He Took Me Against the Wet Stone Wall

The house sat half-finished on a switchback above Laurel Canyon, glass and pale stone. I had been laying the patio since seven. By four the crew was gone and the owner was in New York. The canyon had gone quiet except for heat bugs and a sprinkler ticking downslope. My shirt was off. Sweat ran down my chest into the waistband of my work pants. I was thirty-four and thick through the shoulders, and the quiet felt good on my bare skin.

A truck door slammed on the drive. I wiped my hands on my thighs and came around the side of the house. Ryan Pell stood by the tailgate in a faded gray tee that did not hide a thing. His brother had told me he was a former Marine, in town to check the build. He looked about thirty, an inch shorter than me and denser, with a thick neck, a heavy chest, and arms that looked poured. Sun caught the sweat already darkening his collar.

- You Drew? - Yeah. You must be Ryan. - Brother said the patio might be done today. I wanted to see it before the light went. - It's close. Come on back.

He followed me through the side gate. The new stone was warm under our boots. He crouched and ran a palm over a seam I had set that morning, and the muscle in his forearm jumped. I watched his hand longer than I meant to. He looked up and caught me.

- You staring at the work or at me? - Both, if I'm honest. - Honest's fine. I've been thinking about you since that crew photo my brother sent. Didn't expect the real thing to hit harder.

He stood. We were close enough that I smelled cedar soap under the heat of him. His eyes dropped to my mouth, then to the sweat shining on my stomach.

- House is empty. - I know. - Lock the gate.

I threw the latch. When I turned he had the gray tee halfway off. He yanked it free and dropped it on a stack of pavers. His chest was broad, dark hair down the center, nipples tight, stomach ridged under a layer of real weight. He stepped in and set a hot rough palm on the back of my neck. I felt the callus at the base of his thumb. My cock was already thick against my zipper.

- I've wanted this since the driveway. - Then take it.

He kissed me hard, mouth salt and heat, tongue pushing in, teeth catching my lower lip. I got both hands on his waist and hauled him against me until our chests stuck with sweat. He groaned into the kiss and ground his hips forward. The ridge of him was heavy through his jeans. I palmed it and squeezed, and his whole body tightened. We stumbled toward the outdoor shower at the corner of the patio, still half tiled, hose coiled on a hook. He shoved my pants down my thighs. My cock sprang up, thick and flushed, the head already wet. He wrapped a fist around me and stroked slow, thumb sliding over the slit and smearing it down the shaft. I kicked my boots off and stepped out of the pants. Naked in the late sun I felt huge and exposed and starving for him.

He shoved his jeans down and kicked them aside. His cock was long and darker than the rest of him, curving up out of a dense patch of hair, balls heavy and drawn tight. I dropped to my knees on the warm stone and took him in my mouth. Salt and skin and the clean bite of soap. I sank until my lips met my fist and he made a broken sound, both hands buried in my hair. I worked him with my tongue along the underside, sucking hard on the way up, spit running down his shaft and over my fingers. His thighs trembled. He tasted like heat and iron. I rolled his balls and swallowed him deeper, nose in the musk at the root, throat opening around the head. He rocked into my mouth in short thrusts and I took every inch. My cock dripped onto the stone between my knees.

He hauled me up into another kiss, messier, my spit shining on his mouth. Then he turned me to the shower wall and pressed my chest to the cool tile. One broad hand stayed between my shoulder blades. The other slid down my back, over my ass, and between my cheeks. His fingers were slick with spit. He circled my hole, then pushed one thick finger in. I hissed and pushed back. The stretch burned sweet. He opened me with two fingers, then three, crooking them until my knees nearly buckled and a raw sound tore out of me. I braced my forearms on the tile. My cock throbbed against the wall, leaving a wet smear every time I shifted.

He spit in his palm, slicked himself, and set the head against me. The push was blunt and huge. I bore down and he sank in, inch by thick inch, until his hips sat flush and I was stuffed full of him. He held there, heartbeat kicking inside me, then fucked me in long strokes that dragged over the spot that whited out my vision. The slap of skin echoed off the tile. Sweat from his chest dripped down my back. He fisted my cock in the same rough rhythm and I drove back onto him, chasing the burn and the thick slide. I came hard, shooting over his hand and the wall, my hole clamping down in waves. He buried himself and followed, heat flooding me, his cock kicking as he emptied against my neck.

He stayed in me until the shaking eased, then slipped out slow. His cum ran warm down my thigh onto the hot stone. The canyon had gone gold, and neither of us moved.