Tell Me It's Real (34 page)

As if he could hear my thoughts, he said, “Look at me.”

I shook my head.

“Paul.”

I looked up at him. Somehow. Someway.

There was no pity in his eyes. There was no disgust. There was no hesitation. There was only hunger as he watched me, a flared lust that almost knocked me flat as his gaze traveled the length of my exposed torso. I tried to take a step back, to put some distance between him and myself, but I was against the door. I could feel his cock jutting out against my thigh.

Before I could speak, he dropped his hand to the fly of my jeans and with an expert flick of his wrist, the buttons came undone. Without stopping, he reached in past my nonsexy underwear and circled his hand around my dick, giving a sharp pull. I throbbed in his hand and laid my head back against the door, trying to clear my thoughts to be able to say something, to do
something
.

His lips came to my exposed neck as he jerked me off against the door. “I want to fuck you,” he murmured into my skin. “Can I fuck you, Paul?”

“Yeah,” I said hoarsely.

He let me go and left me near the door, going to the bare nightstand next to his bed. I felt bereft at the loss of his touch, the room a tad cold. I’m sure I looked ridiculous standing there, shirtless, with my dick hanging out of my unbuttoned jeans, watching the way his ass moved in the soft light coming in through the single window. He glanced back at me, a lazy smile on his face as he waved his hand at the bed. He flicked on a lamp near his bed and started rooting around in his drawer.

I reached back and put my hand on the doorknob and gave it an experimental tug. I needed the reassurance that it was there, that I could leave if I needed to. The knob twisted in my hand. I could leave. I could leave.

But then Vince found what he was looking for in the drawer and set it near the pillow, flopped down on the bed, and looked over at me. He gave his dick a gentle tug as he watched me. “You coming?” he asked.

I almost choked. “You keep jerking off like that, probably.”

“That’s the idea, yeah?”

“I guess.”

“Paul?”

“Yeah?”

“It’s real.”

“Okay.”

“We don’t have to do anything if you don’t want.”

“So you said.”

“But….”

“But?”

He dropped his hand to his side and looked uncharacteristically unsure. “Do you?” he asked. “Want? I know I’m not….”

I shook my head. “You don’t get to say you’re
not
anything.”

“Then neither do you.”

“That’s not… you can’t do that… you smarmy, sexy bastard… how do you even… I just….”

He groaned. “You can’t sputter at me if you’re not planning to let me do dirty things to you. It’s not fair.”

I took a deep breath. “Okay.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

He patted the bed next to him.

I gathered what little courage I had and slunk over to the bed. If he wanted me as much as he said he did (and if him jerking off as he watched me was any indication, he wanted me a lot), then I wanted to give him a little show of it before I climbed onto the bed. So I took what I considered to be a reasonably sexy step toward him, my slightly bedazzled jeans hanging low on my hips. According to the speed of his hand on his cock, the next step I took was even sexier, and I threw a little roll in my hips for good measure.
I can’t believe I’m doing this!
I thought.
Me! Paul Auster. This is like some James Bond shit. Well, if James Bond was an overweight American homosexual in bedazzled jeans.

It was because I was focusing on my sexy walk—to make up for my lack of sexy everything else—that I did not see the pair of shoes on the floor near the edge of the bed. I had started to let my pants drop as I took another step. My left foot caught the sole of a shoe lying on its side, causing me to stumble. My pants had dropped down to my knees, and since they were my bedazzled jeans, they were tighter than what I normally wore. That being the case, they restricted any kind of graceful movement, such as when one trips over a discarded shoe. So while I might have been able to correct myself while partially wearing normal pants, the power of the bedazzled jeans halfway down my legs gave no such room for correction.

I tripped and fell with a supremely unsexy squawk (sounding eerily like Johnny Depp, so much so that I thought about yelling out, “Paul’s a fairy queen!”), and my face bounced off the edge of the bed. His mattress must have been the springiest I’d ever encountered, or my head must have weighed more than the eight pounds he claimed it should, because the force of the bounce propelled me back up until I tipped over the opposite way, landing on my back at the foot of his bed, staring up at the ceiling. My pants were at my shins, my cock and balls were just doing their own thing out in the open, and I was wishing that a megavolcano would rise up in the middle of Tucson and drown us all instantly in lava so I wouldn’t have to face what was coming.

A face peered over the bed at me, eyes wide, laughter stifled.

“Before you say anything,” I told Vince, “just know that I did that on purpose. There’s nothing that says, ‘Hey, come fuck me’ like tripping awkwardly and falling to the floor.”

“Your face,” he giggled. He
giggled
!

“Yes.”

“It bounced off the
bed
.”

“I was there. I remember that part clearly.”

“It was good up to that point.”

“Was it?”

“Yes, but then it got
awesome
.”

“I’m glad my attempts at seduction were so amusing.”

“If that was what you were attempting, I can’t wait to see what happens when you actually succeed.”

I sighed. “I’m pretty sure that’ll defy all logic and the world will explode.”

“Paul?”

“Yeah?”

He disappeared for a moment, then returned, and in one smooth, fluid motion, he slid off the bed and landed on top of me, sliding his naked body up mine. My dick, which had previously died of embarrassment, was resur-erected, glory be to God. Vince moved his hips against mine, propping him himself up with his hands on either side of my head. He filled my vision until he was all I could see. I knew I could hide by closing my eyes, but I didn’t want to. I couldn’t find the strength to look away.

“Paul,” he said again, his voice deeper as our groins rubbed together.

“Yeah.”

“Remember how yesterday you showed me the hippo video on YouTube, and I told you I was halfway in love with you?”

“I didn’t show you jack shit, but yeah. I remember.” It was all I could think about. It was all I could hear, repeated in my head over and over again.

He leaned down on his strong arms and kissed me, eyes opened. “I’m pretty sure I’m about three-fourths of the way there now.”

I stared at him. “Vince….”

He smiled. It was beautiful. “Paul.”

I shook my head, but my gaze never left his. “It’s not possible. If anything, it’s just infatuation, though I still don’t get it. You can’t feel like that for someone so quickly. It’s not realistic.”

“And yet it’s there anyway,” he said, kissing me again. “You’ll see.” He laid himself against me, resting his full weight on me. He reached up with his hands and brushed them over my cheeks. I kissed the palm of his right hand because it seemed like the right thing to do. And because I wanted to.

“I don’t….”

He silenced me with a finger. “It doesn’t matter now.”

I nodded even though I thought it mattered the most.

Using his feet, he kicked off my jeans the rest of the way, leaving them discarded under his bed. He let go of my face and reached out of my vision. Something
snicked
near my ear and he rose up off me, pressing his knees between my legs on the floor, spreading them out gently. The soft hairs of his thighs rubbed against mine as his hand went between us. I lifted my hips in the air, so very self-conscious but unable to stop. He slid wet fingers over my cock to my balls and then behind them. He pressed them against me, and the initial intrusion caused me to bite my bottom lip to keep from moaning.

“Okay?” he asked.

“Yeah. Yes. More. Please.”

And he did. Moments later, his dick was sheathed in rubber and pressed against my entrance. The carpet scraped against my back, but not once did either of us suggest getting back on the bed. We were fine, we knew, right where we were.

“Paul,” he said roughly as he breached me.

“Vince,” I groaned, rocking my head back. It burned like so much fire, but I didn’t want it to stop. I pushed back against him until his thighs pressed against my ass. He undulated on top of me as he latched his teeth onto my neck below my jaw.

It wasn’t going to last long; I don’t think it was meant to. We’d gotten each other too worked up at the bar, our nerves tender and frayed. Too many things were flitting through me that hadn’t been there a week before, and I was overwhelmed, like I was being consumed completely.

Sweat formed between us, my cock trapped against his stomach as he slid into me, creating a delicious friction that I didn’t want to push away. I felt fluid and slippery, and he growled against my neck, his breath light and quick as his hips snapped back and forth.

“I’m going,” I whispered.

“Go,” he panted.

I did, shooting between us. Moments later, I felt him stiffen against me, pressing his hips forward again, and he stayed there, a breathy sigh falling out of his mouth that formed my name as his body shook. He kissed my cheek. My chin. My eyes. My nose. And then he found my lips again, and I kissed him for all I was worth, because that little light inside me had exploded into a blinding sun.

I
T
WAS
never an option that I was going home that night. As soon as we both stopped shaking and started feeling congealed, he pulled me up and dragged me into the shower with him, which, if you’ve never showered with Vince Taylor, you’re missing out on quite the experience. He does this thing with the shower gel and his finger in my—

You know what? Never mind. That’s probably not the best thing to share. Let’s just say that I was clean. Inside and out.

Okay, fine: he put it in my butt, and I made a weird squeaking noise that rebounded around the shower stall. Fun.

After, he made me stand in front of him while he dried me off, taking his time as he got to my legs, kissing my flaccid cock as he rubbed the towel over my shins. I blushed furiously at this and at the attention he gave, but he just laughed and did it again.

He made me use his toothbrush, though I balked at first. He reminded me that he’d used mine, and he was pretty sure that since we just fucked, we were past sharing any kind of germs. Then I made the mistake of telling him that I would do it, but when he rimmed me for the first time, I wasn’t going to use the same toothbrush as him. As soon as the words fell out of my mouth, I wanted to take them back, because I hadn’t meant to say that in the slightest. He wouldn’t let me brush my teeth until I repeated myself, demanding that I say it verbatim. When I did, an evil gleam formed in his eyes, and I accidentally used half a tube of Crest in one squeeze, getting toothpaste all over my hand and the counter, which, to be fair, looked oddly sexual, causing Vince to get all growly again.

“Bed,” he said, not even allowing me to pretend to look for my jeans as he pushed me back into the bedroom. I found it slightly odd that I didn’t even try to leave, or make some excuse about
anything
so that I could slink out and go home to lie in my own bed and wonder if the last couple of hours had been nothing more than a hard-core wet dream. I found it even
more
odd when the fact that I was staying gave me a sense of relief. I chose not to look into that too closely.

Then I remembered something as I pulled on my nonsexy underwear. I hated sleeping naked, especially since I’d be sleeping next to my version of a walking orgasm. “Hey, what happened to my present?”

I climbed onto the bed, testing out the mattress with my hands and legs instead of my face this time. When I didn’t get a response, I glanced over at him to find him looking down at his hands. “What’s wrong?”

He shrugged. “It’s stupid now.”

“Huh?”

He wouldn’t look at me. “You went out and bought me a freaking bike. My present isn’t that great. You probably won’t even like it. It was pretty dumb.”

“Dude. Stop being a labia. I bought you a bike because you didn’t watch where you were going and crashed yours into my car. I felt sorry for you, and that’s the only reason you got a new bike. You’re lucky you didn’t get the one I originally picked out for you. Let’s just say you probably would have needed to have pigtails when you rode it.”

He snorted. “It probably would have been cheaper.”

“You think? You should have seen the look on my face when the little midget friend of yours, Jennifer Lopez, told me it was a billion dollars. I think I probably can’t ever go back there because everyone will know me as that guy who shit himself in the bike store. So yes, I want my fucking present. I’ve
earned
my fucking present. Go get it.”

He rolled his eyes, but I could see the small smile on his face. “Bossy bastard,” he mumbled and walked out of the room. I pulled up the comforter and did a really lame thing by putting my face down on the pillow and inhaling deeply, delighted that it smelled like him. I figured I was either a sappy romantic or a creepy stalker. Then I decided (though it did not stop me) that sniffing pillows is never romantic, just creepy. Or maybe creepily romantic to the point where soon, I’d probably want a lock of his hair that I could put on the shrine I’d make to him that I’d hide in the back of my closet that I’d take out on alternating Tuesdays to light candles to while I made out with a picture of him with the lips cut out. Yeesh.

He came back into the room, refusing to look at me as he clutched a large flat envelope to his chest. “You don’t have to like it,” he mumbled. “If you don’t, it’s not going to hurt my feelings at all.”

And that was bullshit, and I knew it as soon as he said it. He
wanted
me to like his gift, and he was
nervous
about giving it to me. I felt a bit weird seeing him act like that; there was this syrupy, queasy feeling in the pit of my stomach that made me want to get out of the bed and wrap myself around him and protect him from all the stupid shit in the world. Once again, I marveled at the fact that I’d known the man in front of me for only a week, had heard his voice for the first time only five days before. I pushed the thought of my parents and their quickie marriage out of my head (because, really, not only was it a frightening thought, but I didn’t want to think about my parents while my ass still felt stretched and I was sitting half naked in my boyfriend’s bed; sort of killed the mood that way).