I pull the boxers down. He lifts his hips to help and then he's there, all of him, thick and flushed and hard, curving up toward his stomach. I wrap my hand around the base and his whole body shudders. The weight of him in my palm, the heat, the way he pulses against my fingers. I don't feel fear. I feel desire. I stroke him once, slow, base to tip, and watch his jaw clench and his eyes flutter shut.
I lower my mouth to him.
The sound he makes when I take him in is a sound I will carry with me for the rest of my life. It comes from somewhere deep and raw and unguarded, a sound that has everything to do with being undone. His head falls back against the pillow, his hand tightens in my hair and his hips tremble with the effort of holding still.
"Stormy. Oh God. That feels... you feel..."
I go slow at first, learning what he likes, feeling the way his body responds to pressure, to pace, to the drag of my tongue along the underside, the swirl around the head. I take him deeper, relaxing my throat, and his hand fists in the sheets beside him.
He talks to me the whole time because he's Tex and Tex always talks and right now the talking is its own kind of intimacy, raw and unfiltered.
"You're incredible. You know that? You're so incredible, Stormy. The way you... oh God, right there. Just like that. Don't stop. Please don't stop."
I hollow my cheeks and take him deeper, one hand working what my mouth can't reach, the other flat on his stomach feeling the muscles clench and release under my palm. I look up at him while I work and his eyes are on me, watching me with his cock in my mouth, and the expression onhis face is between ecstasy and reverence, like he can't believe this is happening.
I pull back to the tip. I let my tongue work the slit, tasting the salt of him, and he swears and his hips jerk up. He catches himself and presses back down, the effort of restraint visible in every muscle.
"I'm close," he manages. "Stormy, I'm close, you don't have to—"
I take his hand from the sheet, lace my fingers through his and hold his hand while I take him apart. I take him deep one more time, my lips stretched around him, my throat opening, and his whole body goes rigid — spine arched, hand crushing mine, a sound torn from his chest — and he comes in my mouth, hot and pulsing. I swallow around him and hold him through it, my hand in his. I'm not pulling away. I'm choosing to be here, choosing this, choosing him.
He lies there breathing like he's just run a marathon. His eyes are closed, chest heaving. His hand is still gripping mine, our fingers locked. His cock softens slowly against his thigh, still twitching with aftershocks.
"Come here," he says. His voice is destroyed. "Come here right now."
I climb back up his body. He pulls me down to him and kisses me hungrily, tasting himself on my mouth and not caring. His tongue pushes past my lips and the kiss is filthy and tender at the same time. The contradiction of that, the rawness and the love together makes my chest ache.
He rolls me over gently, and now I'm on my back. He's above me, holding his weight up, looking down at me with those dark brown eyes. I'm painfully hard. I've been hard sinceI had him in my mouth and the ache is a living thing between my legs.
"My turn," he says. His gaze drops to where I'm straining against the fabric, the thick outline of my cock clearly visible, the wet spot dark and spreading. "You lie right there, darling. Don't move. Let me take care of you."
He starts at my neck. His beard drags across my skin and the roughness of it sends electricity down my spine. I gasp and grab his shoulders. He takes his time. He kisses my jaw, my ear, the spot below my earlobe that makes me arch off the bed. He talks the whole way down, murmuring against my skin between kisses.
"I have wanted to do this since the day I saw you on that ladder. You have no idea how hard it was to stand at the bottom of that ladder and act normal. I almost died, Stormy. That ladder almost killed me. I had to go inside and have a conversation with myself. A real conversation. 'Tex, you are a grown man. You have seen a man's ass before. Get yourself together.' I did not get myself together. I have not been together since. I am a permanently disassembled man and it's your fault and those sweatpants should be illegal."
I'm laughing, shaking, hands buried in his hair, and then his mouth moves to my chest and the laughter fractures into moans. His tongue circles one nipple, slow and wet, then he draws it into his mouth and sucks—firm, steady pressure that sends a bolt of heat arrowing down to my cock. I arch into him, hips lifting, a broken sound tearing out of my throat.
He kisses lower, across my ribs, down the center of my stomach. At my hip bone he drags his teeth—light, teasing—and my back bows off the bed. A raw sound escapes me. He looks up, chin resting on my stomach, eyes searching mine the way they always do.
"Still good?" he asks.
"Yes, don't stop."
"That's my line." He whispers against my skin. "You stole my line."
His fingers hook into the waistband of my shorts. I lift my hips; he slides them down and off, tossing them aside. Then I'm naked beneath him. His eyes roam over me slowly, taking in every inch. The way he looks makes me feel wanted and cherished.
His hand trails down my stomach, then he wraps his palm around my cock. I jerk hard into his grip, a ragged moan spilling out. He strokes me once, slow, base to tip, his thumb sweeping over the head, spreading the slickness there.
"God, you're beautiful," he breathes. "Every inch of you. You're so perfect, Stormy."
He settles between my thighs, broad shoulders pressing warm against the insides of my legs. The solid weight of him there feels good.
When his mouth finds me, the world reduces to a single point of light.
He takes the head first. I have never in my life felt anything close to this. His mouth is hot and wet and he takes me in slowly. Lips soft, tongue swirling slow circles around the sensitive crown, tasting the bead of precome at the slit. Then he slides down, taking more of me inch by inch, lips stretching around the shaft, the wet suction perfect and unhurried. The heat of his mouth, the velvet drag of his tongue along the underside whites out my vision.
My brain fractures open.
