I set a rhythm. Slow at first, then faster, varying the pressure, the depth, the angle. I relearn what makes him gasp, what makes him moan, what makes his grip on my hair turn painful. I memorize every reaction, every sound, building a map of his pleasure.
"I'm not going to last," he warns. "If you keep—fuck—if you keep doing that—"
I keep doingthat.
I reach up with one hand, cup his balls, roll them gently in my palm. He cries out, hips stuttering, and I feel his cock pulse against my tongue.
"Jagger, I'm going to—"
I pull back just far enough to speak, lips brushing the head of his cock. "Do it. I want to taste you."
"God, you can't just say things like—"
I take him deep again, all the way to the base, and swallow around him.
He comes with a shout that probably alerts every animal in a five-mile radius. Hot and bitter on my tongue, pulsing down my throat. I swallow everything he gives me, working him through it, not letting up until he's whimpering from oversensitivity and pushing weakly at my shoulders.
I release him, sit back on my heels, and look up.
He's a mess. Chest heaving, eyes glazed, leaning against a tree he must have backed into at some point. His cock is softening, wet with spit and the remnants of his cum. He looks thoroughly debauched.
He looks perfect.
"You," he says, when he can speak again, "are going to kill me."
"That was the opposite of killing you."
"Same result. Death by orgasm. It'll be on my tombstone." He slides down the tree, collapsing to sit on the grass across from me. "Here lies Jonah Chen. He came so hard his soul left his body."
"Dramatic."
"Accurate." He reaches out, grabs my jacket, pulls me toward him. "Get over here."
I go, letting him pull me down until I'm half on top of him, half beside him on the damp grass. He kisses me, deep and filthy, tasting himself on my tongue.
"Your turn," he murmurs against my mouth.
"This wasn't about me."
"Everything is about you, apparently. You and your dramatic gestures and your forest clearings and your—" He reaches down, palms my cock through my pants. I'm rock hard, have been since I got on my knees. "Yeah. Your turn."
"Jonah—"
"Shut up and let me touch you."
No one can make me heel quite like he can.
He works my belt open with surprising dexterity for a man who just had his brains sucked out through his dick. Gets his hand around me, strokes slow and firm, and I groan into his neck.
"That's it," he murmurs. "Let me hear you."
The moan that escapes me would make a lesser man feel embarrassment, but all I feel is burning desire.
"I love you," he says, stroking faster. "I love you and your murder clearings and your incredible mouth and the way you look at me like I'm your beautiful pookie wookie."
"You are," I manage. "The only thing—"
"Come for me, Daddy J. Be a good little monster and come for me.”
