to a wall of mirrors, and reaped my rewards with how much more excited he was to share that space with me. He was used to better things than I was, and I considered it both my responsibility to make my pared down life more comfortable for him and to take cues on how to be more elegant.
The one aspect of our relationship that didn’t require a single lesson on design or etiquette was our sex life. The energy between us was intense, electric. My body felt as if it were always primed to take Ron inside of it, quivering each time he glanced at me, shuddering at every touch.
It was strange to me that my life had changed from one of relative hermitage to constant, mind-blowing sex.
The sex was great. The sex was better than great. Ron was a generous lover, making sure to touch me everywhere until I was mewling and practically begging for him to put it in. He was understanding that I didn’t have much practice at the actual art of it.
“That makes it honestly better for me, baby,” he said, threading his fingers through mine as he drove forward slowly, entering me inch by inch as I bit my lip and tried to be patient, tried to resist urging him on. “I get to show you all the tricks now.”
However, I could never last; I was always driven to the edge by the sweet oblivion that orgasm granted. Worries of the day melted away. I forgot about aches and pains and concerns at the club. For several illusory moments, I even forgot about Marcus, forgot about wondering where he was and what he was doing. Each time I had sex with Ron, I got further and further away from the idea of being in love with my stepbrother. It was both frightening and encouraging. I’d gone for most of my adult life, up until this point, being in love with the idea of a man, the idea that it could, at some point, be acceptable to be with Marcus. Deep down, of course, I knew that it would never be all right. If anyone dared to guess the truth of the origin of our relationship, we’d be laughed out of whatever community where we tried to build a life.
It was such a relief to be with Ron, to be with someone normal. And he made me feel like I actually had a future, that I wasn’t simply drifting around listlessly in Miami, waiting for something to happen to me. The something that was going to happen was Ron, and I was so thankful he’d found me. Perhaps it was the whole reason I’d been led to start working at the club in the first place…to reach this point eventuality. To be with a man who fascinated me and made me feel things I didn’t think were possible anymore.
I always encouraged Ron to finish me off as fast as he could manage, favoring the quick release over the slow build, craving the immediate payoff, the instant gratification, the unbridled hedonism of knowing what I wanted and knowing that I was with someone who was all too willing to give it to me.
“Now,” I’d whisper, breathless, my thighs squeezing his waist. “Now, now, now. Please.”
“You’re going to turn me into a minuteman if you’re not careful,” he’d pant back, grinning. “You’re so fucking eager, Parker.” He’d always complain, good-naturedly, but he never failed to comply with my request. It was something I appreciated about Ron, that he never denied me from the things I asked of him.
Then, it would be a matter of him lifting my legs to his shoulders, pushing them back until my muscles and tendons screamed, and then hitting that sweet spot inside of me again and again until sweet nothing obliterated my brain and I became a being of pure feeling instead of a person who thought and hoped and cared and wondered.
Those were the moments I wanted, the ones I grew to need.
“Tell me about all the places you’ve been,” I said, refocusing back on Ron at the beach, trying to keep myself from getting too horny. I didn’t want to cut our nice day short. It was a rare platonic one after all. I turned on my stomach with a small grunt so I could look at him. He was
The one aspect of our relationship that didn’t require a single lesson on design or etiquette was our sex life. The energy between us was intense, electric. My body felt as if it were always primed to take Ron inside of it, quivering each time he glanced at me, shuddering at every touch.
It was strange to me that my life had changed from one of relative hermitage to constant, mind-blowing sex.
The sex was great. The sex was better than great. Ron was a generous lover, making sure to touch me everywhere until I was mewling and practically begging for him to put it in. He was understanding that I didn’t have much practice at the actual art of it.
“That makes it honestly better for me, baby,” he said, threading his fingers through mine as he drove forward slowly, entering me inch by inch as I bit my lip and tried to be patient, tried to resist urging him on. “I get to show you all the tricks now.”
However, I could never last; I was always driven to the edge by the sweet oblivion that orgasm granted. Worries of the day melted away. I forgot about aches and pains and concerns at the club. For several illusory moments, I even forgot about Marcus, forgot about wondering where he was and what he was doing. Each time I had sex with Ron, I got further and further away from the idea of being in love with my stepbrother. It was both frightening and encouraging. I’d gone for most of my adult life, up until this point, being in love with the idea of a man, the idea that it could, at some point, be acceptable to be with Marcus. Deep down, of course, I knew that it would never be all right. If anyone dared to guess the truth of the origin of our relationship, we’d be laughed out of whatever community where we tried to build a life.
It was such a relief to be with Ron, to be with someone normal. And he made me feel like I actually had a future, that I wasn’t simply drifting around listlessly in Miami, waiting for something to happen to me. The something that was going to happen was Ron, and I was so thankful he’d found me. Perhaps it was the whole reason I’d been led to start working at the club in the first place…to reach this point eventuality. To be with a man who fascinated me and made me feel things I didn’t think were possible anymore.
I always encouraged Ron to finish me off as fast as he could manage, favoring the quick release over the slow build, craving the immediate payoff, the instant gratification, the unbridled hedonism of knowing what I wanted and knowing that I was with someone who was all too willing to give it to me.
“Now,” I’d whisper, breathless, my thighs squeezing his waist. “Now, now, now. Please.”
“You’re going to turn me into a minuteman if you’re not careful,” he’d pant back, grinning. “You’re so fucking eager, Parker.” He’d always complain, good-naturedly, but he never failed to comply with my request. It was something I appreciated about Ron, that he never denied me from the things I asked of him.
Then, it would be a matter of him lifting my legs to his shoulders, pushing them back until my muscles and tendons screamed, and then hitting that sweet spot inside of me again and again until sweet nothing obliterated my brain and I became a being of pure feeling instead of a person who thought and hoped and cared and wondered.
Those were the moments I wanted, the ones I grew to need.
“Tell me about all the places you’ve been,” I said, refocusing back on Ron at the beach, trying to keep myself from getting too horny. I didn’t want to cut our nice day short. It was a rare platonic one after all. I turned on my stomach with a small grunt so I could look at him. He was
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