Brock’s looming over me, shirt rucked up, abs clenched, watching me with those dark, hungry eyes. The single bulb overhead glints off the sweat on his brow. He looks like a fucking god. And I’m about to worship.
There’s the moment his cock brushes against my lips. A hard cock. A man’s most private part. Warm, smooth, alive. I’m scared of it, but I also want it more than anything I’ve wanted in a long, long time.
I drag my tongue from his hairy balls, up the shaft, all the way to the tip, where a bead of precum glistens. Without thinking, I wrap my lips around the head and slurp it down.
Holy fuck.The taste. Salty. Bitter. A little sweet. I’ve tasted my own before, out of curiosity, just a quick lick off my fingers. But this hits different. More potent, a concentrated dose of pure masculinity. I lap at it, greedy for more.
“Hmm, thirsty indeed,” Brock murmurs above me, threading a hand through my hair. “Good, right?”
I don’t answer. Just suck harder on the head, chasing more of that bitter-sweet flavor.
I thought this would be weird. Gross, even. Sucking cock. Swallowing another guy’s precum. But it’s not. It’s hot as fuck. The weight of him on my tongue, feeling him throb and twitch, hearing the groans he’s trying to hold back. Making this big, muscular jock fall apart with my mouth. Now I understand why he was so eager to get on his knees for me.
It’s a rush. A high I’ve never felt before.
I take him deeper, trying to remember what he did to me and replicate that mind-blowing technique. But clearly I’m an amateur, because as soon as he hits the back of my throat, I gag. Hard. Tears spring to my eyes, and I pull back, coughing and sputtering, a string of spit connecting my lips to his cock. So much for being a natural.
“Easy, killer.” Brock’s thumb wipes the spit from my chin. “No need to deep-dive on the first try.”
“Got a little ambitious,” I say between coughs. I take a deep breath and wipe my eyes. “Let’s try that again.”
This time, I focus on what I can handle. I use my hand on the base, stroking in rhythm with my mouth, while I work the top half with my tongue and lips. Exploring every ridge and vein, every sensitive spot. He grunts when I swirl my tongue just under the head. Shudders when I scrape my teeth lightly along the shaft. Fists my hair when I take him as deep as I can without triggering my gag reflex.
I find a rhythm. Hand and mouth working together in a wet, messy slide. Spit and precum dripping down my chin, onto my shirt, pooling on the concrete between my knees. I don’t give a flying fuck. All that matters is the weight of him on my tongue, the taste of him, the sounds he’s making above me. Low, guttural moans that echo in the small space.
“Yeah, like that,” he breathes. “Fuck, Calvin. Just like that.”
Hearing my name in that rough, desperate voice does something to me. I double down, bobbing faster, stroking harder. My jaw aches. My knees are burning on the concrete. My dick is hard as granite. Already. After emptying myself down his throat only a couple of hours ago.
That shouldn’t be possible. I’ve never been a two-times-in-one-night guy. One and done, roll over, pass out. But here I am,rock-hard and leaking in my boxer shorts, from sucking another guy’s dick.
Brock’s hips start to move, small, controlled thrusts, pushing a little deeper with each one. I let him. Let him fuck my mouth, my hand gripping his thigh for balance. His fingers tighten in my hair, holding me in place as he picks up the pace.
His balls slap against my chin with every thrust, heavy and full with the cum he’s about to unload. Drool and precum are running down my chin. I can’t swallow fast enough. My jaw’s stretched wide around him, lips sealed tight, and the wet sounds filling the cellar are obscene. The slap of skin, the gag when he hits the back of my throat, my own desperate breathing through my nose. I feel feral.
“Close,” he grits out. “So fucking close.”
I glance up. His head’s thrown back, throat exposed. A vein throbs in his neck. His eyes are squeezed shut. There’s nothing cocky or smug about him now. He’s completely lost in it. Lost in what I’m doing to him.
I want to make him come. Want to taste him. Want to wreck him the way he wrecked me.
So I go for it. All in. Hand pumping, tongue swirling, taking him deep and holding him there, fighting my gag reflex until my eyes stream with tears. I pull back, gasping for air, then dive right back in. Over and over. A desperate, sloppy, wet mess.
His grip in my hair tightens. His thighs are shaking. There’s a hitch in his breath.
I feel it building in him, that tell-tale tension, the frantic jerk of his hips. He’s trying to hold back, trying to make it last, but I can feel he’s losing the battle. His cock swells harder against my tongue. His balls draw up tight against my palm. Soon, very soon, my mouth will be full of?—
“Calvin?” Roxy’s voice cuts through from the top of the stairs. “What the hell is taking so long down there?”
8
Iscramble back so fast I almost lose my balance. My head smacks against a shelf, and a stack of cardboard coasters rains down around us.
“One second!” My voice comes out two octaves too high. I clear my throat. “The valve on this keg is stuck! Trying to get it loose!”
Brock, on the other hand, doesn’t seem remotely flustered. He leans against the wall, arms crossed, jeans still undone, cock out and glistening with my spit. There’s a single bead of precum welling at the tip before dripping down. I wish I could’ve swallowed it.
“Hurry up,” Roxy calls down. “I want to lock up and get out of here.”
