Page 89

“I want to taste you again, but I also want to lick you here,” he says, his fingers dipping below my waistband and between my legs. “It’s called rimming. I think you’ll enjoy it.”

I’ve read the word. Honestly, I’ve done a lot of research when it comes to sex with a man, because I want sex with him. But reading it and doing it are not the same. Heat floods my face so fast my glasses steam up.

“That’s—intimate.”

“Yeah.” He doesn’t attempt to smile it off. “That’s why I’m asking for permission.”

I swallow. But I’m already nodding. “Okay. Yes. Slow.”

“Slow,” he agrees. He kisses me once before saying, “Sweats off. If you’re more comfortable you can leave on your shirt. Then lay on your back, with your knees up and legs spread.”

“What about you?”

He does smile then. “I can strip, too.”

“I’d like that.”

We shuffle. Slightly awkward as we move around each other, and when he stands next to the bed and shoves his sweats and boxers down, my eyes catch on his cock as it bobs free, already hard and leaking. I think—I think I want to taste him, too. He kneels back on the bed and pulls his t-shirt off.

I forget how to look at anything else for a second. All that skin. The line of hair I’ve admired in the past leads straight down to a patch of hair between his legs. He’s flushed down his chest. And he watches me with hungry eyes, only growing more heated the longer I stare.

“Let me help you,” he says. His voice is all gravel, and it washes over me, adding to the anticipation. I like it when he sounds like this. “Lift your hips.”

My sweats and boxer briefs slide down my legs, and I might melt under the heat of his gaze. I pull my shirt off because I want to feel him skin to skin. This is the most exposed I’ve ever been, and the air makes goosebumps break out over my arms and legs. I lie back and plant my feet higher, spreading my legs slightly. I fight the urge to cover my face and keep my eyes on him as he grabs a pillow and puts it under my hips.

“Still yes?”

“Still yes. Stop asking. If you’re going to keep asking every thirty seconds, I’ll say no.”

He grins. “Bossy. Okay.”

He kisses the inside of my thigh. Then licks a wet line from root to tip, sucking my crown into his mouth with a wet sound that makes my head drop back and my eyes shut in pleasure. I hit the back of his throat, and he swallows around me. I force my eyes open so I can see him.

Oh.

He locks eyes with me and slowly pops off, my dick bounces against my stomach, a mixture of my pre-cum and spit leaving a wet spot behind. He runs his hands from my knees down my thighs and spreads my legs wider. And I make a noise that’s caused by my nerves, and he pauses. Probably fighting the urge to ask me if it’s still okay.

Then his mouth is on me. Where he touched me before. Wet. Hot. A broad lick over my hole that has electric shocks shooting through me. My knees try to close on his head, and he holds them open with his shoulders, humming against me. He licks again, slower circles, then a pointed press of his tongue that isn’t inside yet, but it still makes my cock jump against my stomach, untouched.

I forget how to be quiet.

The seconds pass slower. He flattens his tongue and works me open. When the tip of his tongue actually presses in, my whole body seizes and then goes loose, and the sound I make would be embarrassing if I had any spare dignity left.

“Daniel—”

He squeezes my hip. Then continues to lick into me in short, filthy strokes until my cock is leaking uncontrollably on my stomach. I want him to touch me and feel his fingers where his mouth is. But I also don’t want him to move his mouth. I fist his hair, and he groans into me like he approves.

It builds inside of me. Heat first. Then an ache that isn’t pain. Until I helplessly rock my hips down onto his face. He lets me. He eats at me until my thighs shake and I’m begging for more incoherently.

“Please—” I’m not sure what I’m begging for, I just know I need it.

He cups my ass cheek, his thumb pressing at my entrance along with his tongue and that’s closer to what I want. He lifts his head slightly and spits onto my ass, using it as lube to press his thumb firmer into me. The breach pulls a strangled gasp out of me—tight, strange, a burn that isn’t quite pain—and he stops with only a little bit inside.

“Breathe.”

I do. I adjust faster than I expect. The fullness turns into something I can take, and then into something I want more of. When I nod, he pushes the rest of his thumb in, and my mouth falls open.

I bear down on his hand, and he goes deeper. I stay put, panting through the pleasure, watching his face. He looks even hungrier.