I can’t help the laugh that escapes. Then he takes me in his mouth and I stop having opinions about anything.
He’s good. His mouth is hot and sure and he takes his time with it, the slow drag over the head deliberate. Like he’s trying to learn every inch of me. He makes sounds while he works, low and appreciative, humming against my cock in a way that makes it clear he’s into this for his own reasons. I feel that humming all over and my head drops back against the door. My hand settles in his thick hair, just like I was thinking about earlier. When I tighten my fingers, he takes me deeper and I feel that all the way down my spine. The sounds get better when I do that.
He pulls off, lips wet, eyes bright. “You’re quiet.”
“I’m focused.”
“Good focused or bad focused?”
“Extremely good.”
“Most people give me notes,” he says, casual, like we’re discussing the weather. His hand is still moving, slow and deliberate, thumb tracing the underside. “Feedback. A whole review. One guy gave me a thumbs up mid-act, which I thought was unconventional. Point is, you’re just standing there being stoic.”
“I’m not stoic. I’m enjoying myself.”
“Silently.”
“Pretty sure you’re covering whatever word quota we have for tonight.”
He laughs against my cock, which is a sensation I was not prepared for and will be thinking about later. “Fair. Point taken.” Then he takes me back in.
He takes me deep. Steady, his hand working the base while his mouth handles the rest. Every time my hips push forward he opens for it, his hands gripping my thighs to pull me closer. The heat builds embarrassingly fast. He’s hitting the right spot, the right rhythm, and he locks that in, doesn’t waver. I feel the pressure build, quicker than I thought possible. He senses I’m close and increases his pace. I come with my fist tight in his hair and my jaw locked and the full slow weight of it moving through me.
When he senses I am finished, he pulls off my dick and sits back on his heels, looking up at me. He is clearly pleased with himself and not hiding it one bit.
“Good?” he says, grinning up at me. Oh yeah, he knows how good he is.
“Extremely good,” I tell him, which only makes it worse.
“You said that before. I need range. Give me something to work with.”
“My vocabulary is fine. You just haven’t unlocked premium access yet.”
Something flickers across his face. Challenge, maybe. Delight, definitely. “Key word yet,” he repeats.
I pull him up by his shirt and get my hands on him before he finishes standing. Undo his belt and jeans, slide my hand into his briefs. He’s hard against my palm and when I wrap my hand around his cock he makes a sound against my jaw that I feel in my back teeth. Thick in my hand, and I take a second with that, just feeling the weight of him, and he breathes out long and slow like this is almost too much.
“You don’t have to—” he starts.
“I know,” I tell him, and he stops talking.
For maybe three seconds. Then my thumb drags across the head, rubbing the pre-come around his slit, and he exhales hard. “Okay, wow, that’s... okay…yeah.”
I tighten my grip and stroke him slow, finding his rhythm, and he drops his forehead to my shoulder and lets it happen.
“Right there,” he says against my neck. “That’s. Fuck, Zee, your hands are…” I twist my wrist and whatever he was going to say about my hands is lost.
“My hands are what?”
“Shut up.” He laughs, breathless, his hips pushing into my fist. “You know exactly what you’re… doing… to me right now.”
“Tell me.”
“I just said shut up.” But he’s smiling against my shoulder. I speed up and his breath goes short and his hips lose their rhythm. “Fuck. Right there. Don’t stop, don’t—”
He tries to say something else and I tighten my grip and all that comes out is a broken exhale. His hand finds the back of my neck, gripping, his mouth open and stupid against mycollarbone, and he’s all sounds now, no words, just the desperate honest noise of a man who has finally stopped talking. I didn’t think it was possible. I find it deeply satisfying.
“Zee, I’m—”
