“How do I normally pretend?” he grumbles, inching away.
“Pretend is the wrong word. You’re guarded, always watching and weighing your words.” My hand on his ass keeps him in place. “Sometimes—like now—you relax and…” I can’t say that he makes me feel special because that isn’t what this is.
Instead, I hitch my hips and palm my erection. “Does this seem like you’re not doing it for me?” I splay my fingers so he can clearly see the outline of my very hard length. He tilts his head as if to say he doesn’t know.
“Can I touch you?” The curious side of my lust takes over, and I cup his bulge when he nods. “Oh my fucking God! This is a weapon. How do you hide this thing so it doesn’t enter the room five minutes before you?” He’s so thick.
His dick jumps in my hand, and I take the hint, stroking it. Jamal’s skin darkens a shade, with a blush. My insides are doing backflips as I bring him closer to attack his mouth.
“Is this okay?” I ask as my hand hovers over his waistband, and when he moans, I take it as consent and dip my hand into his sweatpants. Luckily for me, I’m too busy kissing him to blurt out all the thoughts in my head. He’s got the biggest dick I’ve held, and I can’t believe he doesn’t have men trailing after him like groupies.
He pushes into my hand, and I twist my wrist, providing more friction. My thumb spreads his precum around his well-defined, fat head, and I wish I could watch his expression and his cock.
Jamal is so responsive to every touch; I’m losing my mind. “You are so fucking sexy,” I growl, and suck his tongue into my mouth, claiming it as my own.
His entire body spasms as his whimpers turn to moans, and he spills into my hand. “Sorry. Sorry.” He tries to move off my lap, but I literally have him by the dick and chase my release.
I hold him in place, cursing our clothes, but they don’t matter. My fistful of his cum tips me over the edge.
Our foreheads press together as we take turns breathing. I inhale his exhales and taste him on my tongue. Breathing in his flavor is a shot of highly addictive dopamine. I’m suddenly nervous and don’t want to let him go. My brain knows I’m going to ruin this, but it doesn’t stop my mouth from talking.
“I want to do this again—naked—and worship every inch of your body. Is this why you use the private showers? So you don’t make everyone jealous or obsess over jumping on your dick?”
He deflates faster than a popped balloon. Not only does his dick get limp, his shoulders curve in and his chest collapses.
Jamal has the same look as he did before he had a panic attack. “Baby, I’m sorry. You’re okay. I promise not to do anything you don’t want. Breathe.”
His aqua eyes become pits of despair, and I’m unsure what to do. I remember the steps from my search last time and try to talk him through it.
“The room has plenty of air. I’ll stop breathing if it helps you. Focus on your breathing, I’m right here,” I babble.
Jamal tips sideways, and I’m afraid he’s passed out. But he covers his face. “Why am I like this? I can’t have one thing without ruining it.”
We’re silent for a few beats as I sit next to him and rub his back, trying to figure out what the hell happened. I should be nice to him and encourage him to talk. But that’s not who I am. My mouth speaks without permission.
“I gotta say, I’ve never destroyed someone so quickly. Usually, it’s sucking my dick that makes them panic.” I’m a hundred percent sure that if anyone ruins this, it will be me.
Instead of being offended, he turns his head to me and grins. “You’re an asshole.”
“Are we stating the obvious now? Your dick is huge,” I say, and the smile slides off his face. “Okay, so your dick is a sore subject. Got it.”
“No, not exactly.” He flips around so he’s sitting alongside me and bends his leg on the couch so he’s facing me.
We’re covered in each other’s cum, and he’s putting space between us. I hate it.
I’m torn between demanding he tell me what’s going on and kicking him out so I don’t have to deal with it. It’s not like we could be in an actual relationship.
He already said it’s too complicated, and a couple of orgasms won’t change our situation.
“Do you regret this?” he asks, motioning between us.
“No, do you?” I grab his hand like a lifeline.
“No, but you probably will.”
“That’s not at all cryptic.” My voice drips with sarcasm. He’s going to leave, and I shouldn’t make it hard for him, but the tiniest part of me is ready to beg him to stay.
Jamal takes a huge breath, holds it, and exhales through his mouth. He repeats it a few times, and my mouth is blessedly silent.
