“Can’t help myself,” he murmured at one point, his breath tickling my neck.

  “Don’t let me stop you.”

  He didn’t. Suddenly I was flat on my back, Ryan over me, his mouth pressing hard against mine, hand cradling my jaw. I opened for him, and he deepened the kiss, making me wonder if we’d ever catch our breath again.

  Ryan’s hand clamped to the back of my neck, his palm hot, fingers flexing just enough to let me know I wasn’t going anywhere. His tongue slid into my mouth, confident and greedy, catching mine and teasing before retreating.

  I couldn’t help it. I moaned, practically melting against him. His body pressed all along mine, pinning me between couch cushions and every inch of him. My pulse thumped loud enough I was sure he’d feel it.

  My hands found their way to his shirt, fingers bunching the material at his shoulders. His smell flooded me, laundry and sweat and something that was pure Ryan. My thoughts scrambled, all focus narrowing down to the slick slide of his tongue, the scrape of stubble along my jaw, the clutch of his hand at my jawline.

  I couldn’t get enough.

  He settled between my knees, pinning my thighs outward. The grind of his hips rocked me where I sprawled, and suddenly every nerve I had was on high alert. My erection strained against denim, already wet at the tip. It was ridiculous how fast he undid me with half a kiss and a handful of heat.

  Ryan’s mouth never stopped moving. He found my earlobe, sucked it in, worrying it with his teeth. The shudder in my body was pure reflex.

  “Shit, Alan,” he groaned, the sound hoarse, low. “Been thinking about this all damn day.”

  I wanted to wind him up, make him feel what I felt.

  “You’re a tease,” I said, right against his ear. “Going slow just to drive me up the wall.”

  He laughed and nosed down my neck, lips hot against my skin. “It’s working.”

  His tongue traced a line under my jaw. His hands moved, rough and needy, one cupping my thigh, hiking my knee up. The movement forced my hips up into his, pressure building fast and hard.

  My own hands slid under his shirt, desperate for skin. The heat there was unreal, muscles flexing under my fingertips. I wanted to map every inch, memorize every dip and ridge. He felt solid, strong, real in a way that made my breath catch.

  Ryan tugged my sweater up my stomach, exposing me to the cool air of the living room. His knuckles brushed my abs, the drag of callused fingers setting off a dozen alarms in my brain. He hesitated, just enough to look at me. Something in his face made me ache. There was a flash of vulnerability, a question he didn’t need to ask.

  I lifted my arms for him, wordless, and let him strip the sweater over my head. My shirt followed. I should have been embarrassed, sprawled in an old college tee, but all I saw in his eyes was raw hunger.

  His mouth found my collarbone, kissing, then biting. He marked a line down to my nipple, tongue flicking, teeth catching the sensitive tip. I arched, helpless to stop the way my back bowed off the couch. His fingers rolled the other nipple, pinching lightly, and the sting made my cock throb.

  “God, that’s good,” I gasped, clutching the back of his neck.

  He shifted, grinding down, making sure I felt just how hard he was. Our cocks lined up, denim on denim, friction almost too much to bear.

  “I want you,” he murmured. “Right fucking now.”

  My whole body screamed yes, but I grinned, just to see how far I could push him. “What do you want to do to me, Ryan?”

  His mouth hovered over my throat. For a split second, he looked at me like no one had ever looked at me before. “Everything. Want to taste you, want to get you messy. Want to fuck you until you can’t think straight.”

  Every word was gasoline. I palmed his chest, dragging my nail across the cotton.

  “Then do it,” I said.

  Ryan yanked me up, hands under my arms, and hauled us off the couch. My knees nearly buckled. He kissed me again—all tongue and teeth, bruising in the best way. The grip he had on my ass made my blood fizz. God, I wanted that handprint to last.

  Somehow, we made it up the stairs, bumping into walls, laughing every time he almost tripped us both. When we reached my old bedroom, he pushed the door open with his foot, never once letting me go.

  The room was smaller than I remembered. Posters of forgotten crushes on the wall, bedspread rumpled and way too juvenile for this encounter. My pulse went wild at the thought of Ryan fucking me in this bed, the same one where I pictured him when I jerked off for years, thinking about him in secret.

  Was he thinking of me then too?

  He backed me up against the bed until the backs of my knees hit the mattress. I fell, but Ryan followed, catching himself with one hand just beside my head.

  He loomed over me, eyes dark. “God, you look fucking incredible,” he said, voice low. “Lying here, waiting for me.”

  I reached for him, dragging him closer, desperate to close the gap. He braced his forearms on either side of my face and just stared at me for a long moment. My skin prickled all over.

  “You ever think about this?” he said. His hand moved, thumb stroking my cheek. “Me, you, right here?”

  I choked out a laugh. “Try every night for ten years, loser.”

  His grin was a punch of pure happiness. “Did you think about me blowing your mind?”

  I rolled my eyes, but the heat in my face gave me away. “I thought about your cock in my mouth more times than I’ll admit.”

  His hand tightened in my hair, giving it a playful tug. “Then let’s make it real,” he said, voice dropping.

  He knelt beside the bed, tugging at my jeans. I let him strip them down, no guilt, no shame. I wanted him to look. I wanted to be seen. My cock pressed against the front of my briefs, the fabric already damp. He didn’t hesitate, sliding a thumb over the wet spot, making me squirm.

  “Jesus, you’re dripping for me,” he said, like he couldn’t believe it.

  I grinned, propping up on my elbows. “First time for everything.”

  He peeled off my briefs. My dick sprang free, already flushed red at the tip. It bobbed, needy, catching the light. Ryan’s eyes went wide.

  “Fuck, Alan. You’re gorgeous,” he said reverently. His hand closed around the base, firm, stroking once, then twice. My hips jerked, my body eager for more.

  He leaned in, pressing a kiss to the tip, tongue swirling around the head, collecting pre-cum. I almost lost it right then.

  “Oh, hell,” I groaned, both hands grabbing at his hair.

  Ryan’s lips slid down, swallowing inch after inch. Warm, wet, perfectly tight around me. He bobbed his head, working his tongue along the sensitive underside, sucking me deep enough to make my toes curl.

  I stared down, mesmerized. The sight of him between my legs, his mouth wrapped around my cock, was better than every fantasy I'd ever had. Better than any porn. Nothing staged, nothing fake. Just raw hunger and the press of his lips, the dirty slide of saliva down my dick.

  He moaned around me, sending vibrations up my shaft. It nearly short-circuited my brain. I bucked, and he held me steady, glancing up with a look that was pure heat.

  “Fuck, you look so good like this,” I rasped out, stroking his cheek. “Never thought I’d get you on your knees.”

  He smirked, lips still working my cock. “Someone’s gotta keep you honest.”

  Ryan doubled down, sucking harder, twisting his wrist at the base. The rhythm was relentless, each bob of his head sending pleasure darting up my spine.

  My head fall back, hips rolling up to meet every slide. I couldn’t stop the noises. I was panting, groaning, making every embarrassing sound in the book.

  He pulled off with a wet pop. “Don’t come yet,” he said. “I want to fuck you first.”

  Something about the way he said it, so sure, so needy, made me bite my lip. Maybe the anticipation would kill me, but I wanted to see how far he’d take us.

  “Then get up here,” I said, tugging him by his shoulder.

  Ryan stood, already peeling off his clothes. The sight was a punch to the gut. He looked even better naked than I’d imagined, his skin golden, muscles flexing, hands trembling just a little. His cock jutted out proudly from a nest of dark hair, leaking at the tip.

  I wanted it in my mouth, right now.

  He climbed onto the bed, knees bracing on either side of my legs, cock slapping against my thigh as he hovered over me. Our mouths met again, rough and needy, the taste of my own pre-cum still sweet on his lips.

  My hands found his back, nails dragging, pulling him in. He groaned, his cock grinding against my stomach, leaving a slick trail.

  We both reached for the lube at the same time, laughing when our hands collided.

  “Great minds,” I joked, breathing hard.

  Ryan squeezed a bead onto his fingers, which was cold against my skin. “Spread your legs.”

  I did. He settled between them, hand sliding down to my ass, fingers gliding along the crease. The first touch made me clench, but it was expectation, not nerves.

  His mouth never left mine. He pressed a finger in, slow, working me open, the lube slick and easy. The stretch burned but in the best way. I wanted more.

  He added a second finger, scissoring, curling up until white heat exploded behind my eyes.

  “God, Ryan, right there,” I gasped, writhing under him.

  He grinned, pride in every line of his face. “You like that?”

  “Don’t stop.”

  He didn’t. He fingered me until I was practically begging, cock leaking all over my stomach. Each twist, each push deeper, made my body light up.

  When he finally pulled out, I almost cried.

  He lubed his cock, fist stroking slowly, eyes never leaving my face. He lined up at my hole, the blunt head teasing, pressing, but not pushing in yet.

  “You ready?” he asked, his voice nearly gone.

  I ground back, answering for both of us.

  He slid in, filling me in one long, shuddering thrust. My body clenched around him, desperate and greedy. He held himself still, just letting me feel every inch, every throb of his cock deep inside me.

  Heat flushed up my body. I couldn’t think. Didn’t want to think.

  Ryan pulled nearly all the way out, then pushed back in, this time a little rougher. The drag and pull sent sparks through me. I arched up, groaning, needing more.

  He fucked me slow, steady, each stroke deeper than the last. His hand found my cock, pumping in time, slick with lube and pre-cum. The sensations blended—the stretch, the fullness, the pressure on my dick.

  “God, you feel so good,” Ryan said. “Tighter than anything.”

  I grinned, breathless. “You’re the biggest fucking show-off.”

  He pounded into me, hips smacking my ass, the slap of skin on skin ringing in the small room. The rhythm got faster, fiercer. Every thrust hit my prostate, shooting pleasure straight up my spine.

  I knew I wouldn’t last. It was too much, too good, better than anything I'd ever had.

  “Gonna come,” I choked out, barely managing to hold on.

  Ryan sped up, hand jerking my cock in a rough rhythm. “Yeah, do it. Want to feel you squeeze me.”

  That ripped the climax out of me. I came hard, all over my stomach and his fist, muscles locking as the orgasm crashed through me. Cum splattered up my chest, dripping between us.

  Ryan fucked me through it, hips driving harder, cock swelling inside me. His face twisted, and then he gasped, practically shouting.

  He emptied inside me, cock pulsing, hands gripping my thighs. For a long moment, he was frozen over me, sweat dripping onto my neck.

  Finally, he collapsed, catching himself just enough not to crush me. Our breaths mingled, shaky and uneven.

  “Holy shit,” he said, his voice wrecked.

  I laughed, dizzy and sated. “You’re not so bad at this.”

  He nuzzled my neck, peppering kiss on my skin. “Stay the night?”

  “Try and drag me away.”

  * * * *

  My eyes opened on Christmas morning, my first thought. Ryan.

  Not my parents. Not the mystery casserole waiting in the fridge. Not even the cheesy holiday playlist leaking out of the living room like some kind of seasonal gas leak.

  Ryan.

  A dumb grin hijacked my face.

  Downstairs, Mom had gone full spectacle. Table heaped with pancakes, bacon, and about six kinds of jam, which was, apparently, the Clark version of “we missed you.” Dad already had the news on and didn’t bother hiding his bedhead. At least we were united in holiday glamour.

  Mom fussed like she’d never seen me eat before. “Slow down, Alan. Nobody’s taking it from you.”

  “As long as you don’t make me fight Dad for the last piece of bacon, I think we’ll survive.”

  Dad’s eyebrow twitched. “I’m faster than I look.”

  They made me open presents, even though I’d told them not to bother. Socks, a Chicago mug, and a popcorn tin the size of my torso. Christmas, sponsored by calories and nostalgia.

  Breakfast was loud, cozy, weirdly sweet. Every five minutes, Mom dropped a hint about “getting out, seeing old friends,” as if she didn’t know exactly which “friend” I’d be seeing.

  By ten, my phone buzzed. Ryan’s name. A Christmas text. You up? I grinned into my orange juice. Subtlety was not his strong suit.

  “Heading out,” I told Mom, who offered a travel-sized Tupperware of cinnamon rolls like I was about to cross the Rockies.

  “You go have fun!” she said, cheek kisses and all.

  Trekking through the snow, I nearly face-planted twice but managed to make it to Ryan’s porch without breaking bones or losing my dignity. He opened the door before I knocked, wearing a red flannel shirt and grinning like a goof.

  “Merry Christmas,” he said, his voice low. “You look good.”

  I stepped inside, warmth and the scents of pine and coffee enveloping me. Ryan held two mugs, one extended my way. “Come on in.”

  Presents glowed under the tree, not many, just a few in shiny paper. A stocking hung by the fireplace, probably from his mom, his name stitched in crooked thread.

  “Got you something,” he said, handing over a wrapped box. “Don’t laugh.”

  Inside was a T-shirt that read, “World’s Okayest Skater.” I choked on my coffee.

  “That’s…accurate.” I couldn’t quit smiling.

  Ryan set the mugs down and leaned in, close enough to rest his forehead against mine. Soft morning light made his eyes bizarrely blue. “Best Christmas ever,” he said, and I agreed.

  The kiss was gentle, slow, not rushed. No fireworks, just warmth and the steady press of his mouth to mine.

  We dated long distance for eight months. Then Ryan transferred to a school in Chicago. We made sure to go home every Christmas, but the rest of the year? Disgustingly happy.

  THE END

  All I Want for Christmas

  “Bingo time!” I announced when Mabel, Estell, and Sophia met me in our apartment hallway. “I’m feeling lucky tonight.”

  The three were like grandmothers to me. I spent my Friday nights with them because my love life was hopelessly pathetic.

  “You say that every Friday night, yet you’re still single, Elijah,” Mabel said, looking inside her purse.

  “That’s because I’m dating you three,” I teased, knowing there was no heat behind her words. She was just a sarcastic old lady who spoke her mind. Maybe a little too often. “Don’t tick me off, old woman, or I’ll hide your dentures.”

  I shuffled them to the elevator, where Sophia punched the button at least several dozen times. “What’s taking so long?”

  “We’ve been standing here for five seconds,” Estell said. “Maybe if you got lucky, you could get rid of that tick.”

  There was some mathematical formula, hidden deep in the wrinkles of the universe, that determined how long it took for an elevator to arrive, directly proportional to how badly you needed it. If it was just me, I could have bolted down the stairs and made it to the parking lot in under a minute, but with three old women and an armful of bingo bags, I was basically one bad hip away from starring in my own tragic disabled puppy commercial.

  At seven seconds, Sophia started jamming her thumb into the elevator button like it owed her money.

  “You’ll break it,” Estell muttered, shaking her head in disapproval, which meant she probably approved of it but couldn’t say so out loud because some sort of senior citizen union would revoke her scolding privileges.

  “It’s not coming,” Sophia declared. “I bet it’s stuck.”

  “Probably ’cause you mashed the button like a lunatic,” I said, then stepped back and gestured with a grand sweep when the elevator final arrived. “Ladies, after you. Try not to get into a fistfight with the doors.”

  Mabel shuffled in first, still rooting around in her purse. I peeked inside once to find a black hole filled with a spare pair of pantyhose, a plastic-wrapped fruitcake, and, I’m pretty sure, last week’s mail.

  “Ignore him,” Sophia huffed, but she was smirking. Estell caught my eye and winked. For a pack of old bats, they were kind of adorable.

  We crammed into the elevator, hips bumping. Someone’s floral perfume was duking it out with a suspicious whiff of mothballs. For a wild moment, I considered lighting a match just to see if the synthetic pink cloud was flammable.

  “Who’s driving?” Estell asked, once we’d made it to the lobby without any broken bones. She stared at me suspiciously, like she was prepping for cross-examination.

  I did my best to look innocent. “I am. But if any of you backseat-driver me, I’m putting on my Taylor Swift playlist and refusing to turn it off.”

  Mabel patted my arm. “You listen to Taylor Swift?”

  “Only when I’m trying to emotionally devastate myself,” I replied. “Or, you know, Friday nights when I’m spending my prime years with three women who have a combined age of the Roman Empire.”

  That got a snort out of Sophia. She elbowed me, which, for a lady who probably slept in curlers, still kind of hurt. “That’s rich, coming from you. I saw your last boyfriend. He looked like he needed mommy to cut his grapes.”