The weight of that landed in my hands where they rested on his thighs.
"Then tell me what feels good," I said. "That's all you have to do."
He slipped his fingers into my hair and closed them into a fist. His grip was certain, even if the rest of him wasn't.
I leaned in and kissed him. Took my time. Let my mouth travel along his jaw to the spot below his ear where his pulse hammered. He tipped his head back.
His shirt rucked up when my palms slid along his sides, and the skin was warm, muscles tensing under my hands.
When I kissed his stomach, just above the waistband, his hips shifted toward me. A flash of self-consciousness — pulling back — then forward again when my thumb traced the line of his hipbone and I pressed my lips there.
"Still good?"
"Yeah." It was an exhale shaped like a word.
I got his waistband down. He helped.
My lips closed around the head of his cock.
"Ffff—" He couldn't get more out.
I went slowly. Listened. The hitch in his breathing that meantthere.How his thigh tensed when I found a rhythm that worked.
He came undone in stages. Shoulders first, the held tension releasing. Then his breathing, which stopped trying to stay quiet and became ragged and open. Then his hands, which tangled into my hair again and gently pulled.
He said my name. Quiet and wrecked.
"Heath."
I stayed with him. His thighs shook.
"I'm—" He couldn't finish it. His hips rocked forward, in rhythm with my mouth. I put my hand flat against his stomach and held him where he was.
He reached the edge and, for a few seconds, went completely silent. Then a raw sound I'd never heard anyone make, something he'd spot-welded shut as a teenager, finally giving way.
His whole body tensed and then gave. I felt it in his stomach under my palm.
I stayed through all of it. Kept my mouth on his cock. Swallowing, while his hand trembled against my scalp.
His breathing came back in stages. Ragged. Then shaky.
I sat back on my heels and looked up at him.
His eyes were wet. Not crying. Just open.
He pulled me up by my t-shirt. Kissed me hard, tasting himself on my mouth and not flinching from it.
"Okay?" I asked against his lips.
"Yeah," he said. His voice dropped to a whisper: "I didn't know it could be like that."
His grip loosened slowly.
He reached forward and pressed a hand flat over my heartbeat. "Your turn."
"You don't have to—"
"I know I don't have to." His eyes were clear. "I want to."
