I narrowed my eyes at him. “You want dinner to either burn or congeal?” I asked him.
“I can be quick,” he replied, hazel eyes sparkling.
Shit. He was far too good at completely eroding my willpower. “You’d better be,” I threatened. “Wasting duck carbonara is a crime.”
“Then you’d better hurry up,” came the response as he turned and walked toward the bathroom.
IthoughtI’d followed right behind him after turning the pan on the stove down to simmer and putting a lid on it so it wouldn’t dry out, but he’d already stripped naked by the time I walked into the open bathroom door from his bedroom, andhe immediately slammed me up against the wall, hands already working on the fly of my khakis.
“Jesus, Elliot,” I gasped out. It wasn’t an objection.
“I have been thinking about youall fucking day,” he growled against the back of my neck, rough hands shoving my khakis off my hips, his thumbs dragging my shorts with them. My shirt followed. “In the shower,” he ordered, and I barely managed to get my socks off before he’d pushed me into the stall.
I immediately noted the bottle of lube sitting on the molded shower seat. I opened my mouth to comment on it, but a hand pushed my spine forward, shoving me hard enough that I had to catch myself against the wall with my hands, the seat below me. He squeezed my balls in one hand, making me gasp, then grabbed the bottle.
“I want you so badly,” he rasped. “Tell me I can have you.”
His desire and desperation were contagious. “God, yes,” I replied.
One finger—slick with lube—pushed at my body, and I let out a whimper as he slid it inside me, pressing, working, stretching. He rested his cheek against my spine, and I heard him draw in a deep breath. “Fuck, I love your smell,” he breathed into my skin as he pressed a second finger inside me, reaching deep.
At the mercy of both his fingers and his lust, I made some sort of noise of assent, my breath echoing harshly in the tiled bathroom. Elliot growled softly, his fingers pressing wider. “El, please.”
“Please what?”
“Fuck me.”
The next growl was even lower and louder, and he pulled his hand away. Where he had the condom I had no idea, but I heard the sound of the packet being torn open, the plastic-y clatter of the lube bottle as it hit the floor. I felt the stretch and pressure as he pushed himself against me, then past the resistance of thering of muscle as he entered me completely, the friction and fullness glorious.
I let out a moan, every nerve electrified by the feeling of Elliot pushed as far into me as he could get, his body pressed against mine. And then he pulled back, leaving me gasping, before driving forward hard enough that it forced the air from my lungs.
“Fuck, Seth,” he groaned out against my back, and the next few thrusts were hard enough that I had to brace myself fully against the wall or risk falling. It was probably good that he hadn’t actually turnedonthe shower.
And then he slammed into me with a long, low moan, one hand sliding around my torso to spread just below my sternum, the other grasping my heavy cock, stroking me until I shuddered in his grasp as I came.
My legs felt weak, and I was pretty sure my arms were doing more to hold me up than they were.
I felt Elliot press a kiss to my spine. “Are you okay?” he asked, softly.
“Uh huh.” It was the best I could manage.
His hands ran up and down my back. “You sure, baby?”
I gave in to the demands of my knees and turned, sitting—carefully—on the molded seat. “I’m fine, Elliot.”
He cupped my bearded cheeks in his hands, then bent to kiss me, tender and gentle. “Shower?” he asked softly.
I nodded with a smile.
We did successfully manageto make it out of the shower before the carbonara became too overcooked, although I did have to add another egg to get it back to the right consistency. Bothof us could now use the protein. For the record, duck and pea carbonara is really damn good, even when it doesn’t have dairy in it.
Elliot refused to let me help with the dishes, shooing me out of the kitchen with a package of peanut butter Newman Os. Despite the ‘cream’ part of them, Newman Os are completely vegan, which is great for me, because I think they also put heroin in them, if my inability to stop eating them is any indication.
I and my cookies settled onto the couch, snuggling up against the pillows on one side, covering my chest and legs with one of the crocheted blankets Elliot kept tossed over the back of the couch. He’d said Judy Hart had made both of them. The armchair next to the couch had a woven blanket, and that one had been made years before for his mother by one of her friends on the reservation. I’d noticed that he never sat in the chair, although I hadn’t asked him why not. I also hadn’t tried sitting in the chair.
Elliot came into the living room, then settled on the other end of the couch, tucking his still-bare feet under the blanket and up against my thighs.
“Hey!” I objected. “Your feet are freezing.”
