“Keep this position,” he says, and then his mouth is on my dick.
I groan as he swallows me, bringing me straight to the back of his mouth. It’s more than a challenge to keep my position as he has me when he works his hot, wet mouth over my dick. My eyes roll as the arousal that’s been simmering all day suddenly, urgently climbs to a boil.
“Dylan,” I whine, hips coming up as he sucks me hard. I can fuck for hours. Literal hours. I’m an expert at riding dick. I have stamina for days and the flexibility of a hockey player to boot.
But a mouth on my cock when they know what they’re doing? Not so much. I might as well be a five-minute man. It’s there. Just there.
Dylan pulls away, and an undignified whimper leaves me. “Pose good for me, Larson,” he coos. “Then I’ll fuck you right here as long as you want.”
I whine as he adjusts my cock, urging it to stand up.
“Mm,” he hums. “Such a perfect dick. Not so big and heavy that it can’t stand up like a flagpole for me. Good sexy man. Hold just like this.”
I watch him, trying my best not to whine, when he moves away and crouches down on his stomach to aim the camera. I hear the click of the shutter and then the sky lights up with fireworks. They progressively get louder, brighter, covering the sky like rain.
My chest heaves as I try to watch the magic of the night. I’m sure there’s magic in fireworks. Especially when they seem to hold the same frequency as my beating heart.Boom. Buboom. Boomboom. Boom.
Dylan’s suddenly there. He may be half my size, but he still manages to have me up and flipped a full one-eighty, so my body is no longer oriented with my feet angled toward the ground. Now my head is and my blood rushes.
He has my knees bent to my shoulders and his cock at my hole, expertly working himself inside me. I feel slightly dizzy with the way my blood runs to my head, heightening the pleasure of his dick stretching me. Invading me. Jabbing my prostate.
My vision is slightly blurred as he pounds into me. There’s nothing to hang onto where I can prevent myself from slidingright off the roof with one harsh thrust. Dylan looks ethereal with the fireworks exploding beyond his head.
“Like this, do you?” Dylan asks. “Like the way I fuck you?”
I nod. “You can fuck me harder if you want,” I manage to get out in a fractured sentence.
“Yeah?” He does exactly as I offer. My entire body shudders and shakes with every hard penetration.
Feels so good. “All night,” I grunt. “Make me cum with the morning light.”
Dylan grins, but then we’re lost in the moment.
Chapter Eleven
DYLAN
Larson wentto the gym for a few hours this morning, so I decided I’d head into the studio to do some editing. I’m the only one here, which gives me the freedom to crank the music and focus on the computer for a while.
I have my images from last night. The ones I took of Larson on my roof as the fireworks went off. I’m hoping I managed to capture a very specific shot. I push the disk into the slot and pull them up, slowly flicking through, and looking for the absolutely perfect image.
“Ha!” I shout in triumph. There it is. The money shot. Larson stretched out on his back, arched slightly, his expression illuminated by the fireworks and clearly aroused.
But what I was looking for was his dick standing up, looking like he’s the one spewing fireworks. Angle perfect. Timing perfect. I captured the exact right one.
I get up and do a little dance. Fuck yes. That’s hot. Hot, hot, hot.
For the next hour, I go through the pictures from Larson’s three photoshoots and clean them all up before uploading them to the server, attaching them to their appointments, which allows the Memory Department—yes, that’s a thing—to access them upon request. Because these are boudoir, they’re coded in such a way that they can’t be used for advertisements.
Then I choose my fifty favorites and add them to a photo album before picking up my phone and making a call. I’m calling in so many favors lately. Who even am I?
“I thought you were closed today,” Dennis says when he answers.
“I am. No appointments. It’s only me here, and I’m editing. Listen, I need a favor.”
“Of course you do. That’s the only time you call.”
“You sound like a jilted one-night stand,” I point out.
