He picks up his head. “What the fuck!”
“Be patient,” I mumble around him.
“Fuck.” He grinds his teeth, and his fists are going white with how hard he’s gripping the sheets.
“You can touch me,” I say, letting my warm breath fan over his cock.
“If I do, I’m not sure how gentle I’m going to be. I’m pretty…worked up.”
I smile to myself. This poor boy. “I can handle it. I’m not delicate. I take more hits than you do on the ice.”
He looks at me for what feels like an eternity before he brushes his fingers down my neck. He’s so gentle.
“I’m not made of glass. I promise.”
His hand tightens digging his fingers into my flesh as I wrap my lips around his tip again. I groan, loving it. He half-sits, sliding his other hand around the back of my head, too. I give over, opening my throat, letting him take control. I feel his gaze on me while he guides my lips further down his cock and I’ve never been so turned on in my life.
I’m not a small guy, most hockey players aren’t, so finding a guy big enough to manhandle me is a pipe dream. But Wolfe does so easily. His forearms flex, muscles protruding as he lifts his hips a little, thrusting into my mouth.
He grunts and the sound low and masculine. I’m painfully hard. He takes the sound as encouragement and thrusts harder.
Fucking hell. I may not survive this.
And I’m not sure I want to. I don’t want to live in a world where I know this exists, and I can’t have it again. The noises he’s making, and the pre-cum he’s leaking.
He fucks my mouth with urgency just like a man who hasn’t fucked in months. I love it.
I lick and suck, trying to keep up with his pace, swallowing around him. Fuck, I would devour every inch of him if he’d let me.
“I’m going to come.” He tries to pull my head off, but I fight his grip. “Angel…I’m going…fuck.”
I want to taste him so badly. I grab his thighs, fighting against him, taking him into the back of my throat again. His muscles slacken, and he’s fucking done for. Cock throbbing against my tongue as he loses it. I don’t stop working over him through his orgasm, drinking down every fucking drop like it’s the last.
“Fuckfuckfuuuuuuck, Angel baby.” The way he reacts and every fucking sound is so perfect.
Everything about the way this man cums gets me off. He has no right to be so fucking sexy, and I never want it to end.
He rides out his orgasm cum spilling over my tongue and down my throat. I eagerly drink it down wanting it all.
He collapses back, breathing hard, muscles all constricted. He’s so fucking beautiful. Looking at him in his post-release haze is almost as good as getting him off. I memorize every detail so I can hold on to this for the rest of my life. I move to get up, sure he doesn’t want to see a hard dude in his post orgasm clarity.
But he grabs my arm. “Where are you going?”
“To clean up,” I lie.
“Do you need to?” His words are so soft. “If you need to spit…”
What a waste that would be.
“I don’t spit,” I say and let him pull me back to bed.
He looks at me like he wants to ask, but doesn’t. He wraps around me, and it’s so unexpected I’m not really sure what to do. I just let it happen. We both just breathe until he tugs at my pants.
“What are you doing?” I ask.
TWENTY
WOLFE
