His breath hits my cock first. Hot and close. Then his mouth. His lips close over the head. Careful. Testing. Heat spreading outward from the point of contact, and my hands grip the sheets.
Oh, my God.
I can feel Benji’s mouth on my cock.
“I feel you,” I say. “Benji. I feel your mouth around me. Your mouth feels amazing. The best thing I’ve ever felt.”
He chokes out a groan or a sob, muffled against my skin, and the vibration adds a new frequency to the sensation. He takes me deeper. His lips slide down the shaft, the wet heat of his mouth enveloping me inch by inch, and his tongue presses flat against the underside and drags. His hand wraps aroundthe base, his fingers firm, and the combination of his fist and his mouth working together makes my stomach clench.
He pulls back. His lips tight around the shaft, dragging, and when he reaches the head, his tongue circles the tip in a leisurely pass that punches a sound out of me.
“There,” I manage. “Fuck.Whatever you’re doing right there.”
His tongue teases that spot — circling, pressing, the flat of his tongue and then the tip of it alternating in a pattern he’s building, learning what my body answers to.
“This okay?” He pulls back just enough to speak, his lips still close enough that I feel the words against my skin.
“God, yes — don’t stop.” I’m wrecked already and he’s barely started.
He takes me deep again. His lips slide all the way down and his hand moves to my thigh, gripping, his fingers pressing into the skin there.
“Benji.” His name comes out of me ragged. “Your mouth.Jesus Christ.”
He looks up at me without pulling off. His eyes find mine. They’re wet and blazing. His cheeks are hollowed, his lips are stretched around me.
He finds a rhythm and locks into it. His mouth and his hand working together, the pull of his lips up the shaft and the squeeze of his fist at the base, with his tongue doing something amazing on every upstroke. The chain is hanging against his chest, swinging slightly with the rhythm of his head, and the image sears itself into my brain.
My hand finds his hair and grips. The strands are damp with sweat and soft between my fingers. I hold on and he moans around me. The vibration of it travels through my cock and up into my spine.
“Benji.”
His name is the only word my brain has left.
The sensation builds. A long, gradual climb, each pass of his mouth stacking another layer onto the one below it. His pace doesn’t change. He’s reading every sound I make, every shift of my hips, every tightening of my hand in his hair.
“I’m gonna come.” The words feel impossible. “Benji. I think I’m —”
He doesn’t stop. Doesn’t change a thing. His eyes close and he gives me everything.
It crests. A deep, rolling pulse that starts where his mouth is and radiates outward through every part of me that can carry it. My fingers fist his hair. He stays on me through every wave. His mouth gentle now, easing me down.
I lie there against the headboard with my chest heaving and the aftershocks moving through me in diminishing waves. Benji has his cheek pressed against my hip. His breath is warm on my skin. His hand is resting on my stomach, his thumb making small absent circles, and he’s not rushing me. He’s just there. Letting me come back.
I run my fingers through his hair. The strands are damp and tangled. He makes a small sound when my nails drag across his scalp.
“Come back up here,” I say.
Benji crawls up my body, pressing open-mouthed kisses along my stomach, ribs, and chest. He’s compact but perfectly proportioned — lean and toned. His messy white-blonde hair falls into his eyes as he moves.
He settles on top of me, straddling my hips. His hard cock rests against my stomach, hot and heavy, already leaking steadily and leaving shiny trails of precum across my skin.
That ends now. Tonight isn’t just about me.
“Your turn,” I tell him.
“Mickey, you don’t have to— tonight was about you. I’m fine, I—”
“You’re shaking.” I pull him down into a deep kiss, tasting myself on his tongue. “Let me touch you. Sit up so I can see you better.”
