Tyson, page 5
‘An apology?’ I wonder which of his countless rude acts he’s about to make amends for.
‘It was an ex,’ he says, looking up at one of the swords on the wall. ‘He left over a year ago, but it took me a while to get over him.’
I feel irritated all of a sudden. ‘And you’re telling me this because…’
‘I’ve found it difficult to trust people, since then. When we ended up… getting so close in the gym today, I panicked. Have you ever had your heart broken?’
I look down at my glass, sadly, and shake my head. ‘No. I haven’t.’
‘I used to train with him. We started taking classes together, years ago. He was a natural. Loved it so much that he started taking extra classes. Without me. His new trainer was a woman called Lex. I mean, Lex! What kind of a name is that?’
‘And he had sex with her? Sex with Lex?’
He turns away for a moment, and then puts down his glass and walks over to the window, his back to me. ‘It was the first time he’d ever been with a woman. Or at least that’s what he told me,’ he says. ‘But I could tell he was lying.’
With the evening city lights behind him, Tyson’s silhouette is astonishing. Every contour screams out ‘man’ to me. Man, man, man. His body is perfect.
‘It must have been hard for you,’ I say gently. ‘But you’ve got to move on.’ I think of Hunter, and remember that I need to get in touch with him soon. I wonder for a moment what he might have spoken about to Neil. I hope to God they haven’t got back together. That guy was trouble.
‘I guess I’ve just focused on my work,’ he says. ‘You know what that’s like.’
I put down my glass, and stand up, moving towards him, amazed that this man and I might actually have something in common. I stand beside him, my bare arms brushing his triceps.
‘When you walked into the club last week,’ he says, ‘scowling at me, getting angry with me, looking so… incredible… I knew that I was in trouble. For the first time in a year, I felt vulnerable.’
I let my fingers touch hers, trembling, feeling the sensitivity at the tips, the electricity shooting up my arm and into my chest. ‘I feel vulnerable too,’ I whisper, longing for his hands to curl around my waist, for him to take me in his arms, tear down my trousers, to push himself into me, to let me welcome him once more in to my hot, tight, body…
‘I like you, Giles,’ he says. ‘But I think we should take things slowly. Let’s talk some more. But first, I need a shower. I stink.’
He walks off into another room, leaving me standing, looking over the city, watching the last of the sun’s embers disappearing behind the horizon.
SIXTEEN
* * *
I hear a shower switch on behind the door at the end of the hall, and feel the irritation building up inside me.
You know what? I deserve better than this. I walk over to the wall, look at the swords hanging there, and run my finger over the flat, cold length of the blade.
I feel the spark of a new warrior spirit, awakening inside me.
I wonder what this sword is called. Which fighter it once belonged to. Does it even have a name? Does it have an identity?
The coldness of the metal sends a thrill into my fingertips. I lift my fingers to my cheek, and let the coldness crackle there for a moment too.
Then the thought forms in my mind.
I am going to have this man.
I like him. He likes me. I’m a strong, capable man. I’ve had enough of these games. It’s time he let me inside.
I’m going to taste a man, for the first time in months.
I grab my wine glass from the table, and gulp down the contents of the glass. It feels good. Really damn good. It gives me even more strength. I catch sight of myself in a mirror on the wall. Ruffle up my hair a little. Lick my lips.
Then I step towards the sound of running water.
SEVENTEEN
* * *
He hasn’t locked the door, thank goodness, so I push down the handle and step inside. He’s still dressed, holding up a bottle of shower cream, about to put it into the shower. When he hears me coming in, he pauses, but doesn’t turn around.
‘Giles?’ he asks, uncertainty in his voice.
‘Yes,’ I reply. And leave it at that. I wait, just in case he tells me to get out. Obviously I’m not going to force him into doing anything he doesn’t want to do… but if he’s just standing there, it doesn’t seem like he’s altogether averse to me being in here.
I see his hands reach above his head, and then, slowly, he takes off his t-shirt. As it peels away from his skin, which still glistens with sweat from the day’s exertions, it begins to reveal the most intricate black ink markings I have ever seen. They are made up of tiny black dots, reminiscent of a mehndi design, but strong and striking, revealing the large, snarling face of a wolf. It’s incredible.
‘Tyson,’ I gasp, desperate to touch him, to run my hands over this wild, intricate beast, to feel the ridges of the ink, the small, dark scars on the surface of his pale skin. Tyson doesn’t move, so I step closer to him, and hold out my hand. I touch the wolf’s ears at first, erect and listening, and then stroke my way down to the eyes, then the jaw, between the moist lips, and finally… the teeth. My fingers are in the wolf’s mouth. I gasp.
In a blur, Tyson spins around.The bathroom is hot and steamy. Tyson's skin is flushed.
I can smell him now, so salty and earthy. I feel the solid hardness collect between my legs.
Ty-son, I say, ever so quietly, under my breath. Touch me, Ty-son.
Tyson’s eyes pierce mine, boring into me, drilling me with their potent stare, and then, deliberately, they begin to run down the length of me, down to my torso, then my crotch. I feel my cock harden from his gaze alone. He lifts his hands to my shoulders, grips the soft, white fabric of my shirt in his strong, fighter’s hands, and yanks it up, over my head, tossing it down into the corner of the room.
Then those self same hands are at my belt, loosening, stretching, impatiently tugging, before I’m just wearing my briefs. I feel his hands on me, running all over my chest, my back, my hard, trembling buttocks, across my smooth stomach, grabbing me by the hips and pulling me close.
I grab the elastic around his waist and pull down his kickboxing pants. I gasp as his cock springs out, curved and long, thick and somehow demanding. That’s when it hits me, he wasn’t wearing any underwear! Does he really teach his classes like that? All that time, in that little room, and he was standing there with a bare cock in his pants! I grab his ass, feel the taut, muscular skin, the way it dimples around the hips, the most beautifully carved-out shape I’ve ever touched, and then I stroke my hands outwards, towards his hips, desperate to touch the soft skin of his cock. I can feel its shape against my own stomach, as it rubs into my cock.
But I want more, I want to grab it, to feel its powerful shape, to take it into me.
But before I have a chance to do that, he pushes me down backwards onto the bathroom floor. Then, without even stopping to admire how I look in my tight underwear, he pulls them off too, and throws them behind him, hooking them over the taps at the sink. Then, straddling me, he touches himself for a moment, grabbing his cock with both hands, enjoying, momentarily, of the feeling of his own arousal.
The cold bathroom tiles press hard into my back, and I struggle up onto my elbows to take a look at him. I am desperate to see this ripped guy’s dick. I am hungry to see it, and then taste it.
When his hands move away from his groin, I am dumbstruck.
This man is beautiful.
That powerful energy, that fighting spirit that runs to his very bones, is right there in his manhood. It juts out from his body, and it’s resting on my stomach, lying next to my own cock. But its so different from the shape of me — a savage curve, a threatening width. It’s the most masculine, powerful-looking dick I’ve ever seen in my life.
He reaches down, grips both of out cocks in his warm, strong hands, and gently rubs our flesh up and down. The pleasure and relief is instant — I moan as our skin rubs together, and I hear a guttural grunt from Tyson, too.
‘I want to fuck your mouth,’ he says, forcing my head back onto the tiles and straddling my chest.
So I let him. I speak to Tyson’s body with mine. I put my tongue out, tentatively at first, so it was just touching the very tip of that monstrous length. I’m gentle and slow to begin with, enjoying the mounting feeling of arousal and mastery.
His dick tastes as good as I’ve imagined — no, it is better; it is firm, supple, soft, creamy, as smooth as silk. I can taste salt, the earth, the shifting, tempestuous force of the ocean. I move down his length, tracing lines along his skin with my fingers and tongue. I hesitate for a moment, grabbing his tight ass in my hands, pulling him closer towards me, and then I engulf him entirely in my pink mouth, taking as much of him into me as I can. I take him out, then spread my tongue wide over his shaft, licking thickly up, splaying out my lustful muscle, enveloping the base of his cock completely.
Tyson moans and grinds himself hard into my mouth. As he does this, I flick my tongue over his tip, tasting new flavours each time. Sweetness. Spice. Heat. Acidity. It’s all there, and all delicious, the tastes making my tongue crackle, alive, like it’s covered in popping candy.
I move my tongue rhythmically round and round him. As sweet as honey, and salty as the sea. I look up and he’s looking down at me, his pale blue eyes plasma-hot with lust.
Suddenly, he jumps back off my face, pushing his tight, hard cock against my belly, next to mine.
‘I want you,’ he breathes, a hot wet whisper, into my ear.
‘I want you,’ I reply.
He shifts down further and I feel him gently pressing into my ass, his cock asking a question — will you let me in?
I reach down, and guide his slick, thick dick straight into me. As he inches that powerful length slowly into my cock, my eyes widen.
‘Oh shit,’ I grunt, ‘you’re so big. You feel so fucking good.’
I’ve never had a man like this inside me before.
‘You can take it,’ he groans. ‘You’re a warrior.’ I feel his fingers stroking my hair as he buries himself further into me, and the pleasure starts to ripple over me in delicious, multicoloured waves. His hands are all over me as he starts to thrust — gently at first, but soon more insistent, demanding. He grabs my cock, my ass, my chest, biting me, growling as his passion grows.
After a few hard thrusts, he lurches forwards, pins me down to the tiles, and takes complete command of me. First, he kisses me full on the mouth with those big, soft lips, and then he move his mouth down to my chest, taking my nipples between his teeth and biting.
I start to rock back and forth with each of his tender, powerful thrusts. My fingers are digging into his back now, and it seems like my touch has ignited something further in him, because he seems to shift into an even more powerful gear.
‘I wanted this from the moment I saw you,’ he says, panting, fucking me, tracing fingers over my face then pushing them in my mouth. ‘You’re so fucking hot, so fucking fuckable.’
He lets out a lustful growl, and pushes his muscular chest down onto me. Feeling his rock hard body, strong and heavy as living stones, pressing into me, makes me shout out. ‘Fuck me, Tyson! Fuck me!’
Then, and only then, hearing me scream, does his cock start to throb and pulse in my ass, and as he unleashes within me, I see white light, the stars of my passion coalescing into a dramatic, sudden supernova, as my body bucks and twitches in harmonious pleasure, totally owned by the beast of a man who lies on me.
EIGHTEEN
* * *
Tonight, I sleep in Tyson's bed. I say sleep - but I barely manage a wink. In truth I’m lying here, with Tyson's muscular legs wrapped around me, taking everything in. Processing, unpacking. Drinking in every moment of being in this man’s bed, in his room, with all of his things.
There is a weightlifting bench in the corner of the room, and a selection of dumbbells. Whereas my bedroom is full of clothes and files, his is chock-full of exercise equipment. I guess we both look after ourselves in different ways.
The next morning, my eyes are heavy, and I can’t stop yawning, but Tyson seems refreshed, as awake now as he was last night - as awake as he’d been for every one of the three hours he’d fucked me, then stopped to kiss and hold me, then fucked me again, then held me some more, before finally coming himself, dripping sweat all over the bed sheets and toppling heavily onto me, rising and falling on my skin as I panted with satisfaction.
In the kitchen, he makes me some coffee and eggs, and we talk about normal things, like our jobs, and our favourite childhood memories, the sort of whimsical thing that people do in the early stages of a relationship, but what we don’t talk about is what happened between us. There is an elephant in the room, and I’m sure as heck not going to be the one to point it out.
Tyson offers to drive me back to mine, but I decide I feel like walking and then getting the bus. I crave the fresh air, and some time to enjoy this strange new pleasure running through me, this warm satisfaction that has spread throughout my body. Besides, he’s lent me some clothes - an old t-shirt and some jeans. They don’t exactly fit me in the strictest sense, but it gives me a weird thrill to think about walking across town wearing his stuff.
At the door, I wonder whether to kiss Tyson goodbye.
‘I had a great time with you,’ I say, screwing up my tan suit in my hands.
‘Me too,’ he says, and takes hold of my shoulders. His face leans in close to me, but then, instead of kissing me on the lips, as I desperately want him to, his mouth moves to my cheek, and plants a firm, polite kiss next to my mouth. ‘Goodbye,’ he says.
In a haze of lust, I turn around, almost trip over my own feet, and leave his apartment.
As I walk home, practically skipping down the pavement, I feel like I can finally bring myself to check my phone. Two missed calls and a couple of texts from Hunter.
Hey, are you okay? I’m outside! I’ll wait here another 5 minutes. You’re not meant to be late — that’s my thing!
I flick through to the next message, sent five minutes later. Seems like breezy Hunter wasn’t too upset, thankfully.
I’m gonna head out — I’m starving, can’t wait! Neil wants me to give him another chance. Ha! No fucking chance. He was practically begging me. What an asshole. Hope you’re OK and not doing anything naughty. Love U. X
I text him back.
Good on U! Neil is a prick. I’m fine. Sorry I stood you up! Had a kinda strange evening, but I’ll fill you in on it all soon ;)X
I consider telling him about Tyson, but I feel like doing it over a text message really isn’t the best way to go. Also, I didn’t want to rub things in. Besides, Tyson and I have only spent one night together. I’ll wait until next time before I jinx it by telling anyone.
And then, as I looks at my phone, it hits me.
Tyson doesn’t have my number. And I don’t have his.
NINETEEN
* * *
The following week, I throw myself completely into my work, no longer daydreaming pathetically over what it might be like to kiss Tyson. Now I know. I go back to my old strict-boss ways. I pick up on a couple of slackers. Chase up some outstanding jobs. Congratulate my highest sellers, and encourage them to do even better.
But as the days go by before the next kickboxing session, I grow more and more irritated that I have no way of contacting Tyson. I try looking him up on Facebook but have no luck at all. Is he going to ignore me in class again? What will it be like, seeing him again for the first time, in there? I’d been hoping we’d have the chance for a one-on-one before that, give ourselves some time to let things develop in private. Not unleash any second-date dynamics in public, in front of the class.
But as we don’t have each other’s numbers, and I certainly am not going to turn up at his apartment unannounced, I just sit tight and work. It’s my normal coping mechanism, and I fall back into my old routine like I never stopped for a second.
By the time Friday somes around, I’m so excited my heart is fluttering like a sixteen-year-old school boy. I desperately try to encourage Hunter to be ready on time, so that we aren’t late again, making sure he has his car keys, his water bottle…
I’ve even bought myself a new outfit. A loose black sports t-shirt and black kickboxing trousers, low-slung at the waist like Tyson's. Sure, mine don’t have the fancy Chinese lettering on them, but they still look good. I don’t look quite as ‘on show’ as I looked in my tighter outfits, but there is something sexy about the parts of me that are hidden, in the way that the material pulls tantalizingly around my lean muscles when I stretch. I almost feel, I guess, like a real fighter.
Forget yoga: this is good for my core strength.
As we walk across the car park towards the old garage, it takes everything I have to not tell Hunter about what’s going on between me and Tyson. Thankfully, he is talking too giddily about a new Muy Thai class he’s started on Tuesday evenings. Yet another ploy to get over Neil. He’s being so effusive about it I barely get a word in edgeways.
Thankfully (hallelujah!) we are just on time. We pay our money just before the cash tin gets closed, and then we take off our shoes and get in line. Tyson gives me a look, as I stand there, but it’s impossible to be sure what the look means. I enjoyed our sex last Friday? I want you now, baby? Sorry I never got your number? I think I’m falling in love with you? It’s just impossible to tell.
