The arm around my throat tightened as he came, a strangled grunt tearing out of his throat. “You fucking tease.”
He shoved me back onto the bed, his hand pressed against the center of my back as he slammed into me two more times before going completely still. Sweat fell from his body, spattering against my back, and his cock throbbed, stretching to fill me as he poured his release into the condom.
“Come again for me,” he demanded, sliding his hand down my spine toward my hip. He grabbed me, fingers digging into my skin as he buried himself deeper.
I forced my hand between my legs. There wasn’t much room between my stomach and the sheets, and I knew he wasn’t going to make it any easier for me. The bedding was cold and sticky, catching against the swollen skin of my erection as I jacked myself into another orgasm. I was close. I’d been close for a very long time, but my body held out, as if it knew the payoff would be worth the wait.
Miles’s fingers slipped from the sweat, scrabbling against me as my balls tightened and released. There wasn’t much left in my body, but the force of my orgasm was just as strong, if not stronger, than the first one. I cried out, burying my face into the sheets to muffle the volume. Sucking in a breath, the sheets flattened against my tongue, and my scream turned into a whimper. A desperate little noise that proved exactly how spent I was.
Miles bent and shifted my legs, turning me onto my back with his cock still inside of me. The sheets were half wrapped around my thigh, tangled around my pulsating cock and my trembling hand. He untangled me entirely and raised my hand to his mouth, sucking one finger at a time against his tongue.
He tasted me, savored me, his eyes closing with pleasure as he swirled his tongue around each of my knuckles until my skin was clean. Only after that did he pull out of me, sliding off the bed and onto the floor. He hauled me to the edge, hooking my knees over his shoulders, and with no hesitation, he buried his face in my ass. Miles laved his tongue over my hole, French kissing my ass with as much devotion as he’d earlier paid to my mouth. He slurped and sucked, and my only regret was that he’d worn a condom because the visual of him sucking his cum out of my hole was enough to bring life back to my already well-used dick.
Miles ate my ass, then licked his way up to my balls, taking them into the heat of his mouth until my entire body was covered in gooseflesh. I fisted the sheets, bucking off the bed. My balls slipped out of his mouth and he worked his way up, licking my cock clean of the sweat and cum, and higher still. He used his tongue to wet and loosen the dried clumps of cum on my skin and in my chest hair, and higher more to my throat, my chin, until he finally reached my mouth.
I was desperate for him then, panting and writhing, the signals in my brain mixed and positively shot. He hesitated, that damned arrogant smirk on his face like he knew exactly what he’d done to me. But he’d been wrong earlier with what he said. The problem shouldn’t have ever been him not wanting to fall in love with me. It should have been me not wanting to fall in love with him.
Because in that moment, I saw it. The arrogance was confidence, the smugness nothing more than competence. Miles was a smart-mouthed man, a dangerous threat to my body, and even more so to my heart.
I was gone for him.
Helpless and hopeless, no amount of space between us would ever change the fact that in less than two hours, he’d ruined me for other men entirely.
“I think that we should do this again sometime,” he whispered, “Don’t you agree?”
I found the strength to raise my head off the bed and bring our mouths together.
The answer was—and always would be—yes.
CHAPTERTEN
Miles
I hadn’t beenable to close my eyes without my brain recalling—with startlingly concise clarity—what the head of Hendrix’s cock looked like with cum shooting out the tip of it.
There was unfortunately no polite way to tell a near stranger that I wanted him to go get tested so I could come so deep inside of him that he’d be leaking my jizz down his thigh for a week, so I allowed my brain to entertain its new obsession for the time being. But it had been days at this point. Days since I’d wasted a perfectly satisfactory load into a condom instead of Hendrix’s ass. Days since I had my fingers so far down his throat I practically fucked his esophagus. And worse than that, days since I’dseenhim at all.
I’d gotten his number before going back home on Friday night. Because of course I went home after we’d fucked instead of staying. Staying would have only accelerated my downfall and I wanted to appreciate him for at least a little bit longer. I aftercared him as much as we both needed: cleaning him up, getting him fed, and tucking him into bed with a large glass of water. I told him I was going to go home, and I could tell by the down-turned corners of his mouth that he hated the idea, though he didn’t protest. I stayed until he fell asleep, which surely must have scored mesomepoints at least. And after he finally succumbed to sleep, I kissed him on the forehead and went home.
Part of me had wanted to see if he would text me first, and he did, and that was like putting a brick on the gas pedal, so I ignored him for hours. I waited until after lunch on Saturday—but before dinner—to reply. Maybe it was a fuck boy thing to do, but wasn’t that who I was? Who I’d allowed myself to become? The problem was, after breaking up with Grayson in my early twenties, I’d realized the kind of man I wanted didn’t exist. The kind of partner I would settle down for was a pipe dream, and man after woman after man proved that to be true.
Until him.
Fucking Hendrix Whatever-his-last-name-is.
“You look like someone shit in your cereal.” Grayson stumbled down the hallway, half dressed in black leather pants and not much else. He was freshly showered, hair still damp and flattened against his forehead.
I was sitting at the dining room table, ignoring a pile of work that I should have tended to on Friday and nursing what was left of a room temperature beer.
“You look like you spent the past fifteen minutes trying to pour your thighs into those pants. Are those the same ones you’ve always had?”
“What’s wrong with them?” He looked down at his legs, dropping into a squat to test the resilience of the animal hide.
“Nothing. You’re just not the same twenty-two year-old twink Dom you used to be.” I snapped the lid of my laptop closed, the idea of working too much to handle with the memory of Hendrix’s cum-soaked cock in my brain.
Grayson narrowed his eyes at me, but brushed past me into the kitchen to get a drink of water. I shuffled my papers around, making a neat pile for Monday, then swiped open my phone to re-read the exchange with Hendrix from earlier in the night.
Hendrix: Thank you again for last night.
