“I…I’m…” struggling to stringanythinguseful together, let alone a sassy and seductive response. As he steadily palms himself through the thin cotton, Gerald has no trouble at all. In place of words, I sink to my knees; my body knowing it needs squillions of his babies hitting the back of my throat, even if my brain’s still paralysed.
“I like my men like my curtains,” I manage, because, obviously, bringing soft furnishings into sexy times is always a good idea. “Well-hung.”
Gerald pushes his jeans a little lower on his hips, exposing the small fading scar from his recent surgery. His hand moves inside his boxers, and he fondles his balls. From the swollen outline of his dick, I’m surprised there’s room. “Do you want to feel how big I am?” Through his lashes, his dark brown gaze flicks up to mine. “Or shall we cut to the taste? Tell me what you want, Alaric.”
My heart kicks, trying to outrun my mind, and my dick throbs in time. I swallow drily.Tell me what you want, Alaric.Those words, spoken in that voice? It’s smooth, intimate, like satin with an edge. And that hand? It hasn’t even touched me yet—hasn’t touched Gerald yet, not properly—but I already belong to it. Plus, that delicious cock…fuck. A bubble of something rises in my chest. If I don’t move or shout or get my mouth around this man right this second, I might burst.
“I think I want to know who the fuck’s kidnapped grumpy Gerald.” I knock his hand away. “And right now, I don’t care if that thing in your pants is a Tic Tac. I’m still going to find a way to gag on it.”
I bite down on a whimper. Tic Tacs? Mars Bars? Jumbo-sized bananas? Not even close. Gerald, it transpires, has been hiding a fucking clarinet between his legs. Whoever gets to bounce on that long-term is one super fucking lucky guy.Play it cool, Alaric, play it cool. You are literally a urologist and a bone fide blowjob princess.
Hands on Gerald’s thighs and unemployed, seeing as the thing’s defying gravity, I give it a straight-up lick. His dick’s as veiny as his ropey arms; the biggest, dorsal vein is thick and engorged. I want to suck on that vein like it’s the river of life. When I trace it with my tongue, slower this time and more teasing, from the root to his tip, Gerald lets out a satisfied grunt. His fingers drag through my hair, the tips grazing my scalp with just enough pressure to send a ripple of heat down my spine.
“More,” he orders, softly. The pressure on my head increases a fraction. “I want your pretty mouth full of me. You want to taste me like that, Alaric?”
“Fuck yes.”
“Can you go deep?”
Flirtatiously, I do the opposite, mouthing his plum swollen head like it’s my first, gazing up at him through my lashes.
“Fucker.” Gerald grunts again, the pressure on my head tightening even more. “Naughty boys get punished, you know.”
He smells raw and earthy, an intoxicating blend of skin and salt and natural, manly musk. I can’t get fucking enough of it, nor of his grip on my hair. He directs me deeper, tickling my tonsils. If this is punishment, then he can fucking punish me morning and night. I rub myself through my trousers, needing toget off. When I swallow, he holds my head still, thrusts up, and calmly fucks my mouth like it’s nothing but a convenient hole.
I can deep-throat like a champ, but as he gets close, pumping harder, I gasp for breath. My eyes water, and saliva spills from the corners of my mouth. A harsh and frenzied snort bursts through my nose, I swallow and swallow again with frantic urgency. Panic, instant and visceral, floods me. A dry heave wracks me.
Instantly, Gerald yanks me up. “Shh, sweet,” he pants. “You okay? You want me to stop? Or you want more?”
Tears stream down my face; my voice is hoarse. I squeeze my throbbing dick. “Want more.”
“Good boy.” He nods once before hauling my face closer to his. “Such a good boy.”
I think he’s going to kiss me, taste himself on me. Perhaps I’ll jerk him. Perhaps he’ll finish off himself. He’s nearly there—precum’s oozing from him like a lit firework.
But no. Oh no. With an obscene, long lick of his hot tongue, Gerald cleans the tears and snot from my cheeks. Then he pushes me back down again.
“Finish me off.”
What is it about his tone that has me following his every command? Immediately, I close my mouth back around him, my blood pumping like a fountain. Fresh tears flood my eyes; I’m choking on him. Yet still I suck as if I’m a sponge soaking him up, soaking up his pre-cum. Yielding to the tight coils of his fingers in my scalp, my whole body is soft and limp (except for my cock); I lap up his fucking ‘good boy, good boy’moaned over and over and over again, like that’s something I fucking enjoy now.
Gerald doesn’t warn me he’s coming, but when he swells impossibly more and stiffens, he lets out a sound that has me fucking hosing into my pants at the same as he jizzes down my throat. He doesn’t let me off until I’ve licked up and swalloweddown every drop and my own spunk has cooled in my crotch. Only then does he haul me to my wobbly feet, thank me with another of those slamming kisses on my mouth, and order me to bed.
That guy and hisTop Gearchart can go to hell. Competition blown away.
CHAPTER 18
GERALD
When Alaric surfaces from his room, I’m already up, showered, and dressed, and sitting at my laptop, sorting tedious life admin. Or pretending to—concentrating this morning is a challenge. I’ve heard him shuffling around for a while. Is he waiting for me to go out so he doesn’t have to face me? He probably doesn’t see the same Friday night hook up twice in his life, let alone every morning at breakfast.
As the cutlery drawer rattles in the kitchen, I feel obliged to at least acknowledge him. We’re going to have to, sooner or later. Undoubtedly, we’ll need a conversation. Alaric needs conversations about why the corners of picture frames collect dust faster than the edges. Therefore, he’ll most definitely need one about this, though I have no idea what direction it will take. After the magnificent blow job, I was too stunned and cum-hazed to exchange any kind of meaningful dialogue. I stumbled from the sitting room as soon as I trusted my legs to support my weight, with little more than a hellishly self-conscious thanks.
“You slept late, for a guy with chronic insomnia,” I observe as his footfall wanders in my direction. Though my eyes areglued to the computer screen, the chomping of Coco Pops is unmistakable.
“Not really.” Alaric perches on the armchair opposite in his frivolous little bathrobe. At least he’s wearing one, though I can’t vouch that there’s much underneath. “I was just allowing you some space.”
“Oh. Thanks.”
