“Do you want to see it?” I ask, my voice rougher now with arousal.
After a brief pause, he nods, the movement slight but unmistakable.
I withdraw my thumb from his mouth, leaving a wet trail across his bottom lip. Holding his gaze, I push my shorts down just enough to free my cock. It springs up, fully erect, the head already glistening with pre-cum.
Owen’s eyes widen, his lips parting in an unconscious gesture of want. I watch his reaction, cataloging each micro-expression—the flare of his nostrils, the quickening of his pulse visible at his throat, the way his hands grip the armrests more tightly.
I wrap my hand around my length, stroking from base to tip. Another drop of pre-cum forms at the slit, and I spread it with my thumb, making the head glisten in the afternoon light.
“Do you like what you see?”
Owen nods, unable to tear his gaze away.
“Do you want to taste it?”
His eyes dart up to mine, uncertainty warring with desire. Then he nods again.
“Open your mouth,” I instruct. “Stick out your tongue.”
He complies, his pink tongue extending past his lips. The sight of it—of his willing submission—sends another surge of pre-cum beading at my tip.
“Good boy,” I murmur, cradling the back of his head with one hand while the other guides my cock to his waiting mouth.
I drag the head across his extended tongue, watching his eyes roll back. A shudder runs through him, his hands flexing against the armrests.
“You like how I taste,” I observe, not a question but a statement of fact.
I continue this teasing, drawing my cock across his tongue, letting him sample but not giving him more. My hand on the back of his head holds him steady, controlling his movements. He takes what I give him without trying to take more—another sign of his natural inclination toward submission.
“Now suck,” I command. “Just the head. No more.”
He closes his lips around the crown of my cock, creating a gentle suction that pulls a groan from deep in my chest. The sound echoes in the quiet room, loud enough that I worry about being heard in the hallway.
The wet heat of his mouth is exquisite. His inexperience is evident in the tentative nature of his movements, but what he lacks in technique he makes up for in enthusiasm. His eyes close in concentration as he explores this new experience.
I glance down at his lap, noting that the damp spot on his shorts has grown. His hips shift, seeking friction that isn’t there. He’s enjoying this—not just enduring it, but taking pleasure in the act of pleasing me.
The sight of him—golden hair falling across his forehead, those full lips stretched around my cock, the flush of desire coloring his cheeks—pushes me closer to the edge. I’ve been aroused since the waterfall, since feeling his hardness againstmine behind that curtain of water. The buildup has been intense, my control fraying with each passing moment.
“Open your mouth again,” I order, pulling back. “Give me your tongue.”
He complies, his eyes opening to meet mine. They’re glazed with desire, pupils blown wide.
I grip myself firmly, stroking with purpose now. “You want to taste me, Owen? Want me to come on that pretty tongue of yours?”
He nods, looking up at me with an expression of innocent hunger that undoes me. With a few more powerful strokes, I’m coming, my release spurting across his waiting tongue with an intensity that draws a guttural growl from my throat. Wave after wave crashes through me as I watch my cum painting his tongue, his lips, dripping down his chin.
He doesn’t flinch or pull away. He moans at the taste, his eyes half-closing. When I finish, he closes his mouth, swallowing everything I’ve given him.
“Fuck,” I breathe, watching his throat work. “Good boy. So good for me.”
His hand moves toward his own erection, still straining against his shorts. I catch his wrist, stopping him.
“No,” I say firmly. “That’s mine.”
5
Owen
