Except I don’t know what I’m waiting for. The uncertainty makes me anxious.
“I know,” he says, and I wonder if I spoke out loud, though it would be hard with the dick in my mouth, even partially. “I’ll take care of you.”
Slowly, he feeds himself farther in. When I go to tighten my lips around him, he makes a small warning noise, and I freeze.
“Good,” he says. “You’ve got such a nice mouth. Warm and wet. So pretty.” His cock presses heavily on my tongue, but before he reaches the back of it, he retreats so that he’s resting just on the tip once again. My heart is beating so fast as I struggle to hold still, waiting for his command. He goes back to stroking himself for a few more minutes before finally he lets himself go. “Now you can suck.”
And I do. Here at least is something I can contribute. I wrap my lips around him and suck him in. Mason exhales on a long sigh.
I take my time, getting to know him. His taste. The sounds he makes. He’s thick, but not so much that he’s uncomfortable in my mouth. I swirl my tongue over the ridged head, and his hips roll, pushing his length back inside. I try to take more of him, deeper than before.
“Good,” Mason says. “You feel so good.”
As I work him, I start to ache. My knees. My jaw. My neck. He hasn’t said I can touch him, and I guess I could put my hands on his thighs, to see what happens, but I’m not feeling brave enough. Gavin’s tolerance for transgressions was short. If I touched him when I wasn’t supposed to, he’d take it out on my skin. But, now, without a hand to steady me or hold onto Mason’s cock, it’s hard to explore quite as much as I like.
The situation gets a bit more urgent as Mason groans, tipping his head back against the wall, and starts to pump his hips. With my palms still at my sides, I have no way of controlling his movement.
“Jesus.” He’s still got all his clothes on, but he’s pulled his shirt halfway up his chest as he strokes over his broad, hairy belly. “Your mouth is even better than I imagined.”
And here’s the thing. I should be flattered that he imagined my mouth at any point. And I even like to think I’m pretty good at giving head. But what I am not good at is letting a guy fuck my throat, because I have a gag reflex that’s as delicate as a sheet of tissue paper in a thunderstorm. And as much as I want Mason to enjoy himself, if he pushes much farther into the back of my mouth, things are going to get embarrassing very quickly.
But as his pants slip off his hips and he pulls his shirt up higher so he can tug at a nipple, I realize that I’m going to try. Because whatever sweatpants-induced fantasies I may have been harboring about him, the reality is even better. He’s tall and firm, with solid thighs and a chest I want to cuddle against. I can always peppermint schnapps him if I have to, but I’d rather make him happy so he gives me a chance to touch more of him in the future.
“Charlie.” His voice is rough when he says my name. I clench my fists against my thighs. I can do this. I can take him. It’s okay if it’s not pretty. That’s the whole point. If he enjoys himself, I’ve done my job.
But every time I think he’s about to push over the back of my tongue, he retreats again. His hands drop down to my hair, and it would be nothing for him to grab hold and force himself in, but he doesn’t. Frustration boils in my veins. Does he think I’m too fragile? I squeeze my eyes tight, working him faster, trying to get myself to relax. When I gag, I pause long enough for a single breath before I try again, even as my nose runs and my eyes water.
“Stop,” he says, voice deep, and this time I freeze as a new fear takes hold. Maybe he didn’t plan to come in my throat. I haven’t been listening to him, trying to anticipate what he wants. I got hung up on my own—well—hang-ups instead and maybe I’ve spoiled everything anyway.
“You okay?” he says, a frown furrowing his brows.
“Yeah. Great.” My smile feels forced against my cheeks, and I hide it by pressing my face to his leg, where the curly hairs at his groin tickle my nose.
His hand’s still on my head, though, and he tilts me back so I have to look up at him again.
“Really?”
“Fine.” I take a chance and run my hands up his thighs, thumbs stroking the sensitive skin on the inside. His dick bobs in appreciation, and he doesn’t smack me away, but he doesn’t look happy either.
“You’re enjoying yourself?”
“Of course.” But less and less so, the longer he asks questions like these. I just want him to tell me what to do.
He glances down, hopefully not in the direction of my waning erection. But those hopes are dashed when Mason says, “Touch yourself.”
Both my irritation and confidence falter. I feel like I’m leaving a job half done.
“Now?”
“I just told you to. Show me how good you are at listening.” His voice hardens, and for a moment, I’d almost forgotten what roles we were playing here. I swallow as my hands go to my fly. “Did I say to undo your pants?”
My gaze flies back up to his face. “No?”
Mason arches an eyebrow. “Then you know what to do.”
I mean...technically. I grip myself through my jeans. I’m only half-hard by now, and the sensation isn’t very exciting. All I can think is I’ve done something wrong, and I don’t know what, and that’s not the sort of thing that turns me on.
“Now stroke it,” Mason says.
