Blake Hart
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My Uncle Chris – Part 11
🕑 Added 2025-06-03 19:30:01 +0000 UTC[Commission Piece]
Everyone in this story is 18+
We hit the Tower of London first because Chris insisted. “It’s the proper tourist thing to do,” he said, like that somehow made it less dorky.
It was actually pretty cool. Big-ass stone walls, ancient history, and enough weaponry on display to make a Marvel villain jealous. But the best part? The guards.
You know the ones. Tall, stiff, black bearskin hats, absolute zero expression. Chris was trying to get a good photo of one from a distance—respectful and boring—while I decided to sneak closer.
Not that close. Just… closer.
He caught me tiptoeing behind one of them and hissed my name like a nervous parent. “Grayson. Grayson.”
“I’m just looking,” I whispered.
“You’re going to get kicked by the monarchy.”
I grinned, took one more step, and then the guard moved. Sharp pivot, no warning, like a damn robot. I yelped and jumped back, nearly tripping over the chain barrier. Chris laughed so hard he nearly dropped his phone.
“I swear he tried to kill me.”
“He was marching,” Chris said, wiping tears from his eyes. “You got in the way of a centuries-old routine.”
“I thought he was a mannequin!”
He just shook his head, still grinning, and pulled me in by the jacket. Right there, next to the Tower’s ancient walls, he kissed me. Nothing over the top, just warm and slow, hands cupping my jaw like I was something precious.
For a moment, I forgot how many people were around us. Not that it mattered—here, we were just two more annoying American tourists. All I felt were his lips, the warmth between us, and the steady thud of his heart through his coat.
Later, we rode the London Eye.
It was cloudy, but that made the skyline look kind of dreamy—blurred edges, soft colors, everything stretched out below us. Our little pod was nearly empty, just an older couple in the opposite corner who didn’t seem to care about us at all.
Chris stood near the window, staring down at the Thames and then back at me, like he was trying to memorize it. I stepped up behind him, slid my arms around his waist, and rested my chin on his shoulder.
“Romantic enough for you?” I asked.
He leaned back into me. “Almost.”
I turned his face toward mine and kissed him again, longer this time. He smiled into it, then sighed and whispered, “Okay. Now it is.”
We spent the rest of the afternoon at Harrods, where Chris let me drag him through designer racks while pretending not to enjoy it. I found these matching navy jackets—slim cut, subtle texture, stupidly expensive—and talked him into trying one on with me.
In the changing room, I slipped into mine fast, then pulled the curtain open and waved him in. “Come on. Let’s compare.”
He stepped inside, tugging his on slowly, looking at me in the mirror. We looked good. Like a couple who knew what they were doing. Like we belonged together.
Chris reached for me, already flushed from the wine at lunch and the kissing and probably the lighting too. His hand slipped under my jacket, down to my waist.
I stopped him.
“Not here,” I said, teasing.
He raised an eyebrow. “No one can see.”
“You promised me dinner first.”
He groaned quietly and rested his forehead on my shoulder.
“I hate how much I love you like this.”
I grinned, grabbed his hand, and gave him just enough of a squeeze to let him know later would be worth it.
And then I stepped out first, pretending like I wasn’t already planning on exactly how I’d take him apart tonight.
◆◆◆
I stared at the ceiling for a solid minute before I even sat down.
It was the kind of place that didn’t feel real. Gold everywhere. Mirrors, chandeliers, crisp white tablecloths that probably cost more than my old mattress back home. The waiters didn’t even blink at us—they just swept around like we belonged here, like two guys in tailored jackets and polished shoes were just another Tuesday night at The Ritz.
But I knew better.
Chris had booked us a suite upstairs which I still could not fully believe and a dinner reservation at the restaurant downstairs like it was no big deal. Like it wasn’t the most elegant place I’d ever stepped foot in. Like it wasn’t the freaking Ritz.
“Are you actually breathing?” Chris asked, setting his menu down.
“Barely,” I said. “This place looks like a palace.”
He chuckled. “You’ll get used to it.”
I raised an eyebrow. “You’re really gonna pretend this is normal?”
“No, I’m usually more low-key” he said, smiling across the candlelit table. “But I wanted this for you.”
The way he said it. Quiet. Meaningful. Like he wasn’t just talking about dinner.
A waiter appeared to take our order, and I barely managed to keep my voice steady while asking for something I couldn’t pronounce. Chris ordered wine for us both, like he’d done it a hundred times before. When the waiter left, I leaned in.
“So when you said ‘fancy dinner,’ you didn’t mention this.”
“I figured the element of surprise might work in my favor.”
“It’s working,” I said. “You’re ruining me.”
His eyes flicked down my body and back up. “Not yet.”
I almost knocked over the water glass.
The food was unreal. I didn’t know what half of it was, but it melted in my mouth and made me make sounds I’d normally reserve for very different situations. Chris watched me eat with this soft look, eyes half-lidded, fingertips tracing the base of his wine glass.
“You have no idea how good you look right now,” he said.
“Is that the wine talking?”
“That’s the ‘I’ve wanted to undress you all day’ talking.”
“Well,” I said, reaching across the table to run my finger along the back of his hand, “you’ll have to wait.”
He raised an eyebrow. “Still playing hard to get?”
“You promised me dinner. And dessert. I want to savor it.”
“You’re evil.”
“You love it.”
He just smiled and finished the last sip of his wine.
◆◆◆
The second the door clicked behind us, it was over I’ve never longed for anyone more than this.
I shoved him against the wall and kissed him hard, hungry, like I’d been holding back all fucking day—which I had. His mouth opened for me instantly, desperate, wet, perfect. Our teeth clicked. His hands tangled in my hair. Mine were already under his shirt, dragging it up and off while he moaned into my mouth.
“Fuck, I want you,” I muttered.
“I’ve wanted you all day,” he groaned, biting at my bottom lip.
I dropped to my knees right there, fingers on his belt, yanking it loose while he braced a hand on my shoulder to steady himself. I got his pants open, boxers down, and his cock popped free—hard, flushed, already leaking for me.
“Jesus,” I said, staring up at him. “You’re already wet.”
“You’ve been teasing me all night,” he said, breath shaky.
I grinned devilishly, “then shut up and let me take care of it.”
I wrapped my lips around the head and sucked him in deep, flattening my tongue under the shaft as I bobbed my head. He hissed and grabbed the back of my neck, not guiding, just grounding himself.
I went slow at first. Long strokes, full suction, spit pooling at the corners of my mouth. Then faster. Sloppier. My hand jerked what I couldn’t take. His hips bucked, and I let him. He needed this. We both did.
“Fuck, Grayson—” he gasped, his voice wrecked already.
I pulled off with a slick pop and stood, wiping my mouth with the back of my hand.
“Bed. Now.”
He obeyed.
I stripped as I followed him, shedding clothes in a trail to the edge of the mattress. I climbed up, straddled his hips, and kissed him hard, letting him taste himself on my tongue. He groaned and flipped us fast, suddenly on top of me, pinning my wrists above my head.
“You gonna let me have you this time?” he asked, grinding down against my cock.
I smirked, panting. “You think I didn’t plan for that?”
He kissed me again, then slid lower. His mouth moved to my chest, my abs, then lower still. I was already aching. When he sucked me in, I swore so loudly I half expected hotel security to knock.
His mouth was fucking wonderful. Hot and greedy. He gagged on purpose just to show off, eyes watering slightly, and that alone almost made me blow. His hand gripped my base while he bobbed his head like he was trying to drain me.
I grabbed his hair. “Stop. Or I’m gonna fill your throat.”
He pulled off, lips slick. “Not yet.”
Then he rolled me onto my stomach and grabbed the lube off the nightstand. I heard the cap click and my whole body tensed in anticipation.
His fingers spread me apart. I felt the first slide in, slick and slow, curling just right. I moaned into the pillow as he worked another finger in beside it, thrusting them in and out in a rhythm that had me grinding down for more.
“You’re so fucking tight,” he said, kissing between my shoulder blades. “Bet you’ll squeeze me so good when I finally fuck you.”
“I’m ready,” I gasped. “Just do it.”
“Not yet.”
He pulled his fingers out and flipped me onto my back again.
Now it was my turn.
I rolled him fast, shoved him onto his back, and climbed over him, slicking myself quickly before pressing against his hole. His legs wrapped around me, pulling me in as I sank deep in one slow, unforgiving stroke.
“Shit, your huge” he groaned, throwing his head back. “Fuck, Grayson—yes.”
I slammed into him again. And again. Hard. Deep. Fast. His body welcomed every inch, his moans turning ragged as I fucked him like I owned him.
“Take it,” I growled, panting into his ear. “You wanted this.”
“I need it,” he gasped. “I need you.”
I grabbed his cock and stroked him as I fucked him, matching every thrust with the rhythm of my hand, watching the way his body responded—his legs trembling around my waist, eyes glazed, mouth open.
“Cum in me,” he gasped. “I want to feel you shoot deep inside.”
I slammed into him harder, rough and relentless, until the pressure inside me finally exploded. I cried out as I came, an unrelenting torrent spilling deep into him. My hips kept moving, pounding through the pleasure, refusing to stop until every last drop was buried inside him.
But I wasn’t done.
I looked down at Chris’s cock—still rock-hard, flushed, slick with pre—and I needed it. Even after just cumming, the thought of him inside me lit me up all over again.
I shifted, flipped us fast, and guided him on top of me. As he repositioned, I caught a glimpse of his hole, dripping with my load. And then I felt him at my entrance.
He pushed in slow, watching me the whole time, never breaking eye contact, kissing me between every inch.
“Fuck,” he groaned, breath hot against my mouth. “You feel so good, Grayson. So tight. So fucking perfect.”
“Ahh—God, yes. Right there. That’s it.”
His hands gripped my hips, steadying us both, and when he bottomed out, I swore I saw stars. He started to move, deep and smooth, building a rhythm that made my whole body light up again.
He kissed everywhere—my neck, my ears, my chest, my lips—while his cock stroked places inside me I didn’t even know I had.
“Don’t stop,” I begged, wrapping my legs tightly around him.
“I won’t,” he whispered. “Not until you’re shaking under me.”
His pace picked up, and I could feel the sweat building on both of us. His body against mine, all heat and pressure, his breath catching every time I clenched around him just to see his eyes flutter.
I gripped his back, nails dragging slightly, and kissed him messily—open-mouthed and hungry, tongues tangling as he fucked me harder. He hit deep, right on that spot that made my whole body jolt.
“Right there, fuck, don’t stop,” I gasped, hips grinding up to meet his thrusts.
Chris buried his face in my neck and growled against my skin. “You're going to make me cum.”
“Then do it,” I whispered, wrapping my legs tighter around his waist. “Fill me up. I want it.”
He slammed into me harder. Faster. His rhythm turned ragged, his thrusts more frantic, and I could tell he was losing control. I reached down and stroked myself again, just a few fast strokes, already so close I was shaking.
I came first, again, everything clenching around him as I shot between us, my cum slicking our stomachs. Chris cursed, grabbing my face with both hands, and kissed me like he was trying to hold onto something real while he fucked me through it.
“Fuck, I’m gonna—”
“Do it,” I breathed into his mouth. “Let go.”
He thrust one more time, then moaned into my kiss as he came hard, cock pulsing deep inside me. I could feel every twitch, every wave of it, the thick warmth spreading inside.
He kept grinding through it, hips jerking with each movement, until he finally collapsed on top of me, trembling, completely spent.
I held him there. One hand in his hair, the other on the small of his back, both of us gasping, covered in sweat, cum, and nothing but skin.
Eventually he pulled back just enough to look at me, his face flushed, lips swollen, eyes soft in that way that always hit me harder than anything else.
“That was insane,” he whispered.
“Yeah,” I said, brushing his hair back. “We’re insane.”
He smiled. “You love it.”
“I really fucking do.”
He leaned down, kissed me again, slower this time. Then rolled off and collapsed beside me, dragging the sheet up over both of us. We lay there in silence, tangled and raw, the city glowing somewhere outside the window, completely irrelevant compared to what was happening in this bed.
My body ached in the best way. My heart… yeah. That was another kind of ache entirely.
