I've been intentionally made hard before. Hands in the dark that knew exactly what they were doing, that workedme mechanically until I was erect. Because if I wasn't hard, I could say no, I didn't want it. So, they made sure I was hard. They made sure my body responded even when my mind was screaming no.
And I hated myself for it almost as much as I hated them.
They used my own body against me. Made it react, made it ready, then used the readiness as proof that I wanted it.
See? You like it. Your body says you like it.
And I would lie there, night after night, hating my own skin for betraying me, for responding to touch I didn't choose, for getting hard under hands I didn't want.
This is different.
Tex's mouth is on me and there is no next step or act he's preparing me for. He's not warming me up so he can take what he wants. His mouth is here because he wants to be here. His tongue is doing this because making me feel goodisthe thing. Not a step toward the thinghewants.
Nobody has ever touched me just to make me feel good. Nobody has ever put their mouth on me with no other agenda than my pleasure. I'm twenty-five years old and Tex is the only person who has touched my body as if my enjoyment mattered.
The realization makes my eyes burn, and my throat close up. For three terrible seconds I'm suspended between the ecstasy building low and the sob rising in my chest, and I don't know which will break first.
The pleasure wins.
Because Tex's tongue presses flat against that spot just beneath the head—the one that makes my spine melt—and thesob turns into a moan that sounds like relief, like coming home to my own body at last.
He pulls back to the tip, tongue working broad, wet strokes along the underside, then tight, teasing circles around the swollen head. Then he takes me deep again, all the way, until his nose brushes my skin and the tight heat of his throat squeezes around me. I cry out, hips lifting instinctively.
"You taste so fucking good," he murmurs, lips vibrating against my shaft. He kisses the inside of my thigh, beard scraping sensitive skin, then returns to me.
"Do you have any idea what you look like right now? Stormy. Look at me." I look down. His face is between my thighs and his eyes are locked on mine and his lips are swollen and wet. "You are the most beautiful thing I have ever seen in my life. I need you to know that. Every part of you. This," he presses his mouth to the inside of my knee, "and this," his lips trail up my thigh, "and especially this."
His mouth returns to my cock and I forget how to breathe.
He finds a rhythm, slow, then faster, hand stroking in perfect sync with his mouth, twisting gently at the base. He pulls off just long enough to kiss the head, then speaks against the slick skin.
"So beautiful. God, baby, you're so perfect. I can't get enough of you."
Then he takes me deep again, throat working around me. My hands fist in his hair. My heels dig into the mattress. The pleasure coils tighter, higher, unstoppable.
"Tex… Tex, I'm—"
He pulls off just enough to rasp against me, "Don't hold back on me, darling. I've got you. Always."
Then he swallows me down one last time, hand tightening with perfect pressure, and everything shatters.
The orgasm rips through me. My back arches hard off the bed, hands yanking his hair, cock pulsing thick and hot in his mouth. I come hard, spilling across his tongue. He stays with me, swallowing every pulse, mouth and hand steady, holding me through it. Not pulling away. Not rushing. Just there, loving me through the aftershocks until I'm trembling and spent.
I come back to myself in pieces. His weight settling beside me, his arm pulling me against him, his mouth pressing against my temple. I can feel both of us. The slick of sweat between our bodies, the heat radiating off his skin, the spent softness of our cocks pressed together at the hips.
"Hey," he says. "You still with me?"
I press my face against his chest, wrap my arms around him and hold on. His heartbeat is fast under my ear, matching mine, and his arms close around me. We lie there tangled together, breathing each other's air, naked and damp and completely undone.
"So that's what it's supposed to feel like," I say. Tex's words from the shower our first night together. "That's what it feels like when you choose it."
Tex presses his mouth to the top of my head and breathes me in.
"Yeah, baby," he says. "That's exactly what it feels like."
I'm not afraid of my body anymore. For the first time in my life, my body is giving me joy. The dark rooms didn't win. The hands in the night didn't get the last word.
Tex got the last word.
