It’s fucking euphoric.
His kisses alone send shockwaves through my body. My palms still burn bright, alight with need, from the way I greedily explored his body before and with the memory of the way his cock felt seared into my skin. The way my brain singularly wants more—more of whatever Brooks intends to let me use him for.
I want all of it. I want all ofhim.
I want him inside me, and for me to be inside him.
Now, one thing strikes me as painfully true with that statement, after what we just did—maybe I’m a little late in having this revelation about myself, being in my thirties, but my attraction is definitely being with a man… and only a man. Never did I experience such blinding need like this ever when I was intimate with Miranda—before she gave up on me entirely, years ago. Here it is—my truth, I’m certain of it now: I am one hundred percent a gay man.
This defies every preconceived stereotype I’ve ever known about gay men, ones that society—or at least the little bubble I’ve grown up in—has taught me to believe. Ones that shitty, niggling voice in my head has ingrained into me since I hit puberty. I always pictured being gay as being someone like Kai—a flamboyant himbo.
But Brooks seems hell-bent on proving to me otherwise. He’s proven to me already that gay can present differently with differentindividuals—because no one truly is a carbon copy of anyone else. I never would have guessed that Brooks used to be on a swim team, a cheerleader, a voluntary girl-dad, a cat daddy, or enjoyed photographing butterflies.
Hell, as hard as it is to rewire my brain to continue to admit I’m gay, having suppressed the truth for years—from the outside looking in, I would never have guessed someone like me was, because I don’t feel like I’ve presented that way. In fact, I’ve done everything in my power to emulate masculinity.
I became really fucking good at creating a façade.
Makes me wonder just how many times I’ve misjudged others who are doing the same exact thing. Makes me feel like an ass for comments I could have made, trying to cover up my truth, that could have hurt other people—or worse, repressed them. How many times have off-handed comments driven me further into the hole of feeling like I’m nothing more than trash for having the thoughts, the feelings, I do? Too many times to count.
“Evan,” Brooks sighs, nudging me from my mental spiral, concern etched all over his gorgeous face, “what’s going on in that head of yours? Talk to me. I can help you. Whatever you were thinking about, just now, it looks painful. Are you having second thoughts about what we just did? Was I too much?”
I shake my head. “That was perfect.You’reperfect.”
He scoffs. “Hardly. Then wh—”
“I saidyou’re perfect,” I cut him off, repeating myself to make it clear. I hate the way Brooks talks down about himself. He can’t accept a compliment, I’ve noticed.
“I’m not,” he tries to rebut again, but if he had anything more to add to that, he doesn’t get to say it, because I staunch any chance hegets to spew more self-deprecating bullshit by sealing his mouth with a kiss.
His eyes widen with surprise, before he gives in and returns it. I plant my feet on the rocks below, and with my mouth never leaving his, I pick up each of his legs and guide them to wrap around my waist again. He locks his hands together behind my neck, and while still making out like horny teenagers, I walk us out of the water, up the shore, and over to our tent.
Dripping water everywhere, and consequences of that be damned, I tear into the tent with so much force I nearly rip the zipper off its track. As if he’s weightless, I haul him over my shoulder, and drag him in with me, caveman style. He chuckles lightly, until he adjusts himself up on his elbows and finally regards me. When he sees my heated gaze, the levity dies.
“Evan,” he whispers, “aren’t you worried about moving too fast?”
I shake my head. “I’ve already lost too much time denying how I truly feel. If you’re giving yourself over to me—if we only have tonight—I’m going to make the most of it. Show me everything.”
He tilts his head, certainly confused by my sudden desire to maul him, but that only shows me an opening. On my hands and knees, I advance, my mouth lured to the column of his neck now exposed to me. I nip and lick my way down it, down his bare chest with just the tiniest smattering of hair, and stop when I get to his dusky, pebbled nipple.
My mouth hovers as I shoot him a daring look. An unspoken request for approval that what I want to do is right. The heat from my breaths has his head arching back. “I told you to use me however you want me, Evan. There is no right or wrong here.”
On that, my tongue flicks at the bud, before I wrap my lips around his nipple. I suck, lick, nip and lavish it with attention, all whilemassaging his other pec. Getting a feel for just how this doesn’t feel like what I’m used to—it feels better, because the moans and groans I’m pulling out of him flood me with desire.
I feel wanted. Truly fucking desired. I feel worshiped, even though I’m the one doing the worshiping.
My eyes flit down to his lap, and I watch as his cock refills, stretching to face me. I keep my eyes glued on the sight as my mouth travels down his ribs, licking and tracing the lines of his barely there abs on his soft belly, until I get to his navel and I start peppering kisses down the trail of thin tract of hair that leads me to more. His breath hitches when I hover over his veiny, practically purple with need, cock. The smooth head glistens with a bead of pre-cum that forms—a shining temptation for me to try more.
I alternate blowing cool air and puffing warming breaths on it, just to watch and see if it twitches, the way my own would. It does, and Brooks groans. “Such a tease,” he huffs out. “Are you going to suck me? I mean, only if you want to try it, that is…”
I grin. He wants me to. He’s just too shy to blatantly ask for what he wants.
Me. A complete novice, he wants me to suck his dick. He wants me just as badly as I’m craving him—maybe if not more. To feel this needed, it’s foreign. It’s foreign, but I really fucking like it.
I want nothing more than to watch him writhe and whimper some more. I want to watch the way he lets go and comes for me again. I want that more than I worry about my inexperience. I’m here to practice, after all.
Seeing as though there’s only one way to find out if I’ve got any talent with my mouth, I go for it. I open, flattening my tongue, and lick a broad stripe up his long, delicious cock.
Chapter Fifteen
