Chapter 4
Chris
Company comes first.
Hands down the three hottest words I’ve ever heard. Even hotter because they’re from the mouth of the guy who’s fueled my gay sex fantasies since I allowed myself to have gay sex fantasies. And who’s kneeling in front of me, gloriously naked, freeing my swollen cock from my boxer briefs.
Holy shit. He wasn’t kidding when he said he had magic fingers. They sure know their way around a guy’s dick. The way he strokes me is faster, firmer, rougher than a woman’s touch.
I like it. No, that’s a lie. I fucking love it.
His free hand travels up my thigh and over my hip, coming to rest against the eight-pack I work hard in the gym to maintain. “Man. You have zero body hair.”
“Occupational hazard,” I grunt. “Minimalist costumes and muscle bears don’t mix well.”
“You’re ripped, but you’re not jacked enough to be a muscle bear. You’re more of an otter. Or a jock.” Okay. Guess I still have a lot to learn about LGBTQ slang. But that will have to wait. Right now I’m having a hard time focusing on anything except his wandering fingers, teasing the area where my happy trail would be if I didn’t wax regularly.
He moves in closer as he continues to jerk me off, and his soft, shallow breaths tickle my dick. “But it’s totally hot. All that smooth, shiny skin waiting to be explored.”
His tongue comes out to lap up a bead of precum at the tip of my aching cock, and damn if that slippery little sucker isn’t as magic as his fingers. I inhale sharply, every fiber of my being vibrating with sexual energy and raw need.
“Fuck. Do that again.”
“You want my mouth?” he asks, sitting back on his haunches, which increases the distance between his lips and my dick.
Bastard.
“Fuck, yes,” I moan, not too proud to beg. “Please.”
“I can’t resist when you ask nicely.”
He wraps his hand around the base of my cock, his grip firm and sure, and those sinful lips part as he brings his mouth nearer, nearer, until it’s around my head, warm and wet. He licks one, two, three slow circles around the tip then sucks me in deeper, his tongue teasing the underside of my shaft.
Fuckity fuck fuck fuck.I grit my teeth and concentrate on not shooting off like a goddamn cruise missile. I will not embarrass myself. I’ve waited too long for this for it to end in a matter of minutes.
But David seems determined to prove me wrong. He swallows me whole, and I feel my cock hit the back of his throat. My knees buckle, and I groan in protest when he pulls off me.
“Couch.” He points behind me. “Sit.”
It’s a good thing it’s only a few steps away because I’m not sure my shaky legs will carry me much farther. I sink down onto one of the leather cushions, and within seconds David’s between my thighs, pushing them apart so he can dive back in and devour me some more.
I watch him through half-closed eyes and my hands drift downward to cup his head, his thick, silky hair sliding through my fingers. “Holy hell, dude. I think you’re the one who’s trying to kill me.”
He raises his head and releases me with a loudpop. “Enjoying your inaugural blow job from a guy?”
“I’m not sure enjoying is the right word.” My hips buck, telling him without words that I need his mouth on me again. I’ve never felt so out of control. And it’s fucking awesome. Control is overrated. A little submission every once in a while doesn’t make a man any less of a man, no matter if he’s gay, straight, or anything in between. “I might pass out if I don’t come soon.”
He doesn’t answer, just ducks his head and takes me in again. My toes curl and my fingers grasp at his hair like it’s a lifeline as he wrecks me with his lips, teeth, and tongue. I don’t have another guy to compare him to, but I don’t need one to know that he is seriously, seriously good at this.
I want like hell to make it last, but that’s so not gonna happen. Not with the way my cock is pulsing and my heart is pounding. Then there are the sounds David is making. Muffled groans, wet slurps, and rhythmic grunts that take me to the edge of the cliff, mere millimeters from tumbling into oblivion.
“Gotta come,” I warn him. “Watch out.”
But instead of pulling back so I can blow my load in his hand or on his chest, he doubles down, groaning louder and sucking me all the way down to the root, his chin bumping my balls. My hips twitch and my back arches and I pour myself into him.
He takes every last drop, and when I’m done my whole body goes slack and my head flops back against the couch, eyes closed. I’m shaking and spent and thoroughly satisfied, unable to do anything but sit there like a limp noodle and marinate in the memory of how my college crush just gave me the best blow job of my life.
But David’s still ready and raring to go. I hear him get up from the floor and feel the couch cushion next to me sink with his weight. Then he’s taking my hand, putting it on what feels like—holy crap, is that his dick?
