feel validated?
“I have a confession to make,” Mason rasps, and I’m brought back to the present. To what’s important. Making Mason feel good is the only thing I should be focusing on. My gaze flicks to his.
“I, umm …” He averts his eyes from mine. “While you’ve been working, I’ve been … experimenting.”
Heat pools in my gut. “Tell me more.”
“You don’t have to worry about going slow. Wait, no, go slow, please, but you don’t have to wait for me to get used to the sensation of your fingers.”
A shudder runs through me. “I kind of want to be mad because I totally could’ve helped you experiment, but at the same time, I’m thankful, because it means this should go a lot easier.”
And it does. When I press a lubed finger to his hole, teasing his rim to try to work my way in, he relaxes and accepts it easily.
“Damn, that’s tight,” I mutter.
“I’m good. Work me open.” Mason’s chest rises and falls in long, controlled breaths, but as I slip my finger inside deeper and then move it in and out slowly for him to adjust, his breathing becomes faster.
His face flushes, sweat drops off his brow, and the muscles in his neck tighten as he grits his teeth. “I need …” He grunts.
“I know what you need.” I lean over him and suck the head of his cock into my mouth.
His hips jackknife off the bed, and then I’m knuckle-deep inside him.
“Holy shit,” he whispers.
I suck him while I continue to work him over, going in stages. One finger and then two. When I get to three, it’s like a synchronized dance as my free hand joins in. I stroke him while finger fucking him, and every light press of his prostate only makes him beg for more.
And Mason panting and chanting, “More,” over and over again sends a thrill through me.
But when I move my mouth to his balls, sucking, licking, teasing, his body trembles in the way it always does right before he comes.
As if on cue, Mason says, “Stop. Stop or I’m going to come.”
I lift my head. “Is there something wrong with that?”
“I don’t want to until you’re inside me.”
There is literally no argument for that. “Fair enough. Are you sure you’re ready?”
“Yes. I need something to bring me back from the damn edge.”
The weight of goodbye tries to press down on me as I lube my cock, but I push it away.
Whether it’s in twenty minutes, twenty hours, or two days, Mason will leave me, and there’s nothing I can do about it.
Pushing inside him, I resist the urge to fight for him. To ask him to stay even though it would be guilting him into it. I want to beg and plead. I want to ask for more than he can give me.
But this? This I can do for him. I can fuck him until he can’t think, until he can barely breathe, until the only thought running through his head is that he could never leave me.
I want someone who’s compelled to tell me how their day was. Who needs to cuddle on the couch because they miss my touch. Someone who will be there for me no matter what happens, who dies, or whatever obstacles get thrown in our way.
I was beginning to think that person was Mason, but it’s not. No matter how much I want it to be.
And as I make love to him, cherish his body, and try to take this for what it is—a goodbye fuck—it will be hard to look back on tonight and see it as anything more than my heart breaking.
It’s only when we both come that I let myself collapse on top of him and release the tears I’ve been trying to hold back.
We don’t talk when it’s done. He doesn’t acknowledge the tears.
All he does is wipe one away with his thumb, kiss another, and then he disappears into the bathroom to clean up.
I should probably do that too, but like everything else going on with us, I’m leaving it in future Denny’s hands to deal with.
Hopefully, I’ll wake up stronger than I am right now so I can handle it, but when I wake to an empty bed, I just know.
Mason’s gone.
I thought last night might have convinced him to stay even if only a few more days. I thought I had time to persuade him that Hollywood still has things to offer him. Like … me.
It’s the story of