Here, like this: this was where I was most sure of myself. This was where I was in control. Where I knew I could finally prove that I did have some talent inside me.
The talent to put that look on his face, that screwed-up, halfway between pleasure and pain look, as I lowered my whole mouth over his dick and took him in as deep as I could. The hairs at his base tickled my nose as I held him there for a second, well-practiced in holding back whatever gag might try to escape my throat, letting him moan and gasp under me.
I pulled back and began in earnest, sucking him like a champion, sucking him like only I ever could.
Whatever happened after this, he would remember me. He’d remember me when the next person sucked his dick and it wasn’t as good as this. I might not be boyfriend material, I might not be smart or kind or helpful to anyone, I might not be the kind of person who contributed anything truly meaningful to any relationship in my life – but I could sure as hell suck dick.
Rowe moaned louder as I took him all the way and back again, swishing my tongue up his length and around his head, letting my fingertips slide lightly over the skin at the inner edge of his thighs as if using them to anchor myself, knowing the ghostly sensation would help set his nerves on fire.
“Oh, fuck,” Rowe said, sitting up halfway and pushing at my shoulders. “Xavi, wait…”
I let his dick pop out of my mouth, feeling that pit in the bottom of my stomach again. Not good enough. No matter what I did, I was never good enough. I’d failed again. He didn’t want me.
Rowe panted for breath a few seconds and shook his head. I saw it only in my peripheral vision. I was looking at the floor. “Jesus,” he said, one of his hands sliding over my shoulder and then back again – a gesture of comfort, or something, I realized, and not just a careless accident. “I was about to…”
I blinked up at him. “You were close?”
Rowe grinned at me, one thumb dancing close and stroking along my lower lip. “Too close. I don’t want this to be over so fast.”
Over. The word echoed in my head with a weight that seemed unbearable. This. Over. Like it was inevitably going to be as soon as he left tomorrow.
“We should fuck,” I said, the words out of my mouth before I could even think for another second. That was the only thing I could think of to keep him in my bed, me in his arms, no matter what it took to put me there.
Rowe bit his lip and I knew I had him.
“But, I’m…” he hesitated. What was that? Fear? Doubt? Was he not sure he wanted me? “Xavi, I’m really not sure how much I can move right now.”
“That’s okay,” I told him manically, sitting up straight, feeling like a puppy begging for attention any which way. I opened the drawer by the bed and pulled out the string of condoms I had optimistically placed in there. “I can do all of the work.”You just sit there and throw the stick, and I’ll fetch it for you!
Rowe groaned and flopped back onto the bed. “Oh, god,” he murmured. “Why do I feel like you’re going to be the death of me?”
“What’s wrong?” I asked. I could feel it coming now. The spite. The defensive mechanism. One more second and I was going to snap his head off and tell him I wouldn’t fuck him if he was the last man on earth anyway. And we’d both know it was a lie because I’d just sucked him off like I was trying to mine him for gold, and I’d still be humiliated, and I wouldn’t even have anywhere to sleep tonight after I stormed out of the room.
“Nothing’s wrong,” Rowe murmured, his voice low and throaty. “Let me get on the bed properly.”
Hope flamed to life in my chest. He wasn’t rejecting me. He just needed help to move. I put my arms around his legs and helped him lift himself and spin around until he was lying back in the center of the bed with his head on the pillows. He nestled amongst them and put his arms behind his head, looking like a king in his chambers.
I would follow his bidding until he was done with me.
I crawled over him, spitting on my own fingers and reaching back to begin preparing myself as I moved into position. I kissed him hungrily, my body aligned over his but not quite touching, feeling the heat of him and the nearness of him like a drug. His hands ran over my sides and then down, fastening around my dick and making me throw back my head for a gasp of unexpected electricity. I’d expected him to play with himself, to keep himself going so he would be ready when I was.
Instead, his other hand snaked around behind me, knocking my own fingers out of the way. “It’s fine,” I tried to tell him, but the rough pad of his thumb skated around the rim of my hole and I had to suck in a breath.
“I’m not completely exhausted,” he said with a sly smile, the kind that made him look hungry and wolf-life. “I can still do something for you.”
For me?
But why would he want to do something for me?
This was about getting off, for both of us. That meant we each looked after ourselves and made our own pleasure. Took it where we could find it. This was about fucking and being fucked. Why wouldn’t he be pleased with the opportunity to rest and not have to do a thing while I took care of the part that was boring for him?
The tip of his finger eased inside of me, far more carefully than he needed to, and I gasped lightly at the sensation. I wasn’t being useful. I reached for his dick, thinking I needed to return the favor, but he batted my hand away.
“Not yet,” he said, his voice teasing but husky.
What was I supposed to do with my hands?
“But,” I started, and then I felt the stretch of the second of Rowe’s fingers easing inside of me, and I shut up pretty quickly.
