Love is Always Write Anthology Volume 10

other hand. He couldn't help but grin at the look in Oliver's eyes as he watched.
    Oliver matched his stride easily, given they were the same six feet in height. April sunshine filtered through the trees, and as they ran side-by-side, George appreciated how well-matched they were. Oliver wasn't the fitness freak George had always been. People born with perfect metabolism never were. As they ran, George began to wonder if and when Oliver would choose to throw in the towel. A discreet fanny pack he spied fastened around Oliver's waist gave him reason to hope. The path they took led across wooden bridges above a winding stream, and waterfalls tumbling over rock formations, snaking deep into peaceful woodlands. He wasn't overheated, but George tugged his shirt off as they ran, tossing it over his shoulder with a sidelong look at Oliver as they hit the mid-point of the longest trail.
    "Fucking tease," Oliver grunted, grabbing his arm as they pounded past another bridge, this one made from rocks and spanning a wider portion of the stream. They were on the section of the trails farthest from the retail area, and there wasn't another soul in sight. Crashing down the hill, Oliver led the way through a stiff screen of branches from a row of magnolias that obscured this side of the bridge from overhead passersby.
    He pushed George roughly against the rock buttress, biting his lower lip before easing his tongue past George's lips. "I've missed you, motherfucker," George admitted when Oliver broke off their kiss.
    "You coulda called once or twice this week, prick." But rather than argue, Oliver bent his head, running his tongue in a circle around George's nipple, cupping George's package through his sweats. He made his displeasure at George's lack of communication known with his teeth. The ensuing jolt sizzled along George's shaft. Teasing him, Oliver raised his head, his blue eyes staring into George's momentarily before Oliver kissed him again, their tongues wrestling for a dominance George would never concede. He wedged his thigh between Oliver's. His cock was halfway to being hard as the other man caressed him roughly.
    "Don't you get fucking hard yet," Oliver pulled away to mutter into his ear, nipping his earlobe. "I've been thinking about sucking you hard for days."
    "Better get busy then." George chuckled. Oliver unfastened his fanny pack, draping it across the waxy leaves on the outstretched branch of a magnolia. The lemony smell from bowl-sized blossoms mingled with the cologne Oliver wore as the other man dragged his tongue down the side of George's neck, nipping and licking his way down George's bare chest and abdomen, pausing to bite the sensitive curve outlining the bottom of George's belly button.
    "You're so hot, you fucking gym rat." Oliver jerked off his own shirt, handing it to George to drape on a branch as he sank to his knees on the carpet of cast-off magnolia leaves. George stared down at his lover as the man tugged down his sweats. "Just a jock strap?" Oliver groaned aloud.
    "I need to do laundry." George grinned unabashedly as Oliver leaned forward, raking his teeth along the outlined bulge of George's half-erect cock. With his fingers, Oliver sought George's sac, massaging his balls as his lips traced his burgeoning erection through the snug elastic fabric. George leaned his head back, trying to forestall his hard-on by recalling his checkbook balance because having Oliver suck him to attention was one of life's better pleasures. He held his breath when Oliver tugged the stretchy fabric down his thighs, and the cool air surrounded his heated shaft. Oliver slid his cheek along his length, teasing George with the short but curiously soft bristles on his face. "That looks good on you," George admitted, cupping Oliver's cheek.
    "I look good on you," Oliver countered, enveloping George's cock to his base.
    As Oliver's tongue curved around him, George had the crazy thought that every guy he'd ever let suck him off had been in a quest to replace this. He had more anonymous hook-ups to his credit than he cared to think about, but although the majority of the men he'd picked resembled Oliver, none possessed the ability to set fire to his blood the way the man kneeling before him did.
    Raking his fingers through Oliver's hair, George cupped his head, giving into his urge to fuck Oliver's mouth. Oliver stared up at him, allowing him to take control. That look did something to George every time. Today, the feeling