And when I glance down, Ryan is staring. Not at my face. His eyes are fixed on my bulge, tongue dragging slowly across hisbottom lip. I don't think he even realizes he's doing it. Fuck. How did I not notice his genuine hunger for me? Something low and dangerous curls in my gut. I manage a quiet, disbelieving laugh.
“Well,” I murmur, “what are you waiting for?”
His hands move, swift and eager, going for my belt, loosening the leather in the metal square of the buckle. I catch his wrist, and he freezes, looking up at me, startled.
“Not like that,” I tell him.
Confusion flickers in his eyes.
“With your teeth. Hands behind your back,” I clarify.
His expression shifts—a little relief, a little excitement—and he draws in a quick breath before placing his hands behind his back, exactly as instructed. Obedient.
Ryan shuffles closer on his knees, leaning in, and takes hold of the loosened bit of belt with his mouth. The movement is slow and deliberate, but there's hunger in his eyes.
My grip tightens at my side.
This is a bad idea. A really bad idea.
He works the belt free, the metal sliding loose. The buckle dangles free and Ryan sucks it into his mouth seductively. He takes it in his mouth past the metal and bites down on the leather. Then he slowly slides the belt from all the loops on my suit pants and lets it fall away. The sound of it hitting the floor feels like some kind of finality.
This is happening. Everything feels louder. Sharper. More intense. And now that I have Ryan Buterbaugh on his knees…you couldn't stop me if you tried.
Ryan moves closer, his mouth intent on getting ahold of my pant button, but I stop him again-my hand finding his hair, holding him just shy of the next step. “Not the Prada,” I warn. “You can use your hands for that.”
His eyes flick up to mine. They're darker now, more focused. There's something in that look I didn't expect. Didn't notice before. It hits me that I may have completely misread him.
Ryan leisurely unzips my pants and gawks at the bulge in my black trunks. He licks his lips again as he slides the suit pants over my ass. I step out of them, and Ryan grabs the band of my trunks but I stop him once more, lifting my leg and placing my foot on his shoulder to hold him in place.
I gesture to my pants on the floor and command, “Fold them and place them nicely on the bed first. Then you can have my cock.”
A soft groan escapes Ryan's full lips. I take that as obedience and remove my foot from his shoulder. I watch as he neatly folds and sets my pants on the bed. Then he turns around and grips the band of my trunks. He slowly tortures me, dragging my trunks down at a glacial pace to reveal my already half-hard dick.
Finally, Ryan yanks the last bit of fabric down and my cock flops out and bobs, heavy and growing. His eyes widen, almost comically, and he looks up at me with the biggest grin and says, “Happy girthday to me.”
I shake my head, exhaling through my nose, trying to keep my composure. “Think you can handle it?” I ask, raising a brow.
He doesn't answer. Not with words. He just leans in, closing the distance, his focus absolute. And without warning, he swallows my dick whole. No teasing the head. No tentative licks or half sucks. Just straight to the back of his throat on the first go.
I suck in a sharp breath, my hands instinctively dropping to his shoulders to steady myself. I glance down. That’s a mistake. He's looking up at me, eyes bright. A little unguarded. A little unhinged.
“Jesus,” I groan under my breath.
I swallow, my grip tightening slightly before I force myself to loosen it, to pull back just enough to think. To breathe.
Because those pretty eyes…they're going to be my undoing if I'm not careful.
Twenty
Closer
Ryan
OH. MY. GOD.
That’s all I can think as Spence swells inside my mouth. He’s longer than average, but it’s the girth for me. It’s so wide. Just mind-bendingly thick. I’ve had my fair share of cock, but nothing—nothing—has ever stretched my lips like this. And he’s still getting harder.
I pull off, sucking in air, my lips slick. I wipe the spit from my chin, fist Spence at the base, and look up at him through my lashes. “Jesus, Spence. ‘Beer can’ doesn’t even begin to cover it.”
