The Tinder Stories Page 8

  A soft groan from Morgan was his reward, and Chris nearly came when he felt the tight sheathing around his dick. Making sure Morgan was looking at him, Chris whispered, “I would do this more, but then you probably wouldn’t be this tight.”

  When Morgan grinned and clenched as tightly as he could, Chris thought he might die before he gave any kind of decent performance. The only thing that saved him from complete embarrassment was watching the tiny furrow appear between Morgan’s brows and knowing that both of them were pretty far gone.

  Chris pulled out the smallest bit and then slid in again, feeling Morgan grip him tightly and surround every inch of Chris’s overly sensitive skin. He wanted to go slow; he really did. Chris would have loved to make this rare moment between them last longer than a few quick strokes. But images of last night, of the trashed motorcycle he’d thought was Morgan’s and the missing patient, were fluttering like the edges of a bad dream behind his eyes. Chris wanted to shove them as far away as he could, and the help he needed for that was lying beneath him, watching him with gray eyes.

  Morgan rocked up against him, and Chris reached down a hand to encircle Morgan’s cock as Chris sank back in. Their gazes remained locked, and the nagging, driving feeling that Chris couldn’t shake grew stronger. He was aware of Morgan’s fingers digging into his hips as Chris glided in and out, could tell Morgan was as close as Chris was by the way his nails were leaving little half-moon crescents in Chris’s skin.

  “Chris,” Morgan said into the stillness of the room, not “Mr. Matthews” or “Christopher” but just “Chris.” Just his name whispered as a warning, and Chris squeezed Morgan’s cock and pressed his thumb into the slit. Another tight clench around Chris’s cock and Chris was coming unexpectedly, his head thrown back and eyes shut tight and his orgasm being yanked from him in long pulses.

  He didn’t go alone. Morgan was shuddering beneath him and groaning softly in his chest right before Chris felt warmth dripping from his fingers and spattering against his belly. Morgan was tight and taut in Chris’s arms, shaking and gasping and panting.

  “Holy shit,” Chris croaked, right before weak muscles gave out and he landed on top of the warm body underneath him.

  “Understatement,” Morgan rumbled in his ear, and Chris started laughing.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  THERE WAS a subtle shift in their relationship—or whatever the hell they were calling it, Chris reasoned—after the morning he’d gone to Morgan’s and taken the man on his own bed with hardly a word of greeting.

  And subtle was definitely the key word, because most of the time, things were how they’d always been between them. The two of them would have a discussion that started out reasonably, until Morgan started getting the bored tone to his voice that somehow implied Chris was less than intelligent. Chris would take offense, naturally, because he was no fucking doormat who let anyone push him around, and make some remark that would have Morgan’s mouth tightening at the corners and his brows drawing together. They’d be off and running after that, insults flying back and forth until Chris finally got pissed off enough to leave.

  But what happened after the leaving part was where things changed a little bit. The first disagreement they had—and it really burned Chris that Morgan would never call it a fight, it always had to be “a difference of opinion” or an “argument,” but both of them knew it was really a knock-down drag-out fight and screw the pretty words—had Chris slamming the door to Morgan’s house and fuming all the way home. His plans were to grab the whiskey from the cupboard and get roaring drunk, but the ringing of the phone as he stomped in the door stopped him in his tracks.

  The caller ID showed Morgan’s number, but Chris just stood and stared at it for a minute before picking up. He finally reached out with a cautious hand and answered.

  “Yeah?”

  “Come back.”

  Chris blinked. “What?”

  A drawn-out sigh. “Come back. Uh… please.”

  “Come here.”

  “You’re pushing your luck, Mr. Matthews.”

  “Calling me up and demanding shit from me is so damn far from an apology that it’s laughable.” Chris hoped his smile wasn’t evident through the phone.

  Morgan’s frustration came through in his strangled tone. “I’m sorry. Now come back.”

  “I think that’s the first time you’ve said that to me.”

  “It’s the first time I’ve ever said it to anyone,” Morgan snapped.

  Chris burst out laughing. “If it was anyone else but you, I wouldn’t believe it.”

  “So come back,” Morgan said, impatience creeping in to mingle with the frustration.

  Chris sat down on the couch and cradled the phone to his ear while riffling through the mail that his housekeeper had left on the coffee table. Bills, junk, firefighter catalogues. “You only want me to come back so you can fuck me.” Which was probably only partly true. Most likely, the man wanted a blowjob too.

  “What the hell is wrong with that?”

  “Hey, nothing.” Chris shrugged, dropping his mail and sinking back into the sofa with a sigh. “I got robbed of sex too, because of whatever the hell we were fighting about.” He looked down regretfully at his jeans where his cock was still half-hard. Or maybe it’d just gotten that way from hearing Morgan’s voice.

  “It was a difference of opinion,” Morgan said predictably, and Chris snorted.

  “Whatever. Now we’re both alone and I have to jerk off instead of getting my dick sucked. Looks like a long shower for me.”

  Chris could hear Morgan shifting around. “So? Let me hear it.”

  “You mean… hear me jerk off?” That idea had merit.

  “You’ve never had phone sex?” More rustling, and Chris could swear he heard the sound of a zipper.

  “You have?” he asked, having trouble picturing Morgan talking dirty to anyone.

  “Long-distance relationship,” he reminded Chris wryly. “Good phone sex was probably why it lasted as long as it did.”

  His cock leapt to attention instantly. “How good?”

  Morgan’s tone dropped to the low, rich one he had when he was turned on. “Good enough to make you want it all the time. Come on, Chris. You know you’re hard for it right now. Your hand’s probably resting over the top of your shorts, trying not to stroke.”

  His cock grew even harder at the mention of his name. Fuck, how stupid was it that when Morgan called him Chris instead of any of the other usual mildly insulting names, Chris got this weird flutter in his belly? Pretty damn stupid.

  He felt the blush creep up the back of his neck, and he jerked his hand away from where he’d been fondling himself over the outside of his shorts. “Maybe I want you to talk me into it.”

  “What the hell do you think I’m doing? And don’t play all coy, otherwise I’m starting without you.” Then there was the distinctive sound of jeans being shoved down and a breath of relief. “Yeah, there we go. Better.”

  Chris cleared his throat and strained to listen. He’d gone tense without realizing it, the muscles in his thighs clenched tightly and the hand not holding the phone balled into a fist as he waited.

  “You can listen,” Morgan offered, his voice dropping even lower. “I’ll describe it.”

  “Okay,” Chris breathed, before he could stop himself. His hand had magically gravitated back toward his prick, and he was once again squeezing himself over the outside of his clothes.

  “Okay.” Morgan laughed. “Feel free to join in.” He sucked in a breath and Chris pictured him closing his eyes, thick black lashes contrasting sharply to his skin tone as they lay in crescents on his cheeks. “I’m pretty damn hard, you know. You got me riled up before you left.”

  “It was the fighting. You always get like that.” Chris pressed the phone to his ear as hard as he could, desperate to catch every sound.

  “It was a disagreement. And God, do you know how badly I wanted to fuck you tonight? It was all I could think about. Es
pecially since you wore that goddamn blue shirt that made your eyes look… blue.” Another indrawn breath, this one longer than the first.

  Chris glanced down at the T-shirt he wore, startled. It was blue, yeah, but… his eyes? The fuck? It was such a non-Morgan-like statement that he was thrown off for a second.

  But only for a second, because Morgan groaned low in his throat and Chris heard the flip of the lube cap. “Tell me you’re touching yourself,” Morgan said, his voice catching only a little. “God, I love it when you do that for me, when you let me watch you jack off in the shower. Tell me.”

  Chris swallowed hard and slouched lower on the couch, his hand creeping inside his shorts. “Yes. I am.”

  “Good. Are you leaking?”

  “Everywhere,” he said, meaning it. He’d already made a growing wet spot on the front of his boxer briefs.

  “Use it for lube,” Morgan demanded. “Do it.”

  Chris shuddered as he complied, spreading slippery precome over his prick and getting even more beading at the tip when he squeezed on the upstroke. “You,” he managed to get out. “You too.”

  “I did,” Morgan said, his voice barely above a whisper. “I used precome and lube both. And now I’m slippery and hard and I want you. I want to feel your mouth on me, your hand around me, your ass clenching when I fuck you. Tell me what you want.”

  Chris amazed himself by not choking out an incoherent response. “I want you,” he answered immediately, his dick like iron in his fist. “I want to taste you and feel you and watch your face when you shoot. I want you to say my name. I want you to rim me till I have to cry or scream or come. I want you, Morgan.”

  “On three,” Morgan demanded, the words urgent. “With me, when I say so. Hear?”

  “God, just shut up already,” Chris groaned, his cock twitching in his hand. “Let me come in peace.”

  “One,” Morgan said, and Chris could tell his teeth were gritted and his eyes were probably squeezed shut.

  “Two,” Chris said on a moan, his hips rising to meet his strokes.

  Morgan took a breath and paused long enough for Chris to whimper and squeeze the head of his cock. They both hung there, waiting, right on the edge of coming. Their breathing was harsh and ragged, and Chris was about to just give up and let himself have it when Morgan finally spoke.

  “Three.”

  Chris’s whole body spasmed at once, and he nearly dropped the phone as he came, tugging at his cock and letting the climax wash over him with a completely unexpected intensity. His prick twitched and throbbed, and he couldn’t stop himself from jerking upward while the shudders wracked him.

  On the other end of the line, Morgan was panting and gasping out parts of words that almost sounded like Chris’s name, but Chris wasn’t sure. There was blood rushing in Chris’s ears and white spots dancing in front of his eyes, and when he finally collapsed back onto the couch cushion, he noticed his hands were trembling.

  “Jesus Christ,” he finally dragged out, when he remembered he was still holding the phone. “No wonder you like that.”

  Morgan chuckled weakly and Chris could tell he was making an effort to clean up. The thought of Morgan wiping his own spunk off his fingers was almost enough to get Chris going again. Almost.

  “You really haven’t done that before?” Morgan asked. Chris heard him swallow and knew he’d probably gotten up to get a bottle of water out of the fridge.

  “Actually, no,” he admitted. “There was never really anyone to do it with. I always just… did it in person. But wow, that’s intense.”

  “Pretty much.” Morgan laughed, sounding relaxed and sated. Chris suddenly missed him fiercely.

  “So… are you leaving the door open for me, or do I need a key?”

  “It’s open,” Morgan answered immediately, his grin evident through the phone.

  CIRCUMSTANCES CONTINUED to improve enough for Chris to ask Morgan if he wanted to actually leave one of their houses and take a ride on Saturday. It was cool enough that they could wear all their gear without sweltering, but the sky was still crisp and blue and the sun was high overhead.

  “Out to Rosie’s?” Morgan asked with an uncharacteristic twinkle.

  “Rosie’s.” Chris grinned, remembering the small diner out in the desert. “Sure.”

  They were suited up and ready to go before nine in the morning. Chris checked his oil and the air pressure in his tires, and after they made a fast stop at the gas station, both of them pulled onto the highway and headed east.

  The familiar feeling of freedom stole over him as they rode together. Chris could hear the wind rush over the top of his helmet and feel it under the bottom of his jacket, and he darted a quick glance at Morgan on his bike beside Chris. Chris liked the way he rode; their styles were similar, and Morgan was easy to follow. Chris had never been interested in any of the daredevil crap that a lot of guys did when on a bike. He wasn’t about the stupid tricks; he was just in it for the actual ride. Maybe it made him look too cautious, but he didn’t much care.

  All Chris cared about was the sound of the wind, his full tank of gas, and the rider beside him.

  Two hours later got them where they were going, and when both of them climbed off their bikes and took off their helmets, Morgan wore the same huge grin that Chris was pretty sure was on his own face too.

  “Awesome,” Morgan said as Chris walked up to him.

  “Awesome,” Chris agreed, standing close to him and watching the bead of sweat that had dripped to the underside of Morgan’s jaw. His unshaven jaw, which was really damn hot.

  Morgan was still grinning as Chris drew in closer. “Could do that all day.”

  “Uh-huh,” Chris said, and then kissed him.

  Sweat and leather and warm tongue and oh God, Chris’s senses were reeling with the ride and the heat of the day and just Morgan, standing there with one arm holding his helmet and the other hand reaching out to snag the front of Chris’s jacket.

  The slamming of the diner’s screen door jolted them apart, and they stood there looking guiltily at the sky until the two customers passed them. Chris looked back toward Morgan once they were alone again and smiled. “Could do that all day,” he murmured.

  Morgan gave him a half smile that held a lot of promise and turned to go in. Chris followed, ready to put his helmet and keys on a table and drop into the seat for some lunch, but Morgan kept going right on through to the back of the restaurant.

  “Hey,” Chris said mildly, until he realized Morgan was headed for the restroom and probably had to take a piss. “Oh, never mind. I’ll grab us a table.”

  “No,” Morgan said, and kept going.

  “No? Not hungry?”

  Morgan leaned a shoulder against the bathroom door and raised an eyebrow. “Grab a table later.”

  Chris looked around in confusion. “Why later?”

  Morgan’s eyes nearly rolled out of his head, and he came forward to curl his fingers around the front of Chris’s open jacket. “Because now is when I’m getting down on my knees on the bathroom floor to blow you, Mr. Matthews.”

  He opened his mouth to reply before realizing there was really no other response than ripping open his fly, so Chris pushed Morgan backward into the restroom and thanked the Lord that the restaurant had been nearly deserted when they’d walked in.

  It took nothing more than a slight push on Morgan’s shoulder to bring Morgan to his knees, and Chris put his weight against the sink, fumbling at the heavy Velcro of his pants with trembling fingers. “Oh Jesus, hurry,” he heard himself whisper, staring transfixed at the picture of Morgan kneeling on the floor in front of him.

  “Waiting,” Morgan said pointedly, looking at where Chris was trying to get into his own pants.

  He finally tugged off one glove with his teeth and tore open his fly, letting out a breath of relief when Morgan reached in and helped Chris draw out his cock. “Pretty” was the murmured compliment, and then Morgan leaned forward to lick with delicate grace at th
e leaking head of Chris’s dick.

  Chris couldn’t help the groan that escaped before slapping his hand over his mouth and biting down hard on the heel of his palm, trying to stay quiet and not attract attention to the live sex show happening in the restroom. “Jesus Christ,” he mumbled into his hand, unable to stop staring at Morgan sucking him off.

  “I like it when you call me that,” Morgan said, pulling off momentarily to give him a wink and nudge Chris’s legs farther apart.

  Chris choked out a laugh and mentally cursed the leathers that prevented him from getting as much of his prick as possible between Morgan’s lips, but Morgan didn’t seem to be having much of an issue. Chris found himself rocking forward into Morgan’s wet mouth, not able to help himself, even though he clenched his fingers tightly on the counter behind him in an effort to find some semblance of self-control.

  His breathing increased as Morgan played, licking and tasting and bringing up a hand to gently heft Chris’s balls. His tongue darted out to run a circle around the head and Chris made a strangled noise, everything going shaky and tight all at once. “Morgan,” he whimpered, and then his head tipped back and his eyes closed when Morgan sucked him in all the way.

  Chris thought he might lose his balance when he felt Morgan open his throat and take him down as far as Chris could go. Holy Christ, the man knew how to suck cock. Chris slid a hand into Morgan’s hair and flexed his fingers, trying not to tug or guide him but unable to stop rocking gently forward. The pressure was just so fucking good, Chris thought he might either cry or come, not sure which.

  The decision was made for him a moment later, however, when Morgan forced two wet fingers up behind his balls to tease the crack of Chris’s ass. Chris had no time to wonder how the hell Morgan had even gotten his hand inside Chris’s pants before he was slamming one hand down on the sink behind him and arching forward with a cry.