AllFreeNovel
Share Us
I’ve never asked a girlfriend to, nor had one request to do so, although I think I would have declined. The mess afterward was enough to deal with, let alone the thought of kissing someone who’d just swallowed my release. I’m at a loss though as to what this Pete will do. This unleashed personality that Cameron Fairway’s words and touch have awakened wants everything, and the thought honestly terrifies me as much as it excites me.
His mouth tightens around my cockhead, and he freezes, his body going rigid. Eyelids hooded, his hand relinquishes my thigh, and he pops off me, letting out a strangled, ‘Huhn’ sound.
Panting in erratic breaths, he glances down at where his hand is now cupping himself. My hand falls away from his head, and I notice his torso shudder as his eyes pinch closed.
Did he just…
He came. He came in his pants. He just came in his pants from pleasuring me.
The damp spot on his jeans should disgust me given my dislike of fluids, but what it represents is the hottest thing I’ve ever seen. A flood gate of heat bursts open and propels from my nuts up my shaft.
Oh, hell. I’m coming.
My hand encloses the tip of my cock just in time. Sputtering, I turn away, hoping my palm is big enough to capture all the warm, sticky fluid pulsing out of me.
My body feels like it just ran a marathon or took an entire bottle of sedatives. Little charges of shivers wrack my nerve endings, but there’s nothing I can do to stop them. The waves assault me, one after another, threatening to knock me down.
When I’m certain I’ve finally spent every drop that’s determined to escape me, I pull my hand away. A pond of glistening release occupies my palm, and my gaze does the last thing it should—looks at the man who caused its appearance.
Lips swollen and parted, cheeks flushed, hair askew, he looks positively destroyed. Destruction has never looked better.
Wait. What am I saying? I’ve just destroyed the boss’ youngest son with my cock. Except, he doesn’t look the least bit conflicted about his destruction, staring up at me like I’m an antidote.
Rubbing his puffy lips together, he swallows, still resting on his haunches. There are no more breaths, nor whimpers, grunts, or even slurps to mask the silence in the room. Is he looking to me for the next move? I can manage three accounts, but there is nothing in my repertoire that lets me know how to manage this…whatever this is, was… Christ.
‘I need someone with experience.’
His words come back to haunt me as I stare at his submissive pose on my floor, his hand concealing his folly like a teenager. He looks so innocent like that. He looks like a young person not yet jaded by life who needs wonderful, sweet things, not a blow job on some stranger’s living room floor.
He was right. He needs a gentleman, but I’m not a fucking gentleman. I’m a damn mess on a good day and certainly far from pleasant. I don’t hold hands, and I can’t even imagine taking him out to dinner. I’ve never taken another man out to dinner…a dinner date. That leaves the rest of his list.
He touched. He tasted. He can find someone else to help him check off the rest of his boxes. Taste test complete. It nearly fucking killed me.
“I…need to wash my hands. And you probably want to…” I can’t finish the sentence, too afraid of embarrassing him. “I think you’ve got the hang of it. Lesson’s over,” I inform him, knowing immediately what a half-ass reassurance it is.
His jaw drops a fraction, but the understanding registers. I’d swear that’s disappointment in his eyes, but he nods.
He staggers awkwardly to his feet. How am I just now realizing that he’s an inch taller than me? His frame is all lean muscle, not nearly as wide as mine, but he’s no boy. The moniker ‘Baby Fairway’ is suddenly struck from my vocabulary. He’s all man, and man right now is a heady pheromone that has just been recalibrated by my sensory receptors.
I smell… us. It occurs to me that some of what I’m holding in my hand is his slobber. I have a part of him in my possession, and… my fucking cameras were rolling the entire time. Son of a bitch.
Turning, I book it to my bathroom, uncomfortably preventing my sensitized cock from bobbing around as I walk. My fly is damp. There’s a drop of cum just above my knee. I am a walking symbol of evidence, evidence that I either lost my mind or I don’t know a damn thing about myself.
Shutting the door behind me, the urge to wash is there, but not as pressing as something else. Leaning against the door, I wait… and wait. It feels like an eternity.
When I finally hear the front door close, I don’t feel better like I thought I would. I thought my racing heart would settle as soon as I knew Cameron Fairway was out of my house.
Glancing at my mirror, I learn why it hasn’t. I’m destroyed, too. The man staring back at me is not the example of order and consistency that I’m used to seeing. The man staring back looks like puzzle pieces that I don’t know how to put together. Because I enjoyed that. I enjoyed it so much I know thoughts of it will invade each waking moment. It is extremely debilitating to acquire more intrusive triggers when you have obsessive-compulsive disorder. What did Cameron Fairway just do to me?
CHAPTER 7
Cameron
“Here, I keep this in my desk,” Heather’s voice intrudes on my thoughts.
I blink my aimless stare away from my computer to find her palm outstretched, holding a mini tin of Vaseline. What am I supposed to do with that?
I blink at her, growing more confused when her brow wrinkles in her own confusion. Gesturing to my mouth, she adds, “Are your lips chapped? You’ve been touching them all morning.”
