Heavyweight Heat on the Bluff

The wind off Lake Michigan had a bite even in late June, and the cedar house on the bluff outside Saugatuck looked storm-worn and private. I killed the engine and sat with masonry dust still ground into my palms. I was twenty-eight, thick through the shoulders from years of stone, and I had driven up from Chicago because Grant Hale had paid for the good mortar and asked for me by name.

He came around the side in cutoff sweats and nothing else. Thirty-four, a former heavyweight who now drew houses and still trained like the season never ended. His chest was dense, dark hair flattened by sweat, nipples tight in the lake wind. The sweats hung low. He looked at my arms before he looked at my face.

He stopped short of the bumper.
- You Caleb?
- Yeah. Steps and the landing, like we said.
- Beer if you want the road knocked off you.
- After I see the work.
- Fair. I'm Grant. Shoes off in the house.

I followed him up the path and toed my boots off at the door. The place smelled like cedar and coffee cooked too long. He handed me a bottle and leaned in the frame while I drank, eyes on my throat. I watched the light cut across his stomach. Neither of us pretended I had only come for the stone.

He rolled the bottle between his palms.
- Office said you swing a hammer like you mean it.
- Office talks too much.
- You look like you could pin me.
- You wrestled.
- Heavyweight. I don't get pinned easy.
- Steps first. Then we see.

He laughed low, and it went straight down my spine. We worked until the water went copper. He carried mix without being asked, back flexing, sweat cutting lines through the dust on his stomach. Every time he bent, the sweats pulled tight over an ass too round for a man already that big through the chest. I stripped my shirt. The wind hit me and my nipples drew up. He looked and did not look away.

By dusk the landing held and my shoulders burned clean. We rinsed under the side hose, cold water shocking us down to our shorts. Grant's cock showed half-hard under the wet cotton, a thick ridge he did not hide. Mine answered against my thigh. He killed the hose and stood close, lake water and salt coming off his chest.

His voice had gone rough.
- Inside.
- Yeah. That was the last thing either of us said for a long while.

He backed me into the bedroom where the windows faced the dark lake. His mouth hit mine, rough and sure, tongue pushing in, stubble scraping my jaw. I shoved the wet shorts down his hips. His cock came up heavy against my stomach, so thick my fingers missed meeting around the shaft, the head already slick. He groaned into the kiss and yanked my shorts off too. We kicked free. Chest to chest, his pecs crushing mine, both of us hard and leaking, his shaft hot along mine while his hands locked hard on my ass.

He put me on my back on the cool quilt and came down with all that weight. He bit where my neck met my shoulder, then sucked one nipple until I arched, then the other, teeth sharp enough to jerk my cock. His fist worked me slow, thumb smearing the wet at my slit and dragging it down. I wrapped him and matched the stroke, feeling the fat vein under his shaft, the throb when I squeezed his base and rolled my palm over the swollen head.

He went down and took me deep, throat opening, nose to my stomach, one hand pinning my hip. Spit ran warm over my balls. He sucked in long pulls, tongue pressed to the ridge, then came off wet and spread me with both hands. His tongue found my hole and stayed there, broad then pointed, licking until I was open and shaking and pushing back, a fist tight in his hair.

He spat, pressed a thick finger in, then two, curling them until the burn went sweet and I rocked onto his hand. A drawer clicked. A cap snapped. Cool slick took the place of his fingers. The blunt head of his cock pushed at me, huge and patient, and he sank in by inches while I breathed and opened, legs hooked over his arms. Every ridge dragged until his hips sat flush and he was buried to the root. He held still. I felt his pulse deep inside, his stomach stuck to mine with sweat.

Then he moved, long strokes, almost out and all the way back, the bed knocking the wall, his hips harder once I took him. Sweat dropped from his chest onto my throat. I grabbed his ass and pulled him deeper. He fucked into that spot until my vision whitened and my cock slapped wet on my stomach. He rolled me without leaving me, hauled my hips up, and took me from behind, one hand on my neck, the other stroking in time. I came first, spilling over his fist, clenching so hard he drove deep and stayed, throbbing, flooding me with heat while he ground in and would not quit. He eased out, kissed my spine, and dropped beside me, a heavy arm across my waist, the window full of dark water.