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Face burning, I look away and pretend to adjust my chair. I haven’t just been touching them all morning. I’ve been doing it since Friday night, but it’s now Monday. I clearly have a problem.
Clearing my throat, I smile and accept her hospitality. “Y-yeah. Thanks.”
Vaseline can’t help me. My lips aren’t chapped. They’re branded by the memory of Pete Carver’s cock.
I’m different now. When I got home from his house and looked in the mirror, it was like witnessing a transformation. I was… me. Finally, me. The me I’ve always wanted to be. I’d just sucked another man’s cock.
Biting my lip, I suppress a smile. I made him come. I made another man come. Me. I did it.
Okay, technically, I made two men come. I can’t believe I unloaded in my pants. Ugh. How mortifying.
It hit me so hard and fast, I couldn’t stop it. The vast contrast between fantasy and reality was sensory overload. I was so not prepared. Pete Carver is a potent specimen. Maybe I shouldn’t have looked for someone I found attractive to explore with after all.
Biting the inside of my cheek, I fight another stupid grin, making sure no one can see my face behind my monitor. No. I wouldn’t trade my experience with Pete for the world, embarrassment included.
He was so hard when I pulled him out. My first cock. The first cock I ever touched that wasn’t mine. Uhn. There were so many firsts.
The way he just stood there for me, letting me look, letting me hold him—I have no idea how you repay someone for that kind of patience and trust. Well, maybe I did kind of repay him, considering he got off.
Watching him come almost sent me over the edge a second time. Gosh, it was all so surreal, like a dream. Except for the ending.
‘Lesson’s over.’
That lesson? As in, he’s amenable to more? Or was it a lesson’s over, and I’m not wasting my time with a kid who doesn’t know what he’s doing?
I really wish there’d been more feedback, but I was too embarrassed about coming in my pants to stick around. He didn’t look annoyed exactly, but he sure didn’t look like he was in the mood to talk the way he nodded toward his door before he left the room.
Crap.
Should I have swallowed? Did I scrape him with my teeth? Maybe he thinks someone who comes in their pants is just too hopeless to bother with. Or maybe he thought all I wanted was one lesson.
I wish I could ask Brice, but there’s no way I can tell him about this. I never mentioned that I was taking action on my disaster plan. Frankly, because it would just sound pathetic, but I know he would have tried to talk me out of it. His advice has always been to know my own worth and that when the feeling is right, I’ll know it. I can’t tell him I basically offered my mouth up for an experiment with a stranger. A hot as fuck experiment that I’d do again in a heartbeat. He wouldn’t understand how desperate I was to feel normal.
Between trying to come up with small talk for Brice, reliving every second at Pete’s, and wracking my brain over those two words, ‘lesson’s over’, the weekend went by in a blur. This morning, however, has dragged on mercilessly.
I want to see him again. I need to see him again. Just a glimpse. One look might put me out of my misery.
By the time lunch approaches, I’m like a wind-up doll, ready to spring out of my chair. Fortunately, Heather lets me take my break first. I’ll feel guilty about lunching before a pregnant woman later.
My meal in the cafeteria is as uneventful as usual. I sit at a table by the window by myself like always. My head whips around toward the doorway each time I hear someone enter. Each time it isn’t Pete, making my heart sink.
What was I expecting? It’s not like we arranged to meet up at the office.
I wish he had my number. It’s probably best that I don’t have his, or I’d overthink things and say something stupid.
Cutting my losses, I gather up my tray. I need to calm down and not be such a newbie about this. It’s only Monday. Maybe we’ll run into each other during the week. Then, I can thank him for… Is it appropriate to thank someone for letting you give them oral?
Ugh. I need to chill out. It’s probably a good thing that I haven’t seen him yet. No doubt I’d just word vomit all over him.
Making my way to the elevators, a pair of men from the seventh floor cease their conversation as I approach. The corner of one’s mouth ticks up at the corner in a display of polite acknowledgement, but then he stares at the elevator countdown. People here really don’t make any effort to even look at me, let alone speak to me.
That depressing reminder directs my thoughts right back to Pete. Why didn’t he say anything when we were done? He didn’t say much at all, actually, except for a few accusations. I was surprised, but I don’t blame him. I’m his boss’ son. I guess I didn’t weigh what the gravity of that fact would feel like in his shoes.
When the doors open, I gesture for the men to board before me. Once inside, I find it occupied by Randy and Preston, matching soft drink cups in their hands. Randy’s never invited me on a lunch date. It’s probably sad that I’m not brokenhearted over that. I’d honestly like to have a brother who I know and who knows me back.
“Cameron,” Preston says, throwing me a nod.
“Hey, Preston.”
