Part 9
Riley kept his eyes shut fiercely, but despite his best efforts to think of something else, anything else, he found his mind wandering back to the same fantasy, the one that had been dogging him for days.
"And so I'm doing a run, keeping up the training that I had in the military, just keeping it going, and I decide to just change my usual route and I'm going for distance and head out along the old highway east of town, some hills, but nothing too serious, and I'm just kind of into the run, just moving at a slow steady rhythm, yeah into the rhythm of it, steady moving muscles in time to my heartbeat, keeping the breathing nice and regular, muscles pumping nice and regular, keeping the rhythm going . . . just keep the rhythm going . . . gotta keep the rhythm going.
"And I come over the top of a hill and see that there's this construction site, and as I come closer, I see him there, working with this other guy, cutting some 2-by-4s, and he's clearly in charge, but grinning and joking with the other guy, moving nice and easily. And I stop at the edge of the site and just watch him as he picks up the circular saw and cuts the board, his bicep tensing as he does, he's slightly bent over, so I can't see his face, just the hard hat, and he's filling out that T-shirt really nicely, and there's something about a man who knows what he's doing, and he finishes the cut, and turns off the saw and steps back, and pulls off the safety goggles and nods to his helper guy, who picks up the 2-by-4s and puts them over his shoulder and carries them into the building.
"And he takes off his hard hat, and puts in on the saw-horse, and takes hold of the bottom of his T-shirt and bends over slightly and wipes the sweat from his forehead with the bottom of the T-shirt, but all I see is his bare torso. Not a gym-built 6-pack, but an honest working man's naturally hard stomach. And he looks up and sees me standing there staring and grins and picks up his hard hat and gives me a wave with it as he puts it back on.
"He walks over towards me, not a cocky strut, but with a self-assurance that I'm maybe not used to seeing, but it's like he's on his turf now, totally comfortable and at ease. And I walk towards him and we meet more or less half way. And he stands there with this totally friendly smile, hands on his hips, and I can't help it, my eyes follow the lines of his arms from his shoulders down to his hips and to his . . .
"'Hey,' he says
"'Hey,' I'm not really sure what I want to say. Except that maybe, I'm glad to see him, and I like that smile.
"He brings his left arm up, and I'm looking at his forearm as he's looking at his watch. He looks up and catches me looking. There's a hint of a smile on his face as he speaks. 'It's lunchtime. Wanna grab something?'
"And that sounds like an invitation, but I'm not sure, but I say 'Sure.' and he nods and says something about checking in with his crew and he trots back into the building and I watch him move so easily and nicely, and I really realize that I am pretty turned on by all this. And I'm breathing kinda heavy and trying to maintain a little calm. So I walk steadily over to the saw-horse where he was just working and pick up the saw he was just using, and it's still warm, and I'm finding that . . . interesting. And I pick up the goggles, with his sweat on them and I have to resist the urge the lick them. . . just to taste him.
"And he comes back out as the lunch whistle blows, comes back over to me, and I look at him and I know what I want for lunch. So I look at him and he understands and he nods at the trailer and says something about the boss being at a meeting with the architect, so the trailer's empty, and he leads the way, and I'm following him, and that feels really right somehow, that I should be following him. And he opens the door and walks in and I follow him in, and he leans against the table and puts his hands on the edge of the table beside him and I am just kind of drinking in the sight of him.
"And for a second I hesitate, but I reach over and run my hand across his chest, feeling his body through the tee-shirt, and he looks a little surprised, but not displeased, but he doesn't move, waiting to see what I'm gonna do. And I lean in and kiss him and he kisses me back pretty deeply, and I'm holding his sides, and bending over slightly so our heads are at the same level and, man, that kiss is just so electric, and I can't help myself, my right hand slowly moves down to his crotch and I gently feel the outline of his cock through the khakis he's wearing and it's growing stiff in my hand, and as we kiss, I unzip his pants, and reach in, and have to maneuver a bit round his boxers before I can touch it, feel it, hold it. and he stiffens more, and lets out a little groan, and it's low and deep, and I know what I gotta do, what I need to do, and break the kiss and slowly move down running my nose along the sweaty tee-shirt, smelling him on it and even on my knees, I've got to bend over a bit to take him in my mouth. He gets even harder as I run my tongue around his cockhead. I start to tease him a bit, pulling my mouth back a bit and letting my tongue dart out and flick against his cock.
"But he's having none of that. He pulls me up and pushes me face-down across the desk, and yanks my running shorts down, and holding my waist tightly pushes inside me and without any preliminaries starts to buck into me. Hard and fast and deep. And I'm feeling more excited than I've ever felt before, and my eyes are squeezed shut and my hands are gripping the edge of the desk tightly, and I can't believe he is fucking me, but he is. . .
"And he reaches underneath me and he grabs my cock, and wraps his fist around it, holding my cock and I thrust into his fist as he grinds into me, my hands holding the far edge of the desk, and I can feel my heart racing, and his moaning and his pelvis starts to really buck into me, I can feel my heart beating so hard, that I am afraid that it will burst, and he whispers my name, and that's almost enough to make me come then and there.
"And his free hand is on my shoulder, gripping tightly, almost pulling me onto him, almost being rough, but being gentle at the same time, and his breathing quickens and through the hand on my shoulder, I can feel him starting to tense and I know he's close to the edge, and he grabs my head by the hair and pulls it back, and I close my eyes and wait for it, and thrust into his fist and let loose, feeling my entire body tense as every muscle quivers and shudders, and I have that moment when the entire world stops, my heart stops, breathing stops and I lose myself completely."
With that image in his mind's eye, Riley drove hard into Buffy, feeling her body convulse as his last thrusts sent her over the edge, feeling her nails digging into his back, hearing her sudden intake of breath. He lay atop her for a long minute, his muscles tensed, his back slightly arched, holding his breath involuntarily as he listened to her panting, knowing he had sent her over the edge as well.
Riley rolled over and lay back in the bed, still breathing hard, with a huge satisfied grin on his face, masking the doubts he was carrying inside.
Buffy rolled over on her side, and ran a hand across his chest, and grinned at him. "Are you sure you don't still have a secret stash of those initiative drugs?"
He smiled sheepishly at her, and put his arm around her as she put her head on his chest and closed her eyes and drifted off to sleep.
Riley lay awake, staring at the ceiling, wondering what the hell was going on.
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The next morning Buffy met Willow for their last minute pre-midterm cram plus caffeine session at the Espresso Pump.
Willow gave her the raised eyebrow smirk, "Someone had a good time last night." she kidded.
Buffy smiled and gave half a nod. Willow grinned at her. "I want a full report later, but right now, it's serious cramming time."
As the two drank mochas and poured over the text, one of the busboys sauntered nonchalantly over to the radio, and surreptitiously changed the station from the usual jazz lite to a Latino station. The announcer's voice blared:
"Y ahorrra rrregresamos a nuestrrra progrrramación de música frrrontera, con este tema de los Texas Tornados"
Buffy turned around to scowl at the guy, but he looked so pleased with himself that she had to smile. Besides anything was better than Kenny G. She vaguely listened to the song, which at least was in English
// Who were you thinkin' of
// when we were makin' love
// last night?
// Was it a good-lookin' stranger
// or a close friend of mine?
Buffy shivered.
"What's the matter, Buffy?"
"Ever have that feeling like someone's just walked on your grave?
Willow shivered sympathetically, "Ohh, I *hate* that!"
// Who were you thinkin' of
// when I was makin' love
// to you?
// There was a smile on your face
// I ain't seen in some time. . .
"And I *hate* this song!"
Willow was getting slightly annoyed. "Right, Mexican country music is of the bad. No more sidetracking, Buffy: mid-term in one hour 46 minutes, and counting. . . "
"Right, French Revolution: Reign of terror or good clean fun?"
Parts 10
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