Despite my physical limitations, maybe I can still bring him some pleasure, without the pelvic bump and grind. My arm might be weak now that the cast is off, but that doesn’t mean I can’t give him a hand job.
He’s in low riding grey sweatpants. That’s invitation by itself. Am I salivating? I’m definitely salivating.
Waves of tension and discomfort radiate from him as he tips his head back against the couch. He’s stressed about his father, about work, about the playoffs, about me. If he goes onto the ice with so much crap in his head tomorrow he’s going to make mistakes, and then he’ll sink even lower.
I’ve seen him depressed a couple times over the years, watched him battle with his innermost demons. It’s gotten dark once or twice. One time I had to physically shove his ass in the shower to get the funk off, while I tidied his filthy apartment and made him some food.
He generally rebounds, but as someone who likes to be in control of just about everything in his life, this is working on him in all the wrong ways.
Leaning over, I cup his cock through his sweats, enjoying the low hiss he lets out at my touch. If my panties weren’t already damp, they would be now. Covering my hand with his, he shakes his head, opening his eyes. “You don’t have to do that, Edie.”
That makes me smile. In all our years of friendship, he has never made me do anything I didn’t want to. And right now, I want to make him feel good, the way he makes me feel good with such ease it’s as though he was born to take care of me. I want to take away some of his stress, even for a few short minutes.
Sliding my hand under the band of his pants, I curl my fingers around his already hardening dick and free it from beneath the fabric. “I want to. Please?” My hand is already moving, gliding from the base to the tip and back down.
He grunts, head dropping back again, chest rising and falling faster with each breath he sucks in. There’s a powerful rush surging through my veins that my prince of darkness is submitting to me and letting me touch him.
I’ve loved this man since I was little, know everything about him. He has a soggy food phobia that means he keeps anything wet or potentially invasive on his plate separated. He broke his arm once when he was little, trying to build a treehouse for his big sister. He stood up for me against Billy Taylor once when he picked on me for my freckles and button nose. No one ever picked on me again.
In all our years of friendship, I never thought I’d know what his dick felt like, but it’s in my hand, and the weirdness I expect to feel from crossing this line again, doesn’t come.
I’m not sure what I expected to find in his pants, but he has a regular dick. It’s a little long, but not particularly thick. No piercings, no weird dick tattoos, no excessive curvature, no herculean monster dick that won’t fit in any orifice without careful planning and extreme preparation. Apollo de la Peña’s peen is actually kind of... nice. As far as dicks can be nice anyway. And hard. So fucking hard.
Another lazy pump pulls a groan from him. His shoulders are still knotted tight against his ears, his thighs are tense, and stress lines cover his beautiful pale face. My thumb sweeps across the bead of precum glistening on the tip. Tightening my grip, I drag my hand along his length twice more, a little quicker.
He mutters something in Spanish, too quick for me to catch, but remains unmoving. With each movement of my hand, he starts to unwind. His hands move from being balled up fists by his thighs to stretched out across the back of the couch, giving me more space to work.
He no longer looks like he might want to commit murder. His features soften, his face serene, and his jaw no longer flexes from being clenched.
Another tiny bead of precum appears at the tip of his dick, and I can’t help myself. Shifting so I can give him head hurts like fuck, but I’m not letting this fucking cast, or this goddamn broken leg stop me from tasting him.
Then I lose my balance and face-plant into his crotch. A smile flits across his mouth before he rolls his lips between his teeth.
“Don’t. Say. Anything.”
He shrugs. “Didn’t see a thing. But if I had, I’d comment on the fact that no one has ever taken a nosedive onto my cock before. You shoulda made airplane noises.”
If I wasn’t already sweating at the exertion of trying to sprawl myself out across the sofa so I could suck his dick, I’d smack him. But I’m in a good position, and I’m not risking that.
When my tongue finally meets the tip, a shiver rolls through his muscles. His breathing picks up again as I lap up the salty bead of liquid with a hum of satisfaction.
“Edith.” My name is a strained word, but he still doesn’t move.
“Just enjoy it, Apollo.” As I skim my other hand up his chest to settle him, a flicker of heat laps low in my belly. Man, this guy is ripped. His muscles have muscles. The ridges and planes of his body are already familiar under my fingers, but I’m exploring them in a new light. Though I want to take my time to investigate every single ab and inch of skin under his t-shirt, his need for release is almost tangible in the air.
Sucking him all the way to the back of my throat, I hum again. He’s slightly too long to fit, and I’m not prepared to get messy deep-throating him on our first try. I wanna suck his cock like a princess. Clamping my hand around his base, I start with a slow bob, dragging my tongue along his shaft as I explore his length.
When I swirl around his tip then flick the head before taking him to the back of my throat again, he growls. It’s the most primal, terrifying, and erotic thing I’ve ever heard. It’s a low rumble that travels through my whole body.
Hollowing out my cheeks, I suck hard, picking up the pace. Is he a ball-squeezing kind of guy? Guess we’ll find out. I cradle his balls in my palm and gently squeeze.
Fingers tease their way into my hair as his hand travels to the back of my head. I guess he’s reached the end of his allotted window for someone else to take control, and he’s ready to steer the ship.
It’s tempting to push back, to enforce restraint, to snatch control from him and make him wait. But he needs this. He needs the release, the endorphins. His body is taut as he fucks my mouth, grunting with each jut of his hips.
As I grip his balls again, his thrusts stutter, his rhythm stumbling over another growl. Huh. My prince of darkness likes having his balls played with after all.
Things I never thought I’d learn about my best friend.
