers through Landon’s jeans. “Text me when you get back from the airport?”

“Of course.” He kissed me, kissed me again. We were still kissing when we heard brakes squealing, doors slamming. I peered through my front door. Emmet was climbing out of Bowen’s SUV.

“That’s my cue.” Landon squeezed my hand until we heard Emmet’s shoes on the front porch. “See you Tuesday?”

“Yes.” I squeezed back and dropped his hand only when I opened the door for my son. “Em!” I welcomed my son inside, even as part of my heart broke watching Landon walk away.

Fifty-four hours until I see you again.