He holds up his hands in surrender. “I earned it. I earned it. I admit that.”
I swallow and tell myself that I am brave enough to ask what I want to ask him next. “Can I touch you, Adam? Don’t worry if you don’t want me to,” I add quickly, just in case I’m having a fever dream and have completely misinterpreted everything about this whole exchange—him admitting he’s attracted to me, telling me in detail how he masturbates to the thought of me, the wet spot on his pants now the size of a golf ball.
But thankfully, he doesn’t call me insane for such a question. He smiles and says, “Yeah. You can. Sure.”
I reach for the his belt buckle, and he says, “Whoa. I thought you meant—”
I pull back as though I had been burned. “I’m so sorry!”
“No, no.” He smiles. “I thought you meant you wanted to…touch my arm or something. Or get on top of me…and kiss me.”
I nod. “I mean, I do. But I wanted you to show me first, how you get yourself off. I want to see.”
“Ahh. Okay.” He winks at me and gives me the most mischievous grin.
I unbuckle his belt slowly, and he inhales sharply when the side of my hand grazes the hair trail below his belly button. “Are my hands cold?” I ask.
He shakes his head. “When you touch me. I can’t explain it. I’m so sensitive everywhere. I’m like a raw nerve around you.”
I furrow my brow. “Isn’t that painful?”
He shakes his head. “It’s just a figure of speech. Trust me, it’s not painful in the least.”
I nod and keep working on his trousers, finally unzipping them to reveal cobalt blue boxer briefs. I grab his cock through his boxers, pausing when he hisses out a breath. “That feels so good,” he explains before I ask if he’s okay.
“Sorry I’m so inexperienced at this,” I say.
“You’re doing just fine.” He lifts his head to watch me run my hand up and down his erection, squeezing at the tip a little bit when I make it there. “Fuck,” he whispers. When I do it again, he becomes completely incoherent and I find that I love it. I’ve never made anyone incoherent from just touching them lightly like this before. I feel so powerful. Like an ancient goddess who wasn’t just the deity of flowers, she was also the deity of trees and mountains and fortune and, yeah, making men come so hard, they forget their own names.
I really, really want to make Adam come so hard that he forgets his own name.
I slip my hand into the slit of his underwear, and when I palm him, I swallow a gasp at how hot he is. At how hard he is. This erection has got to be painful. I don’t care what he says. I don’t think any man can be as solid as a piece of granite for this long, leaving pre-cum all over his pants, and not at least feel the pain of not having orgasmed yet.
“Sky,” he moans when I give him a light squeeze.
“How do you get yourself off?” I ask him. I’m running my hand up and down his length now, slowly. When I gather the pre-cum in my hands and do it again, this time slicker, his whole body tenses.
“Like that. That’s good. Sometimes I go really fast. I pretend—” He chokes on his words when I squeeze him again, this time hard.
“Pretend what?” I ask with a tone of innocence.
“I pretend you’re on top of me, riding me. I’m watching you using my cock to make yourself feel good.”
I gradually increase the speed of my hand. “You like imagining me come?”
“Fuck yes.” The “yes” turns into a hiss when I jerk him off even faster. He moans, and then says through choked gasps, “I just love…have always loved…making a lover come. It’s the whole point to me. Her—” By now I’m going as fast as I can. The muscles in my forearms and wrist are burning (how often does he do this? Does he count this as a workout? Because he should), but I don’t care. Just watching him writhe and groan on the bed is such a treat. God, he’s so sexy.
His shirt has flung up a little, and I can see that the muscles inhis belly are completely flexed. He’s barely breathing. “Sky,” he gasps out. “I’m close.”
“Good.” I’m probably smirking, but I don’t even care. Being able to reduce a man to this with just a few passes of my hand is making me feel like I could become some significant world leader tomorrow if I wished.
He looks at me, his eyes begging me for something I don’t understand until he says what he says next. “I want to kiss you. Before I—please. I don’t want you to make me come before I kiss you.”
With my hand still wrapped around him, I lean over and press my lips to his. It’s just as intense as our first kiss, it’s almost like we’re kissing for the first time all over again: Adam, moaning against my mouth, as he comes and he comes all over us.
24
I go to my bathroomto rinse a clean washcloth in warm water, and return to help him clean up. “I’ll do that,” he says, but the words almost come out slurred. He’s practically catatonic.
