Prom Night

Dear Readers,

Thank you so much, as always, for the time you take to read my work. I'm truly grateful for all the comments and words of encouragement I've received, and I hope you'll enjoy where the story goes from here.

You may notice in this chapter (and in others) references to Pennsylvania law. While all characters in Prom Night are at least 18 years of age (including Dominic), the law broken in this case is a state law prohibiting relations between a teacher and student (regardless of age). In my efforts to be as true and accurate to the conflict the characters are in, I wanted to make this clear so there is no confusion.

I'm currently working on the last two chapters, which I'm excited to share with you just as soon as they're ready. Until then, hope you enjoy, and please let me know what you think of Chapter 7! I look forward to any and all feedback!

Take care,

Steve

Prom Night: Chapter 7

The next few weeks were a blur of emotional and physical passion. I lost count of just how long it'd been since that first dinner together because what seed was planted seemed to be growing into something more. A fact which both had me terrified and beaming with excitement every night I drove home with another rock'n'roll song on my lips thanks to James's musical taste.

One of the greatest hits from our dates then were bowling together over in Swanton, where I creamed James so bad he kept jesting that he was only letting me win. We didn't dare to touch or even kiss—I guess both of us still getting used to the roles we were constructing in our relationship—in that crowded bowling alley. But later that night, after I treated him to ice cream for being a good sport, we drove over to the Swanton Reservoir and took a long walk in the dark of the deserted park. There, with only the moonlight as our witness, I gave him another consolation prize and swallowed every drop for him.

By our fourth—or maybe even fifth—date, it was decided that going out together in public was maybe not such a hot idea with how magnetized to each other's bodies we seemed to be. That night, we went to a drive-in movie in Hinkley with only the intention of catching a second-run of the

Fifty Shades of Grey

movie, but I guess with all the nudity of Mr. Grey on screen we both got a little carried away. Halfway through the movie, we wound up in the backseat where James took me from behind and reminded me just how hard I make him. When I got home that night, he was leaking down the back of my leg as I made awkward small talk with my mother—a moment that now is more of a turn on than embarrassing.

But of those nights on the verge of summer where we first tended our blossoming relationship, my favorite dates were the nights after that—where we stayed in together, cooking in just our shirts and underwear to some classic rock album James put on low in the background. I discovered James's small talent for whipping together a delicious meal without measuring ingredients and only half-following a recipe. And in turn, James taught me some cooking tips he'd picked up over the years both from his mother and from

Food Network

. He let me do some of our meal preparations while he took photographs of me with one of his DSLR cameras. And when he heard I'd never seen some of the older movies he referenced like

Young Frankenstein

,

An Officer and a Gentleman

,

Raiders of the Lost Ark

, and the like, James shared those with me too.

I shared my world with him in turn, teaching him some of my talents like Texas Hold 'Em and even imparting fishing advice. We cuddled together and read to each other. Sometimes, we slow danced while dinner cooked in the oven—other times just teasing each other and horsing around. And sometimes, we just talked a little or snuggled up to watch a movie, where one of us would fall asleep in each other's arms—or maybe even grow restless enough to guide the other to the bedroom.

His apartment was our safe space where we could embrace what our attraction was building, and maybe that was why it sometimes felt more like home than my parents' house. Who wouldn't be overjoyed with the solace of a gentleman with his arm around them and a sweet kitty like Toby purring happily in their arms?

I certainly couldn't think of anyone.

"What are you thinking about?" James breathed a kiss into the top of my head. We were in our spots on his living room sofa—his arm around me as my head rested against him. Rising and falling with his heartbeat. We were watching

The Graduate

, and on screen, Dustin Hoffman was swinging a giant crucifix to keep the bridal party back as he and Katharine Ross tried to flee the church.

I hadn't realized I had zoned out. I turned to him, kissed him, and answered, "I'm just glad to be here with you."

James slowly kissed me back, smiling as we broke away. Toby repositioned himself from my lap—where he had been curled up—and gave us a bored look before hopping onto the floor and wandering off. James took the opportunity to draw me closer, and I watched as Dustin and Katharine boarded a bus together. Then Simon and Garfunkel played as they drove off into the city streets.

My older lover let out a sigh as the credits started rolling. He stopped the DVD but made no move to get up—only continued to hold me. I nuzzled his chest, and his hand slipped to the back of my head, running his fingers through my hair.

"Do you think they're happy?" I had no idea where my question came from; it just came to mind.

"Do I think who is happy?" James looked down at me, puzzled.

"Ben and Elaine."

"From the movie?"

I nodded. My brain had no idea where the track of thought was going with it. So I lowered my gaze from his, hoping to play off whatever awkwardness just occurred.

But James only kissed the top of my head again before softening his voice. "I would like to think so, baby." He kissed my hair again and repeated. "I would like to think so."

I smiled against him, still not wanting to look at him for reasons I still can't put into words even all these years later. The edges of my eyes moistened a little, and while I'm no wimp, part of me wanted to cry. I took a deep breath, if only to suck in the emotional moment, and then I did face him. And my lips found his, and we kissed long and slow. His fingers weaving themselves in my hair, his other arm wrapped around me in a way that I knew he wouldn't let me go.

My tongue collided with his. His batted against mine, and our kiss grew hungry. I could feel the front of his underwear hardening. Just as mine was. We both knew where it was going, and both of us knew we wanted it more than anything—knew we wanted each other that way.

I shrugged out of his arms and climbed over him. My ass was now perched right above his hard cock as I straddled him, my own hard cock poking him in the stomach as I drew him close for another kiss. Then his arms enveloped me again in this new position, protectively holding me from the danger of falling backward. Mine hooked around the back of his neck, and we were one—a two backed creature fused together by our mouths.

This was unlike our previous trysts, this was sensual and slow. Passionate but soft. I wonder now if it was the first time we made love instead of had sex. When our mouths broke away from each other, James's eyes burned into mine with a secret knowing. It was the kind of look that told me he saw me just the way I was and still wanted me—just as I saw and wanted him too. Its very existence on his face brought a smile to my lips, so glad that we had found each other on prom night.

I kissed him again, my lips hesitant like they might break his. And for a while we stayed like that, our fingers roaming over one another as we let our emotions dance with each other. He traced my spine lightly and sent tingles of pleasure all over my back. My fingers traced the creases in the back of his neck, until he was sighing into our slow and smooth kissing. My bottom rubbing just a little against his lap as his erection flexed up against me. Reminding me how I made him feel.

When our mouths needed air too bad that we could not continue, our lips parted again. But my hips still rolled just enough against his throbbing bulge, the tip of my dick poking into his stomach just enough to remind me this moment was real. That James was mine.

I smiled at him.

He smiled back, watching me with that same soft expression. Like he knew I was his. I blushed as I continued to grind into him a little; if anyone had ever told me there would be a day when I'd be in my underwear straddling my History teacher, I would have told them they were nuts. But here we were on his sofa, and I never wanted it to end.

"What are you thinking?" I whispered to him.

James's eyes lit up. "Just about how amazing you are."

I climbed off him with a smile, and for a minute, he seemed confused. The front of his underwear was wet. And although I hadn't felt it soak through mine yet, I knew it was from how turned on he was. When I was on my feet, I gently took his hand in mind and led him to the bedroom.

Toby had claimed a spot on the bedspread, but as soon as he saw us enter the room, he scampered off the bed and into another part of the apartment. Alone together, I brushed James's hand away from the light switch when he went to turn on the lights. When he understood tonight's love making would be in the dark, my fingers found the front of his shirt and lightly started undoing the buttons.

He stared at me with that mesmerized look in his eyes, watching me slowly reveal his body inch by inch as I undid the buttons. And I could feel his amazement with me—at how this situation had evolved from unexpected sexual exploration to whatever was this new territory we were encroaching upon. When I had finished with the last button, my hands grasped each side of his shirt—my thumb tips making tiny circles on the skin near his pecs as they wound themselves up in his chest hair. My eyes never left his, and James only stood there, sighing with every movement of my thumbs. A silent trust between us.

I drew nearer to him and moved my hands under the folds of his shirt. I could feel his heartbeat under my palms, feeling his nipples—which were hardening—rise and fall with his breathing. I had felt that hairy chest many times, but this was different. My older lover stood before me as not just a man but my man. He leant in and kissed me softly as I closed the distance between us.

When our lips met this time in the low light of his bedroom, my hands parted further from each other and slipped his shirt off. It fell with a purr to the floor, and as soon as his arms were free of it, they circled around me. Hooking gently under the bottom of my t-shirt and lifting it off with care. Till we were bare chest to bare chest. His arms around me again to draw me closer to him, where my hands could explore every nuance of his hairy chest while he trailed kisses just under my left earlobe. His hot breath tickling my sensitive neck each time he took a breath in between kisses.

If there was anywhere in the world I could have been, I wouldn't have been anywhere except there against him. My arms found their way around him and drew him closer, till I could feel the warmth of his chest hair against my young adult torso. Knowing that every bit of that hair was my man's hair. That I was giving myself—willingly—to him in a way that I had never given myself to anyone else before.

My fingers swirled over his back, feeling his back muscles as he held me close. And every audible sigh I could hear only made me long to give him more. To pleasure him in ways I previously had never known I wanted to pleasure another man before. I felt so vulnerable and frail but so alive and empowered—knowing this was exactly where I was supposed to be. Knowing that, right here and now, if nothing made sense outside this bedroom, this was exactly who I needed to be right now.

As if in agreement with this thought, James's lips found that special button on my neck that always makes me tingle when he kisses it. I moaned a little into him, spurring my body to grind my hardness into him as I planted gentle kisses into his shoulder and neck. My fingers still stroking his goose-bumped back light enough to make him quiver and buck a little into me.

My own nipples were hardening from the electric pleasure he was giving me, to the point that every time their tips kissed the fine hairs of his chest, I felt like sighing. I pressed my body closer against him and felt my heart thrum in my ears as we stood closer together. His fingers exploring the nuances of my lower back, caressing my beltline just above my underwear. Finding the warmth of my flesh under the waistband and inching them lower, over the mounds of my glutes, until at last they fell to the floor.

When his lips reluctantly ended their soft travels on my skin, he looked down at my naked body. Then James faced me. Those charming eyes were softer than ever, telling me without words that it was okay to be defenseless and vulnerable like I was. Those eyes told me that he belonged to me too—as much as I belonged to him. No one—man or woman—had ever looked at me that way before. And while outside that room—that moment—it might have scared me with all the thoughts and possibilities of what was and what could be, in that moment, it made me weak. My spine tingled from that expression on his face, and carefully, he eased me back the step or two to the bed.

I felt the back of my legs brush against the bed. James took my hands in his—fingers entwined tight—and a moment later I was easing backward onto the bed. Not being able to see it behind me but trusting that it was there as I stared into my lover's eyes—the same way I somehow knew I could trust him. The soft folds of the plush blanket caught me, having me the way James would have me tonight. Then he let go of my hands, his eyes still staring down at my naked body exposed to him.

His hands hooked in the waistband of his underwear, and they too joined the floor. Allowing me to see every inch of his hairy nudity in the dim of the room. My eyes traced every bit of his masculinity just as I felt his eyes doing the same to me. Until, when it seemed he could help himself no longer, James slowly climbed into bed next to me, crawling over me to envelope me with his form. I rose to meet him. His hand took my chin and lightly drew my face to his till his lips brushed against mine like a feather. It was a kiss that seemed totally new to both of us—the kind of lip meeting where it seemed both of us could feel the nervous hesitation in the other. But neither one of us stopped; I knew we both didn't want to stop.

That soft sensual kiss deepened, and then I took his hand in mine and broke away just long enough to kiss the tops of his knuckles as our fingers entwined. Then our hands fell to the side of me on the bed, and my lips—like two travelers returning home—found his again. Our mouths deepening the kiss to gently introduce our tongues; we slowly made out like it was the first time we were making out ever.

My other arm circled around his back and held James close. His other arm did the same to me, and we were entwined in each other's arms in such a way that I wondered if this was how true love was made. As if to answer my question, James's lips broke away from mine to trail kisses down my throat and then to my chest. The tip of his tongue dotted my skin in morse code bursts of sensual passion.

Then he sank lower. My hand—which had been rubbing his shoulder blade and his back—found the back of his head as his lips made their trek to my nipples. I ran my fingers through his thick head of hair, knowing that, yes, this was how true love was made. He planted gentle kisses on and around my nipples for a while—alternating between them—until I was whimpering from the tingle of him. Feeling his leaking erection against my thigh, my other hand in his—fingers clutching each other the way our hearts were learning to clutch each other.

I threw myself back on the bed, arching my back as James followed my every movement. My every nerve exploded in a series of passionate overload, his chest hair making love to my skin as his tongue traced every contour of my nipples, his mouth still alternating between them. Flicking the tips till my breath hitched and my toes curled.

Hearing my sharp breath, James whispered to me. "You want it, baby?"

My fingers tightened in his hair, massaging the back of his scalp. "Yes," I breathed. And a moment later, fearful he hadn't heard me, I repeated it a little louder. "Yes, baby."

To acknowledge my answer, he left a trail of lighter kisses on my skin in a long V down to my waist. The tip of his tongue touching me lighter and lighter as he trailed downward till every nerve within me was electrified. I writhed with the feeling of it, feeling like I was his.

But before his mouth could travel below my waist, our holds on each other broke apart. Then he slunk off the bed and stood before me again between my slightly spread legs. His eyes locked on mine, and I knew what was to come now. James dropped low enough to take one of my calves in one hand and the other in his other. Then he lifted them a little higher, eased them wider apart, and bent over the bed to shrug them onto his shoulders.

My hands grabbed the side of the bed I'd come to know so well lately and, bracing myself a little on his shoulders, scooted myself closer to the edge. His loving smile returned—his erection still solid at attention—and I knew I was safe and loved. Like a girl about to be deflowered by her high school sweetheart.

That smile never left me as he reached over and grabbed the bottle of lube on the nightstand. It had been full last week, but as proof of our bond together, we had used enough it that it was now only half-full. James worked some of it onto his manhood, capped the bottle and tossed it on the bed beside me. Then I felt him line up the tip against my pucker, feeling it prod the outside of my opening as we continued watching each other. Until, finally, with a sigh, James glided the tip inside me.

My breath hitched from the feel of him sliding into me, still not loose enough to take him without a measure of discomfort. But I relaxed—trusting him—and let my body welcome my lover into me like I was gifting myself to him. And like a gift to me, James was gentle as he eased into me, stopping every inch or so to allow me to get used to him before he continued giving me a part of him I knew no other man had ever been gifted before. That softness was still in his eyes, telling me he had me—that I was his. And I'm sure the look I was giving him confirmed that for him too—until I felt his pelvis flush with my ass as he finished sliding fully inside me.

I don't know how long we stayed like that—his erection twitching in the warmth of me in that dim room—embracing the feel of the closeness we were making. But when it seemed like it would go on forever with my hole clenching and unclenching around his hardness, James eased his erection backwards till only the tip was inside me. Allowing me to feel the emptiness trailing after him as he withdrew.

Only for him to fill me up again.

He eased forward little by little until his pubic hair met my skin again. This time grinding a little against me as my ass met his pelvis. Then he eased out again, just as gentle as ever. The feeling made me melt, experiencing the pleasure spread through me as he continued his slow journey back and forth. Not rough—not hard. A steady rhythm that wasn't fucking; in a motion I can only describe now as making love to me, James eased in and out of my welcoming body.

We were like that for the longest time, his chest hair rubbing the backs of my legs as our bodies met and parted. Met and parted. Working a steady rhythm together that left us both sighing, borderline moaning. I could feel every inch of him sliding in and back out—in and back out—to the point every nerve ending within me was tingling with passion. Wondering how I could ever live without this—without James—and knowing that I couldn't. That I wouldn't if I had any say in the matter.