He fucked with purpose, determination, with a deadly little twist of the hips at the end of each stroke, mute as per usual…which was fine because I was making enough noise for both of us…and all the while he was gauging my responses and matching his intensity, doing it for me as much as to me…
Suddenly I understood why this was so confronting. Today I wasn’t nothing, I was everything, and that was a whole other kind of vulnerable, a kind I wasn’t sure I could handle…his look, his voice, his hand on my throat had all said ‘I’m gonna own you’ – but the way he was going about it was ‘I’m gonna own you and treasure you’…
A weird noise issued from my throat, weirder than the groans and moans – a panicky noise.
Quinn’s eyes fastened on my own. “You okay?”
“Scared…” He had me in such a state I couldn’t even filter my thoughts.
He didn’t pause in his thrusting, so obviously he understood I wasn’t so much frightened and wanting him to stop as frightened by how much I wanted him to not stop, to never stop…
“Why…?”
Why?? Because of what you’re doing to me! “I really, really like you and…auughh…” one of those little twists, right on my spot… “and I – I – aggh…”
He reached up and took hold of my left calf, lifting it from his shoulder, and turned his face to plant a little kiss just above my knee.
“Yeah? Is that right? You like me enough to cum for me? You gonna let me see? Show me. I wanna see it. Show me, Jeremy…”
Oh god, sexy talk at last from Mr. Silence! Fuck…absolutely lethal…all I could do was garble in response as he pulled the other leg up too, holding them spread, straight and scissored toward the ceiling in the most wanton position imaginable, while I fumblingly pawed my half-hard cock to the acccompaniment of Quinn’s breathy background lyrics on loop play…do it…yeah like that…show me that cum…let me see…
I didn’t actually know if I could cum to order, despite being almost out of my mind on some cocktail of lust, arousal, and desire to please…but he switched his tempo from insistent to brutal and my body got the message loud and clear, everything tightening and drawing up in response to the combined demands of his voice and his cock…
Even better than cumming was the fact it was Quinn who brought it about, that he’d talked it out me – and that my orgasm triggered his own. His fingers took a death grip on my calves as I felt him swell to shattering hardness against my walls – then he was digging in, leaning down on me for maximum penetration, forcing my shoulders into the mattress. He fixed me with that same carnivorous gaze, and it was me, not him, who moaned as he pulsed and pulsed inside me…
It’s always hard to predict how somebody might behave post-fuck, because there’s no way of knowing how they’ll feel, or how they’ll deal with whatever they’re feeling. But Quinn apparently felt excellent, given he didn’t act at all withdrawn. In fact, he seemed even more cheerfully uninhibited than usual.
He stepped back, exiting me, and kissed each of my feet before gently depositing them on the mattress, ankles together. Then he threw himself down beside me without even bothering to remove the condom, laying his heated cheek on my shoulder.
“Fuck, it’s a miracle I lasted,” he panted, “an absolute miracle. Because it was very nearly too fucking much, the way you were hanging by a thread there…”
I didn’t really know what to say. I hadn’t exactly been in the habit of dissecting a fuck after it was done. And I was still hanging by a thread, in a way. A thin thread linking back to who I’d thought I was, before…that…
“You’re normally so…like, dignified, Jeremy,” Quinn continued, his hot breath gently riffling my chest hairs. “I mean, you even manage to look elegant with my whole cock in your mouth. But when you got all squirmy and eyes-rolling-back and forgot how to talk…fu-u-uck…”
He trailed off into a groan and began idly tracing his fingers around in the cum on my belly, glancing briefly at me. “Eh, you’re exhausted, aren’t you? I wore you out.”
I nodded. Actually, yeah…my body felt slack and my eyelids heavy and the rest of me sort of…floaty. I lay there, blinking intermittently as I watched his fingers swirl through the rapidly-cooling stuff, combing it into patterns, then smoothing it again…
I stroked his hair, smiling to myself. God, you’re a strange one, I thought. In the absolute best possible way…I’d always accepted the organic, messy aftermath of sex, but I’d honestly never embraced it, lain around in it. What you do after is you get up and have another shower, clean off your sweat and his sweat and all the saliva and spooge and, yeah, whatever else there might be…because it’s a whole lot less sexy after you’ve cum.
But Quinn was using me for a pillow and an x-rated MagnaDoodle and anyway I felt too weak for that. I really was worn out. Screw dignity, I decided. For today, anyway…
* * *
We texted each other quite a bit. I worried about it initially because written comms definitely seemed like they weren’t an ideal fit for a guy who struggled with reading. But Quinn wanted it like that.
“It’s what people, do, right?” he said, shrugging. “I’m not totally incapable. And I don’t wanna be that one weirdo you have to leave voicemails for! Nobody does that shit, except, like…your boss…”
Fortunately my boss didn’t do that shit…but I got it. Voicemails are the opposite of casual. They want an audience, right fucking now. And then a response. By you, the summoned one…if I looked at my phone and I had three voicemails all from the same number…gahhh. But three texts? Totally different feeling.
Also, the cool thing about texting is you can scroll back through them anytime you want and see the conversation developing and blossoming between you. I’d often pull my phone out in the inevitable dead space between when a meeting was supposed to begin and when it actually got started, and just…read the things he’d sent.
I was doing it again now, appreciating the wild neologisms, usually from when he didn’t know to ignore the autocorrect – ‘chicken cow mane’ was my absolute favourite – I could never not smile, reading that…somebody’s gonna bust me wide open one of these days, I thought, darting a quick dance around the room. I mean, smiling before a meeting? Somebody’s gonna grab my phone and help themselves to this whole thing…
But, eh…none of it was incriminating. Flicking the screen with my thumb, watching the two-coloured messages whirr by, his side rich with thumbs-up emojis, I had to acknowledge…it was all totally innocent stuff. We’d never sexted, no cheeky aubergines even…
That changes today, I resolved, shuffling forward on my chair so my screen was under the conference table. I typed:
~CANNOT stop thinking about your arse…~
…and sent it before I could talk myself out of it. I had to switch my phone off once the meeting got underway, but when I arrived back at my desk an hour later I had two messages.
~f’in hell~
~trieing to work here~