Reasonable Doubt ✔ | Open Novella Contest 2020 | Complete

Thirty-One - Colt

I meet with Sharron and Finch afterwards, share my notes. They handle the media, smiles white and perfect in the camera lenses. I retreat with Alex, ride back to his apartment.

We both know what needs to happen. That unspoken understanding that can only come from a common thread in prison. Stress, fury, catharsis.

Alex's hands go to my belt inside his apartment. I stop him, pull them away. "No."

"No?" He repeats, searching.

I undo his tie, offer a smile. "It's my turn to worship you."

Alex's mouth drops open as I peel off his layers, let them drop to the floor heedless of the fine tailoring or threat of wrinkles. I trail kisses down his chest and abdomen over his undershirt. I teeth-tongue open his slacks, hands gliding them down his taut ass and thighs. He's ready and hot.

Controlled and calm. Things I'm not with Alex. Especially not with his fingers twined in my hair, abs flexing erotically while he thrusts against my ministrations. Those sweet eyes have gone ravenous and needy.

I cup his balls, isolate and massage. He curses, bucks harder. I love the force behind it, the need he has for me. Bringing him this pleasure, this high, this euphoria has me hard and stiff in my trousers.

He's burning, molten beneath my fingers where I brace on hips. This is how I wanted him in that cell. My Alejandro, ferocious and wild.

If I only knew how incredible a man he was. How passionate. How wonderful. I'd have given in so much sooner, not put up a fight. He's everything; and I telegraph it with my tongue and touch.

I stand, drag my teeth along his earlobe. Fingers under his tank, I command, "Off."

He complies, still panting. "Claro, Papi."

He's used that word before. It's always sparked through my chest. In this context, however, it incites something entirely different. Carnal, desperate and wicked.

I fist his throat, admire the reflexive tilt of his head and neck. I ain't squeezing hard. Just enough to give him a high, make his eyes even more delirious, his breathing increasingly irregular and desperate.

"Clothes off," I order. "And get on the bed."

Alex obeys, popping that damn dimple. Not missing a beat, he reaches into the drawer beside his bed and tosses me the lube. I set it aside as I pull off my tie, suit, and shirt. "On your knees."

He offers me a gorgeous view of his back, wiry muscles flex and sheened lightly with sweat. The lamplight on his olive skins is breathtaking. I treasure the feel of it beneath my fingers and palm, smoothing up the deep crevasse made by his spine.

The movement makes him arch, putting everything on salacious display. I press my tongue to his entrance, savor the guttural groans and whimpers while I start to circle and tease. He's animated in his appreciation and loud. I fucking love it.

"Colt – " My name is a high, keening thing. Then it's lost to Spanish murmurs and gasps.

I answer, teeth against his salty-sweet skin. "The way you move. The way you moan..." I trail off, struck mute by the beautiful man beneath me. I want my name on his lips like that forever.

One hand admiring the shape of his back and warmth of his skin, the other dollops and enters. He's tight, but eager. When I alight on that special spot it drags another ragged, licentious noise into the pillows.

"Jodame, Papi."

The plea has me fisting his hair and pressing a vicious kiss against his mouth. I should be worried about hurting him – I ain't in control of this anymore. Not when he's all heat and heaves.