Three Words Unsaid

As soon as the door clicks shut, you are on each other.

Pressing together so there's very little space between you, hands roaming greedily over each other's bodies, lips meeting and fusing. The touch of his tongue against yours is soft, curiously sweet against the raw need that the rest of your bodies are showing.

The fabric of his shirt is thin and stretched taut over his broad back; yet it frustrates you, turning your hands into impatient claws, scratching at the muscles beneath and pulling at his waist. With a struggle, you yank the shirt out from his pants... and roll your eyes at his chuckle for doing the same thing to you, but easily, even effortlessly.

You've done this before; why did it have to be so difficult this time?
Probably because you've never wanted anyone as much as you want him right now.

You haven't the patience to remove your ties, but luckily he does. They fall to the floor, first your blue tie and then his black one; then you find yourself thanking Heavenly Father for neither of you wearing your garments. You haven't needed them for a while now, which makes the prayer seem out of place.

Your shirts are now off and fluttering to the ground, and his hands slip to your hips, shifting you a few inches, letting you know how much he wants you, too. You gasp and let your hands drop lower, grabbing at that firm, rounded ass, pulling him tight to you and grinding yourselves together. He moans, you groan; and the friction is delicious.

He tips your head up and descends upon your neck, his soft mouth contrasting with sharp nipping teeth. Your breath comes in harsh pants; and your hands grow frantic, wanting to tear into the rest of his clothes like a package on Christmas.

You let go of each other long enough to do just that; and you waste no time climbing into bed. You allow yourself a long look over his luscious body and he gasps; apparently the full force of your gaze surprises him. You have about three seconds before he closes the distance between you, stealing your breath with a heated kiss. His hands are everywhere: kneading your shoulders, skimming over the planes of your chest, teasing your nipples into sharp points. His mouth follows, trailing hot open-mouthed kisses everywhere his hands have been; and you plunge your hands into his thick brown hair, committing it to memory, its softness, shine, the way the scent of his shampoo rises up from it.

You cry out; his teeth have nipped too hard on your nipple. He soothes you with warm strokes of his tongue, and you breathe deeply. But you don't stay calm for long; you want him and you want him now and so you wriggle out of his grasp so you can let your mouth have its way with him. And he doesn't disappoint: his skin is tanned, smooth and fittingly tastes a little like salted caramel; and his muscles are perfect and in all the right places and damn, he's just so beautiful.

You don't hold back when you come to his cock. You get right down to it, picking up the red, shining tip with your tongue and drawing it into your mouth. You hear a groan that gradually turns itself into your name. He starts to slowly, subtly rock his hips, inching farther into your mouth a little more each time. Your heart feels like it's going to burst from the perfection of it all when he suddenly asks you to stop, then moves his body around after you let him go. Now he is on his back; you are on your knees and elbows with your face between his legs, and you feel wet warmth surrounding your cock and I was wrong; this is the most perfect thing that's happened to me in a while.

He is still more patient than you. Cupping the cheeks of your ass and softly kneading, mouth moving up and down your shaft in a leisurely fashion. You see his cock twitch, almost as if prompting you; and you do as he suggests, running your tongue over him, letting your fingertips massage his balls.

Suddenly, he slides a finger into you, and you gasp, letting go of him. He finds your prostate, and you moan and arch your back. Wrong... again... this is the most perfect thing... to ever happen to me.
It's an act of sheer will to turn your attention back to his cock, trying to let go of the unbearable pleasure long enough to focus on him. Your rhythm is off at first; this is not easy. But while he caresses you inside and out, you moan with him in your mouth, teasing him with your vibrations; and when he finally picks up the pace you follow right along.
You have never surfed, but this must be what it's like: trying to control yourself on a wave of incredible power, trying to stay right on the edge of keeping your balance and losing it, for as long as possible...

And then you lose it. A wave builds in your lower belly, breaking between your legs; and he's swallowing: warm, soft, endless. Now you can give more of yourself to him, and a moment later he's coming deep into your throat, and you're holding him fast as his body writhes below you.

His cock when you release him is pink and innocent-looking, almost adorable; and you can't resist pressing a soft kiss to the head. He shivers, and you smile.

His head is at the headboard, so you maneuver yourself up to face him, and if anything he's even more beautiful now, swollen lips and glowing cheeks, a look of deep satisfaction about him. He kisses you, and the taste of him in your throat is a little different than the taste of yourself on his tongue. You're a little lighter and saltier; he's a little darker. And when you pull away and look at the affection in his eyes, you know you have never loved anyone more in your whole life.

But you don't say you love him. You say, "You taste good." He smiles and answers, "So do you."

Those three other words, they're stuck in your mind and can't get out. Because you will be going home in less than three weeks. Three weeks till you're taken away from him, away from sure love and pleasure, into an uncertain future.

Your parents still don't know you've lapsed back into your old, bad, sinful habits. The ones they sent fourteen-year-old you to "camp" to try to fix. They don't know that this time your lapse is so severe, so thorough, that you might just be irredeemable.

Can you pull off the ultimate act of "turning it off"? For one last season, biding your time until you can move away, move to him, and to freedom?
What choice have you got?

But thankfully, you don't have to think about it now. Your world, your mind, your whole life at this moment is Kevin. Time grabs you by the wrist and pulls you where it wants you to go, but right now it wants you to stay here, where it feels so, so right; where there is no sin, no hell, only the man you love and who loves you.

Even if you can't say the words.