“Fuck,” he growls, and I shake at the pleasure radiating through my body as he nails my prostate again and again, his body arching and his toned muscles strained and on display for me. I run my hands up his torso and grip onto his powerful shoulders as his body tenses and he cries out my name. I feel his warmth deep inside me as he releases and I almost cry again at the sensation of him filling me. It’s everything I thought it would be and more.
He slides out and I whimper at the loss and sensation of fullness, but not a second later he’s sliding his fingers inside me and I’m gasping and writhing as he nails my sweet spot again.
“Oh, shit,” I groan. “Papa Bear.” My hips buck but he holds me down with his other hand and leans over to take my very hard cock in his mouth as his fingers continue to fuck me. Holy fuck, I’m shaking so hard as he swallows me down, and my cock is twitching like crazy. He’s never had me in his mouth before without a condom between us, and this is insane! I’m going to come in t-minus two seconds, especially with him moaning around my cock like that.
“Oh, oh, fuck,” I whimper, “so good, I’m so close, Papa Bear,” I warn him, just in case he wants to back off. He only moans louder around my shaft and then buries his tongue in my slit at the same time that he probes my prostate with his fingers, and I fucking lose it. “Paul!” I shout, coming hard, my release shooting down his throat and my ass clenching around his fingers at the same time. It feels so damn good, nothing between us. Absolute perfection.
He pops off of my cock and licks every last drop of cum from my shaft and head, humming as he does. “So fucking good, Charlie,” he tells me, then buries his face in my groin and inhales before planting kisses on my cock and sliding his fingers out of my hole. He kisses his way up my abdomen, my chest, to my neck, and then his lips meet mine, and we kiss lazily for several moments, me tasting my own spunk on his tongue and reveling in our closeness before he pulls back.
“I like hearing you say my name when you come,” he says, a twinkle in his eyes. I grin.
“More than ‘Papa Bear?’” I ask. He shrugs.
“We can switch it up.” His eyes soften and then he says, “Thank you for this. For showing me I don’t have to be perfect to be loveable.”
“You do the same for me every day,” I reply. He kisses my forehead.
“Wanna open presents?” I ask.
He smiles at me. “Do you?”
I nod.
“Then yes.”
We shower first and then head out to the living room. The tree we decorated is beautiful in the early morning light, and there are a handful of gifts underneath it. I didn’t have a lot of money, but I wanted to get Paul a few things. And I know he got me some things too.
I make us some coffee and we each grab the presents we got for each other and sit curled up on the couch.
I beam when I open a set of salon grade nail polish from Paul, some very high quality makeup and some more sexy panties.
I grin widely when he opens his gifts from me; a new blender to make smoothies with, because his old one was constantly glitching, and he refused to replace it even though it drove him crazy, a new mop that he’d been eyeing for a while now, and a tumbler for his coffee with a brown bear on it and the words “Papa Bear” on the front.
He tells me it’s too much, and I tell him to shut up and then I kiss him, tell him he better damn well use the tumbler all the freaking time, and then inform him that we have one more thing on the agenda for today before we come back home and relax, preferably in the nude.
He eyes me and informs me that it is Christmas so no place is open, but I tell him to get dressed and that I’m sure this place is open. He seems hesitant, but does as I ask.
Fifteen minutes later, we’re in the truck and I’m stopping off at the gas station on the corner to pick up some flowers before turning down the main road and heading in the direction Rachel told me to go. I would have stopped at a nicer place to get flowers, but this was the only place open on Christmas, and I figure this is better than nothing.
“Charlie,” Paul says, his voice hoarse when he realizes where we’re going. It’s within sight now, and tears are sliding down his cheeks as I pull into the parking lot of the cemetery.
“We don’t have to,” I tell him, reaching over and resting a hand on his thigh. He shakes his head.
“No, I, I want to. Thank you.” He squeezes my hand and we climb out of the truck. Paul leads the way to the tombstone and stops in front of it, trembling slightly, his hands in his pockets. I squeeze his forearm and take a step forward, reading the inscription:Trey Richards, 2002-2018, Beloved Son, Forever In Our Hearts.
I kneel and place the flowers on the tombstone, then take a deep breath. I press my fingers to my lips and then touch them to the place where Paul’s son rests. “Merry Christmas, Trey. I hope you know how much your dad loves you and misses you. I just wanted you to know that you aren’t forgotten.”
I stand and wrap my arms around Paul as he sobs, my head resting on his chest as he envelops me. “Thank you,” he whispers, then plants a kiss on my hair.
“He’s my family, too,” I tell him. We hold each other for a moment longer before walking back to the truck arm in arm.
PAUL
6 months later
“Happy birthday to you, happy birthday to you, happy birthday dear Charlie, happy birthday to you.”
There’s cheering and clapping as the song finishes and Charlie blows out all twenty candles on his ridiculous unicorn cake, splayed out on the table in front of us. I kiss his cheek as he grins down at me from his place on my lap, his arms wrapped around my neck.
