I looked into those teasing eyes and told the absolute unvarnished truth. “Yes.”
His eyes darkened, and I felt his dick go even harder in his jeans, which was so freakin’ exciting, my own cock started leaking precum.
He reached for the hem of his shirt and drew it off, tossing it on the floor, and I did the same. Then he flipped open the top button of my jeans as he sank to his knees.
Oh my God.
Nervousness and anticipation and tequila warred in my stomach, and the only conscious thought that crossed my mind was that I wished I could take a picture of this moment becauseholy fucking shit.
Yes, Teenage Jay, dreams really do come true. It sometimes just takes decades longer than you wanted it to.
“You know, there’s a whole comfy bed-type-thing over there.” I nodded nervously at the mostly dark room. “We could try that out.”
His eyes flashed up at me. “Oh, we will.” He leaned forward to run his nose over my belly button, then mouthed the tip of my dick through the fabric of my underwear. “At least once.”
Gah. I was a guy who’d always enjoyed sex, even during the years when it had been a little dirty and a little dangerous and a little transactional. Heck, sometimesbecauseit had been dirty and dangerous and transactional. But I’d never wanted anyone as much as I wanted Rafe in that moment. My body was literally shaking with it, a fucking tuning fork humming at precisely Rafe’s pitch. I didn’t know what to do with my hands, so I splayed them against the cool wall behind me. I felt like the most virginal virgin.
“Please,” I whimpered. “Please put your mouth on me.”
Another brush of lips over my cock head through my underwear, along with a rush of warm, damp air.
“Make. Me.”
And then suddenly I knew exactly where my hands belonged. I grabbed two fistfuls of Rafe’s hair and yanked firmly.
“Take me out and suck me off,” I commanded—as much as anyonecouldcommand when their voice was all breathy and wrecked.
“Fuck, yes,” Rafe growled.
He pulled my jeans down to my thighs, then unlaced one boot so I could shimmy one leg out, which might have felt awkward if he hadn’t been staring at my bobbing cock the whole time like it was an ice-cold drink and he’d been wandering in the desert for months.
I traced the shape of his mouth with my fingertips—the full lower lip, the graceful arch, all the things I’d seen in my dreams for years. “I want you, Rafe Goodman. I want you so much.”
Rafe’s only answer was to grab the base of my cock in one hand and suck me all the way to the back of his throat.
“Yesssss.”
Thiswas the kind of thing I imagined blow jobs would be, back when I’d first started imagining them. Not just the heat and the—holymotherfuckerJesusLord—suction, but the man staring up at me. The intimacy and trust. Rafe’s eyes watered and his cheeks were flushed, but he didn’t look away. He wanted to see me come apart… because he wantedme.
I made a whimpering noise and held his head more firmly, moving my hips against him helplessly.
He let go of my cock and brought both hands behind me to knead my ass and encourage me to fuck his mouth.Unhngh.
Once again for the mental scrapbook: my Rafe was on his knees for me. My Rafe wanted me to fuck his mouth.
I didn’t know exactly what we were doing together—everything between us, positive and negative, seemed focused on the past, and I couldn’t foresee a happy future for us together any more than I ever could—but I was determined to enjoy it while it lasted.
So I focused on how damn good he felt—his hands clutching my ass hard enough to leave finger bruises, his tongue swirling over the mushroom head of my cock on the upstroke before sucking me back into the snug perfection of his throat, the way his groan begged me without words for more and more and more.
I came so hard I was pretty sure my vital organs shifted and my equilibrium got all fucked-up, and if I hadn’t been holding on to Rafe’s head—clutching him like a life preserver—I would have fallen over before he’d finished swallowing me down.
“Christ, you taste good. Better than I ever dreamed.”
He’d dreamed of me?
“Come up,” I demanded, pulling at his shoulders with hands as weak as overcooked spaghetti. “Come here.”
He surged to his feet, and I kissed him, hard and filthy, moaning as I tasted myself on his tongue.
