Sliding my tongue around him, another spurt of precum filled my mouth, and I groaned. He thrust up into me, and I repeated the favor. The give and take was enough to make me lose my shit, but Xander pushed the envelope. His hands went from caressing and massaging the muscles of my back and legs to toying with my hole and pinching and twisting my nipples the way he knew drove me nuts.
Pressing a finger into my mouth alongside his dick to get it good and wet, I returned the favor, playing with his balls and teasing his hole. What I wouldn’t give to breach him, to feel his ass wrapped around my fingers or cock when he came.
And he was close to doing just that.
But then, so was I.
The dancing tingles of pleasure picked up cadence, focusing their efforts at the base of my spine. I lost the rhythm we’d falleninto, and his teeth scraped over my tender flesh. Hissing around him, drool ran from my mouth, coating him and my hand, easing the somewhat rough glide of my hand.
A groan vibrated around my cock, sending lightning bolts through my system, triggering the orgasm that sat waiting in the recesses of my mind. The scream that I’d been fighting broke free of the cage I’d locked it in, climbing my throat. Xander shoved his cock deeper into my mouth, smothering the scream with his cum. My own flooded his mouth at the same time.
I dropped to the bed next to him.
“Hey!” he whisper-yelled. “You’re gonna knock me to the floor.”
Turning to lay my head on the pillow next to him, I smiled. The stubble on his head and face scratched against my palm.
“You shaved your head.”
He blushed, dipping his chin. “I lost a bet.”
“Yeah?”
He nodded, but didn’t share anything else. I let it drop. He came to me. That’s all I cared about. I didn’t want to rock the boat, so I lay there, memorizing his face and listening to my favorite songs and his calm, even breaths.
And the ticking of a clock that only I could hear.
Xander’s eyes followed his fingers as they threaded through my hair and played with the curls. The Bosstones came on. The song that Lillian and I danced to that last night in San Diego.
“I hate this song,” he murmured.
“How the fuck can youse hate the Bosstones?” I asked.
“I don’t hate the Bosstones. I hate this song. I love itandhate it.”
“What’s that fucking mean? How youse love and hate the Bosstones best fucking song there is?”
“They’re one of my favorite bands, and I loved the song. Still do,” he said with a sigh.
“Are you having a stroke?” I asked.
“What the fuck? No, I’m not having a stroke.”
“I’m not following then.”
“You danced.”
“Yeah.”
“You danced with her. With Lillian.”
“It’s our song. It was playing the night we met…”
“That sounds like…”
I laughed. I couldn’t have stopped it if I tried. And I hated myself for it because the crestfallen look that crossed his face broke me. “I’m sorry, I don’t mean to laugh. Not at you, but the insinuation that Lillian and I ever…”
I shuddered at the thought of pussy. Then gagged. Unlike some closeted gay men, I’d never fucked a woman. I knew what I wanted, and I refused to accept an alternative.
