His hands go to my shirt and I help him, because he's being too slow and I'm impatient. It joins his on the floor. Then my hands are on his waistband, fingers hooking into the elastic of those sweatpants, feeling the heat radiating from his body. "These are coming off."
"Yeah, they are."
I shove them down over his hips, down his thighs, and he steps out of them. And there it is. His cock, hard and flushed dark at the tip, thick and perfect, already leaking. A bead of precum catches the light from the windows, glistening. I've seen it already, tasted it, but it's different now. Now we have time. Nosteering wheel in the way. No public parking lot. Just us and this massive bed and the city lights bearing witness.
He's working on my jeans, fingers fumbling slightly with the button in his eagerness. He pops it open, drags down the zipper, and I help him, shoving them down along with my boxers, kicking them off until they're lost somewhere in the darkness of his bedroom floor.
And then we're both naked.
We stand like that for a moment, inspecting. Appreciating. The city lights paint stripes across his body, blue and gold cutting across his chest, his abs, highlighting every cut of muscle, every plane and angle. His cock juts out from his body, thick and demanding attention, and I want to touch it, taste it, feel it everywhere.
"You're gorgeous," he breathes, and his eyes are roaming over me like he's trying to memorize every detail.
"Back at you."
He moves toward me and I let him back me up toward the bed. The backs of my knees hit the mattress and I sit, the sheets cool against my overheated skin, then scoot back toward the headboard. Ace follows me down, crawling over me on hands and knees, crowding over me, and the sight of him like this, predatory and focused, makes my cock twitch.
Our mouths meet again, just as his cock brushes against mine and we both groan at the contact, the sound swallowed by our kiss. The feeling is electric, skin on skin, hard flesh against hard flesh.
"Fuck," Ace breathes, pulling back slightly. He looks down between us, at where our cocks are pressed together, andhis expression is somewhere between awe and desperation, like he can't quite believe this is happening.
I reach down, wrapping my hand around both of us, my fingers not quite meeting around our combined girth. His hips jerk forward at the contact, seeking more.
"Devon—"
"Yeah. I know."
I stroke us together, slow and deliberate, feeling every inch of him against me. He's thick and hot and so fucking hard, his cock pulsing in my grip. The slide is good even without lube, our combined precum making everything slick and obscene. I can feel every ridge, every vein, the way his cock twitches when I squeeze just right.
Ace drops his forehead to my shoulder, breathing hard against my skin. "That's—fuck—that's really good."
"It gets better."
I speed up my strokes and his hips start moving, thrusting into my fist, and I match his rhythm. We find a pace together, moving in sync, and it's scorching. His breath comes in hot pants against my neck, and I can feel the tremor in his muscles. The way he's trying to hold back.
His hand covers mine, grip tightening, fingers threading between mine, and we stroke together, faster now, more desperate. The dual sensation, his hand and mine, his cock and mine, is overwhelming in the best way.
"Want to—" Ace's voice is wrecked, barely recognizable. "I want to taste you."
My brain stutters to a halt.
Becauseyes. God, yes. I want that. I want to see him on his knees. Watch him learn how to take me apart. Ineedit. His tongue, his throat, hiseverything. But…
He's nervous.
It's apparent in the tension of his body, in the way his muscles are coiled tight. I can see it in the way his eyes dart away when he says it. This is all new for him. And as much as I want it—and I really fucking do—I don't want him to feel like he has to. I don't want this to be the thing that spooks him, that makes him second-guess everything.
"Hey." I cup his face with my free hand, and make him look at me, my thumb stroking over his cheekbone. "You don't have to do that."
"But I want—"
"I know. And you will. But right now?" I rock my hips up, grinding against him, feeling the delicious friction of our cocks sliding together. "This is perfect. You're perfect."
He searches my face for something, and whatever he finds makes him relax, the tension bleeding out of his shoulders.
"Okay," he says. "Yeah. Okay."
I kiss him again, deep and slow, pouring everything I can't say into it. Then I shift, rolling us slowly so I can straddle his lap. His hands go to my hips automatically, holding me, those large palms spanning my hipbones. I align our cocks, pressing them together, and the angle is different like this—more direct. Intense.
