Page 22
“No empieces una pelea que no puedes ganar,” I whisper. Do not start a fight you cannot win.
I am braced for anger, ready for a surge of defiance. I almost expect him to try to hit me or lash out physically. I do not expect him to shrug out of his shirt, throwing it to the ground before dropping to his knees as his hands fumble with my leather belt.
I reach down and grab Aleks’ wrist, holding him still. I should stop him. We have not talked yet. There are conversations we need to have before indulging in our desires.
As much as I want to say fuck it and indulge him, I would not be doing my job if I let us go on without making sure there are safety measures in place. He has been drinking, and I need to know he can communicate.
“I need a safe word, boy.”
He blinks up at me. “Traffic light system,” he says without hesitation.
“Good,” I praise, dragging my thumb over the soft skin of his wrist where I still hold him. “And what happens if you say ‘yellow’?”
“We slow down.”
“And ‘red’?”
“We stop.”
I nod. “We stop, and we make sure you are safe.”
“And yours?” He asks.
For a moment, I am lost. “Mine?”
“Safe word.”
I want to kiss him, but I settle for smiling down at him. “The traffic light system is perfect.”
I look at him carefully, and see his expression closing and hardening the longer I wait, and I cannot. I cannot fucking help it, because this is him. He does not realize it yet, but I will do anything to make him happy. Anything.
“Ask me nicely,” I growl out, releasing his hand.
“Please,” he whispers. “May I?”
“May you what?”
“May I suck your cock…?” He trails off, and I know what he is asking. I want to give it to him, but not here, in the dark of a quiet doorway, where there is no room for anything but impulse.
“Yes,” I whisper. “Good boy.”
Aleks returns to my belt, freeing it and working the zipper down over my already thickening cock. I let him do the work of pushing my cargo shorts down and over my hips, followed by well-worn boxers I have not had a good reason to replace. When I feel his warm breath on the thick hair below my waist, my knees threaten to buckle.
He handles me tentatively, like he is determined but unsure of where to start. His fingers circle the base of my cock, and he looks up at me, eyes wide and glassy, as he licks his lips.
“Do you need me to tell you what to do?” I ask.
When he nods, a pleased sound vibrates from my chest. He is perfect, a voice in my head whispers. Of course he is; he was made for you.
“Lick the shaft,” I begin. “Start at the bottom and work your way up to the tip.” His eyes never leave me as he dips down, tongue extended, and licks a slow, indulgent line up my cock.
It is a light, teasing touch, but knowing it is him makes a sharp, almost desperate pulse of need tighten below my belly. When he reaches the tip he stills, his tongue flicking uncertainly around my foreskin before his lips close around the tip.
“Fuck,” I breathe. “That is perfect, boy. Suck on me like that.”
He tightens his mouth, drawing more of me in. His mouth is hot around me, and he finds a steady rhythm of sucking me, nursing the head of my cock like he is trying to suck me dry. “You like having something in your mouth?”
He nods, the motion sending my cock sliding deeper.
