I like it so much that I want to rub it all over my body. Because of my position, that’s not possible. Instead, I lean in and rub my face on it. Cheeks, nose, jaw.
Lips.
The second my lips touch him, a new level of awareness, of want, is woken.
I take him in both hands and angle him down so he’s an inch or two from my lips. I lean in unhurriedly, savoring everything about the experience, watching as his slit comes into focus and blurs out as I get closer.
I kiss him lightly. Sweetly. Almost chastely.
I expect him to gasp or react, but he doesn’t, so maybe he was expecting the contact. Maybe he was bracing for it.
I look up and see the sunrise in his eyes. Soft, dusty hues pour out of him and settle on me. Gentle rays land on my face. They’re warm and inviting. Fire with no fury. Light burning away darkness.
He looks down at me and a familiar smile skips over my skin.
“Lennon,” he whispers, reaching out and stroking one side of my face. He does it again. His hand sweeps across my cheek, then my temple. His fingers are on my brow, smoothing it, and then following the line of it into my hair. “Lennon.” This time, his voice shakes. “I’m so into you.”
I open my mouth and take him inside it like it’s the most natural thing in the world. Like something I’ve done before, many times, for him. He fills my mouth completely, pressing mytongue down and making it necessary to swallow repeatedly to stop myself from drooling.
This time, he does gasp. His fingers tighten in my hair, and his breath hisses in and out of him.
I know exactly how he feels. He did this to me last night. He took me into his mouth and laved me with his tongue. I know how his cheeks feel on the inside, when they’re hollowed. And what the back of his throat feels like when he swallows. I know what his tongue feels like when it teases the underside of my head.
I want him to know all these things about me too. Thinking like this wakes an intense circular sense of want. Of desire. Of gratification. I sink down on him and take him in as far as I can. He steadies me, caging my face in his hands, not letting me take more than I can handle.
I know what he’s doing. I’m on my knees, and he’s fucking my mouth, but he’s also taking care of me. He wants what I’m giving him, but he wants it to be good for me as much as he wants it for himself. Maybe more.
The thought of that, that he’s good, that he’s Connor, that he’s The Spark, and he’s taking pleasure from me and giving it back, sinks into my bones and makes them sizzle. It drives me wild in a new way. A slow way that unfurls with a strong sense of inevitability. Inescapability. A true and deep understanding that what’s happening between us was destined to happen rather than being a consequence of my actions.
I use my hand and my mouth on him, sliding my other arm around him and hungrily groping big handfuls of his ass. The feeling of that, his ass cheeks, his smooth, warm skin in my hand, and his hard, hot dick in my throat does something to me.
It lights up part of my brain I wasn’t aware of before, but I am now. I really, really am.
Fireworks go off. Pleasure centers react to every tiny sound Connor makes. Every breath he takes. Every shiver that racks him. I feel his pleasure as if it’s my own, and I chase it. At first, the chase is distant. A leisurely pursuit. But it quickly grows necessary for living. Necessary for survival.
I increase my speed, sucking harder when I pull my head back and sinking my mouth onto him deeper when I dive down. I use my hand in time with my mouth. It’s not difficult. It’s easy. It comes easily to me. I’m a well-oiled machine. I was made for this.
His fingers knot in my hair, pulling until my scalp stings.
My mind sings.
Connor’s body stiffens—his abs, his legs, his ass cheeks—and then he freezes. For that moment when he’s motionless, I’m hungry. I’m starving, suffering.
And then a salty eruption floods my mouth and spills down my throat.
Afterward, Connor falters and sags, and I catch him as his knees give way. I pull him toward me, onto me, into my open arms, and hold him like he’s the most fragile, most solid, most real and unreal thing I’ve ever come into contact with.
By the time we have the presence of mind to move onto the sofa, we’re no longer two separate beings. We’ve merged at the seams. I stretch out, and he lies across my legs, arms wound around my neck. We tell each other important things and nonsense things. We laugh and kiss, and by the time our food arrives, I have no pants on. Connor throws a blanket over my legs before pulling his jeans up and answering the door with me sitting there, somewhat covered but butt naked, a few feet away.
I giggle like a fucking idiot the entire time the delivery guy is at the door, and so does Connor. Poor guy probably thinks we’re high.
And maybe we are.
My head is spinning, and I’m relaxed, likesuperrelaxed, and if the way the light is distorting around Connor’s head is anything to go by, there’s a good chance my sensory perception has been altered.
I move my head, tracking Connor as he brings the food in, and the room tilts slowly onto its side.
Yup. I’m high. Definitely high.
