Read Online Storming Love Blizzard Kimo & Mike by Neil S. Plakcy - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Neil S. Plakcy
Tags: Romance
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and ass but not caring, just desperate to stay as close to him as possible.
I liked to say that there was a lot of free-floating testosterone in our household. Mike and I were both alpha males, accustomed to being in charge, to being right. It was hard to force myself to compromise sometimes, to give in and let Mike win. I knew he felt the same tension.
But that was everywhere except the bedroom. When we made love, his strength empowered me—I could submit to him without feeling like I had given up anything. Letting him take charge in bed makes me feel like I’m the one who controls things, setting boundaries, giving in only when I chose to.
“You’re making me crazy,” I said. “I need to feel you inside me.” I pushed up against him and shifted position to my side.
Mike reached down to stroke my hole. “Already wet,” he said, nipping at my shoulder with his teeth. “You really do want me, don’t you?”
“More than anything,” I said into the pillow. He lifted my leg and scooted right up to me, and I felt the rubbery head of his dick against my hole. We had committed to monogamy years before and stopped using any protection, preferring skin-to-skin intimacy.
I took a deep breath as he moved inside me, pushing past my anal ring with a brief starburst of pain. Then it was all good—he filled me up, his skin pressed against mine, he rested his body against mine, letting my ass get accustomed to his dick.
I started to move against him by millimeters, and he picked up my cue and began sliding in and out of me in synch with my movements. He reached around and grabbed my dick and began fisting me, and I whimpered and gave up all pretense of control. We moved together like cogs in a machine, ratcheting up the passion until we had to give in. He exploded in my ass, sending electric shocks to my dick, which spurted into his hand.
He stayed in me, our bodies locked together, his breath warm on my shoulder, my legs tingling from the feel of his hairy ones against me. Finally he pulled out and slumped back against the pillows, and I turned to face him.
“How would you feel about a vacation?” he asked.
“Anywhere with you, babe,” I said, curling up beside him like a contented cat.
That was how I ended up on a plane to Colorado a few weeks later, once again waking to find Mike next to me, though this time we were both clothed and slotted into narrow seats.
Yawning and stretching as morning sunlight leaked in through the airplane window next to me, I pushed up the shade and looked out at an endless vista of snow-shrouded mountains. I was an island boy, born and bred. Even the four years I’d spend at college on the mainland had been at UC Santa Cruz, and I’d picked it for the climate and the ease of surfing. I had tried skiing once in college, but it was just too damn cold.
But after that awesome morning sexcapade, I was willing to give in to anything, and when Mike asked if we could join his college friends on a ski vacation, I’d said yes easily. Since he’d made it clear that this trip was important to him, I accepted that I’d be cold for a few days. Mike could keep me warm. Through the window, the white tents of the Denver airport came into view like an Indian encampment surrounded by mountains.
“This is great,” Mike said as he leaned over me to look outside. “We should be able to make the next shuttle to Beaver Creek. We may even get some time on the slopes this afternoon.”
We retrieved our luggage without difficulty and were waiting at the shuttle desk when a man and woman approached us, dragging matching suitcases and skis in long narrow bags. “Hey, look, it’s Chris and Jenny,” Mike said. He hurried forward to embrace the man, while the woman looked on sourly.
I trailed behind. “You remember Chris, don’t you, Kimo?” Mike asked. “He was at Vinnie and Phil’s wedding. And this is his wife, Jenny.”
We all shook hands. Chris was a serious-looking guy, mostly bald, with
I liked to say that there was a lot of free-floating testosterone in our household. Mike and I were both alpha males, accustomed to being in charge, to being right. It was hard to force myself to compromise sometimes, to give in and let Mike win. I knew he felt the same tension.
But that was everywhere except the bedroom. When we made love, his strength empowered me—I could submit to him without feeling like I had given up anything. Letting him take charge in bed makes me feel like I’m the one who controls things, setting boundaries, giving in only when I chose to.
“You’re making me crazy,” I said. “I need to feel you inside me.” I pushed up against him and shifted position to my side.
Mike reached down to stroke my hole. “Already wet,” he said, nipping at my shoulder with his teeth. “You really do want me, don’t you?”
“More than anything,” I said into the pillow. He lifted my leg and scooted right up to me, and I felt the rubbery head of his dick against my hole. We had committed to monogamy years before and stopped using any protection, preferring skin-to-skin intimacy.
I took a deep breath as he moved inside me, pushing past my anal ring with a brief starburst of pain. Then it was all good—he filled me up, his skin pressed against mine, he rested his body against mine, letting my ass get accustomed to his dick.
I started to move against him by millimeters, and he picked up my cue and began sliding in and out of me in synch with my movements. He reached around and grabbed my dick and began fisting me, and I whimpered and gave up all pretense of control. We moved together like cogs in a machine, ratcheting up the passion until we had to give in. He exploded in my ass, sending electric shocks to my dick, which spurted into his hand.
He stayed in me, our bodies locked together, his breath warm on my shoulder, my legs tingling from the feel of his hairy ones against me. Finally he pulled out and slumped back against the pillows, and I turned to face him.
“How would you feel about a vacation?” he asked.
“Anywhere with you, babe,” I said, curling up beside him like a contented cat.
That was how I ended up on a plane to Colorado a few weeks later, once again waking to find Mike next to me, though this time we were both clothed and slotted into narrow seats.
Yawning and stretching as morning sunlight leaked in through the airplane window next to me, I pushed up the shade and looked out at an endless vista of snow-shrouded mountains. I was an island boy, born and bred. Even the four years I’d spend at college on the mainland had been at UC Santa Cruz, and I’d picked it for the climate and the ease of surfing. I had tried skiing once in college, but it was just too damn cold.
But after that awesome morning sexcapade, I was willing to give in to anything, and when Mike asked if we could join his college friends on a ski vacation, I’d said yes easily. Since he’d made it clear that this trip was important to him, I accepted that I’d be cold for a few days. Mike could keep me warm. Through the window, the white tents of the Denver airport came into view like an Indian encampment surrounded by mountains.
“This is great,” Mike said as he leaned over me to look outside. “We should be able to make the next shuttle to Beaver Creek. We may even get some time on the slopes this afternoon.”
We retrieved our luggage without difficulty and were waiting at the shuttle desk when a man and woman approached us, dragging matching suitcases and skis in long narrow bags. “Hey, look, it’s Chris and Jenny,” Mike said. He hurried forward to embrace the man, while the woman looked on sourly.
I trailed behind. “You remember Chris, don’t you, Kimo?” Mike asked. “He was at Vinnie and Phil’s wedding. And this is his wife, Jenny.”
We all shook hands. Chris was a serious-looking guy, mostly bald, with
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