I began to palm him through the fabric, and he sucked in a sharp breath. That seemed to feel good for him so I rubbed his length back and forth, and I immediately noticed a wet patch forming at the tip as he let out a frustrated whine.
“Did you…” I wondered in confusion because I’d barely done anything yet.
“No,” he assured me, “keep going, that’s just the start of it.”
Oh?
I then reached for the hem of his pants and slowly tugged them down until his length was revealed to me, the tip glistened with the precursor to his completion. Clear and sticky, I pressed my legs together and my mouth watered at the sight of him. He sat up and grabbed ahold of my hand, he took my thumb into his mouth and sucked on it in a way that made me open my own mouth in shock at this side of him I’d never seen before—that had been awakened by me.
Watching the way he sucked on my thumb as though it were something else entirely, looking up at me with the captivating deer-like brown eyes. He then did the same with my index fingerand allowed saliva to drip all over my palm, I then realized that that was his intent. “Use it,” he instructed, and I smirked.
I immediately used his spit to grab ahold of his throbbing, hard, slippery length, pumping him up and down slowly, watching his tip disappear and reappear even more soaked than before. “Hm, and I thought I was wet.”
“Please,” he begged. “Just for you.”
I never thought I’d see the day I had Olympic figure skating champion Wynter Kwon begging me to make him cum all over my hand.
I moved my hand faster and noticed how sensitive he was on the spot just below my thumb, and so I focused more there and that certainly drove him off the rails—he was covering his mouth so he didn’t make any noise considering my brother was right next door.
“I’m close,” he warned me, “I haven’t…in a long time. Maybe I should grab a towel beforehand?”
“I don’t care,” I assured him, “I did this because I wanted you to come for me. Everywhere.”
He closed his eyes and bit down on his own moans as I moved my hands faster, creating my own pace that made him feel good. I grabbed ahold of his other hand that gripped the sheets in a way that said “you can let go, I’m here. I’ll still be here when you come down.” And at that he throbbed in my hand and thick, continuous ropes of his completion covered my hand and my baby blue pajama top too—he couldn’t control it. The sounds that fell past his lips made me want to do it all over again.
“Keep going,” he asked.
“Isn’t too much?” I questioned.
“I want it to be,” he insisted, and I did as he asked, continuing my movements. “Ah—ah.”
I didn’t know he liked it this way, when it was overwhelming. He fascinated me—all the filthy things that were once secret,once hidden from me, were now mine to hold and treasure. No one in the world could take away the fact that I knew how Wynter liked to fuck. That he liked it to drive him into oblivion.
I continued until he was a mess in my arms, shuddering from the overstimulating sensations.
My sweet, gentle boy, he collapsed in my arms.
The room was silent now, the heater hummed and there was a soft rustle of the sheets. Wynter lay sprawled on his back, his chest rising and falling in a steady rhythm, his eyes half-lidded with exhaustion. A warm flush still colored his cheeks, his hair a tousled mess against the pillow.
I traced lazy circles on his bare shoulder, watching his lips curve into a tired, contented smile. “You okay?” I asked softly, my voice barely above a whisper.
He nodded, his eyes fluttering closed. “More than okay,” he murmured, his words slurring slightly.
I pressed a kiss to his temple, savoring the warmth of his skin against my lips. “Stay here,” I said, slipping out of bed.
“Where’re you going?” he mumbled, reaching for me instinctively.
“Just getting a few things,” I assured him, gently brushing his hand away. “I’ll be right back.”
The cool air prickled my skin as I padded into the bathroom. Grabbing a warm, damp washcloth and one of his oversized T-shirts from the hamper, I made my way back to the bed.
Wynter hadn’t moved, his body sinking deeper into the mattress as if the weight of the world had finally let him go. Hiseyes flickered open when I returned, watching me with a soft, sleepy gaze.
“Hey,” I said gently, sitting beside him. “Let me take care of you.”
He didn’t protest, his body pliant as I carefully wiped his chest and neck with the cloth. The damp heat of it seemed to soothe him, and he let out a quiet sigh, the tension melting from his frame.
“Too much?” I asked, pausing when I noticed him flinch slightly.
