And this is new for me. It’s been a long time since I’ve been new at anything. There will be tonight, there will be the morning, there will be all day, there will be tomorrow night. Part of me hovers around the possibilities like a moth to a flame. And the other part of me wants to avoid it like a snake in the grass.
As I stand there lost in my thoughts, I feel Paul behind me, putting his arms around me, one around my waist and the other lashed across my chest. His fingers slide up to my shoulder, curling inward, thumbnail resting at the base of my throat. He makes a sound of satisfaction, a sigh like he’s just had a good meal, and it does something to me. My cock swells, of course, but my heart does too. It swells like the rising tides, against my bones, my ribs, until I think it will get too heavy, and it will burst through, and he’ll see. He’ll know. It’ll all spill out.
I turn around to face him. His smile is dreamy, fingers smooth as they skim up my forearms to my sleeves. I sit back on the bed and he stands in between my knees, his hands resting on my shoulders. I pull him to me and lick a nipple through the thin cotton of his shirt. I hear him inhale sharply, so I do it again. And again. My tongue and lips working his nipple like it’s the most important thing in my life right now, wetting the fabric, the tang of laundry soap, and I feel his grip tighten on my shoulders. The sounds he makes are like if I stop, he’ll die, or I don’t stop, he’ll die.
So I stop for a second. There’s a wet bloom of my saliva like a burgundy flower on the red stripe across his shirt. Before I can do the same for the other one, he pushes me down on my back and gets on top of me, knees on either side of my hips. I rest my hands behind my head, jut out my chin, and give him an expectant smile. He doesn’t return it. His eyes seem to hold other ideas, other secrets, other pieces of him I want to gather up for my very own. For keeps.
He takes his glasses off, sets them on the bedside table. His lips meet mine sweetly and slowly. I remove a hand from under my head to cup his face. My thumb traces smooth skin, the slim cut of his jaw, and the bump of his Adam’s apple.
Over the indentations of my teeth, I let out an unguarded groan.
He gets off the bed and down on his knees. I sit up on my elbows as his hands smooth over my inner thighs.
“Hey,” I whisper. “You don’t have to.”
He unbuttons. Unzips.
“Hey. Paul.”
“I’m okay,” he says. His breath, the warmth of it, curls over my exposed skin.
And then the shock of the wet heat of his tongue flicking over the tip of my cock causes me to gasp, and I lie back. I keep my hands as still as I can and look up at the ceiling to keep from spooking him again. He gives me another lick and my dick hardens to iron strength. His lips close around the head, a tentative latch, while I feel his palm and fingers around the base. I close my eyes. Open them. I almost don’t care what he does or how he does it. As long as he just touches me. In any way. Every way.
He takes me into his mouth, inch by inch, the wet heat causing me to fist the sheets, and there’s something authentic about it. Something bare and naked. He hasn’t said a word, hasn’t confirmed what we both know to be true, and the way he looked up at me last time, his mossy eyes flickering with alarm; I saw something I wasn’t supposed to. He’s hidden it under a rock.
But he gets a pace going that feels just as incredible as last time, and I cannot ruin it like I did, so I keep looking up at the ceiling. A moth flickers around the overhead light, its wings like fluttering white petals. I groan and it flutters around and around. My heart pounds and it flutters around and around. I lick my lips and it flutters around and around. Paul sucks my cock like no one else ever has and that fucking moth is just fluttering and flapping and flitting around, oblivious to how I’m coming undone with each sweep of his tongue. Oblivious to anything except that fucking light, and I want to laugh at how I am almost insulted.
I curse and grip the sheets tighter, squeeze my eyes shut as he groans around my dick, and it makes me swear again. Sweat beads on my upper lip and prickles between my shoulder blades. His free hand creeps up my abdomen, and I lay my hand over his, gripping tight. He’s doing something with his lips and the tip of his tongue on the underside of my cock that makes me shake, and I know I’m going to come.
I let go of his hand and my fingers tentatively brush the hollow of his cheek, feeling myself on the other side. He moans against my skin, and I touch the place where his lips are wrapped around me, and that is it.
I try to warn him, tap his shoulder, do something. But he doesn’t pull off, doesn’t stop. And then I’m yelling louder than I could at my apartment. “Fuck! Fuck!”
I come so hard I see starbursts, the kind that flutters like wings, like dark lashes against pale skin, my teeth clench, and my hand reaches for his shoulder, holding tight. I have enough sense not to grab his head, afraid I’ll thrust too deep into that warm, wet cavern and put him off for good.
It’s like a white-hot bolt going through me, and I come in his mouth more than once. I hear him swallow, and it just makes me come again. He emits a sound in the back of his throat and my stomach muscles are taut and pulling, until I fall back, my head tilted against the bed.
I pant and pant and pant, swearing worse than a sailor, and lay a shaking hand on my forehead.
I look up to find that fluttering bastard is gone. And then Paul appears above me, wiping the corners of his lips. He rests them on my sweating forehead, my hand reaches up to grip the muscle of his upper arm.
“What’s French for that?” I ask him, breathless.
“La petite mort,” he whispers against my skin.
And then I turn my head and see the moth, its wings stiff and still, gazing up into oblivion, right beside me.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Paul
I DON’T WANTto wake him up just yet.
I press my chest to his naked back while he sleeps. I rest one hand on his hip and my cock swells as it rubs against his naked ass. He’s a heavy sleeper. He doesn’t even budge, but he sighs. I hook my chin over his shoulder and close my eyes.
It’s dawn. I woke up and it’s like waking up to find myself in some kind of paradise. I keep thinking that now that I’ve swallowed his come it should change things. But then I keep thinking that’s stupid. Real stupid. That’s what girls do. They get all hung up.
Don’t they?
