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"Don’t... I like it."
I continued playing with the soft skin under his shirt, finding his hip bones and tracking small circles around the ridges of his lower abs. He was lean and fit and hot as fuck.
I needed him.
While I had been all gentlemanly before, suggesting a slower approach, it was becoming increasingly difficult to resist the growing tide of passion within me. Mitchell, too, it seemed, had reached the point of no return.
With one smooth movement, he hooked his fingers into the waistband of my briefs and yanked them down my thighs. He pulled his mouth away from mine and soon put it to another equally good use.
My cock.
12
MITCHELL
I met Cayman’s rock-hard—and gloriously uncut—cock at eye level, taking it in for one delectable moment. It was hefty in my hand as I wrapped my fingers around the thick base. With my other hand, I peeled back the foreskin to reveal a delectable, glistening head.
I swirled my tongue under the tip of his swollen cock, eliciting a thunderous rumble that vibrated through his body. His fingers landed on the sides of my face, and I loosened my jaw, taking him in my mouth.
I began to take more and more of him, gradually building a nice, steady rhythm. His hands were there for assurance. It felt like they were protecting me with their presence. I slurped and swallowed, allowing his taste, his presence to fill not just my mouth, but my entire being.
"Wait." He pulled me off his cock sharply. "I don’t want to come yet."
"Good," I replied raspily. "I don’t want you to, either. Not until you’ve fucked me."
His eyes went dark again. "Are you sure that’s what you want, Mitchell?"
Fuck. If anyone thought consent wasn’t sexy, they needed to hear the way Cayman asked for it.
"I am. Now shut up and fuck me… Please."
We made our way out of our clothes as Cayman reached down into the back pocket of his pants. He smiled somewhat sheepishly as he pulled out a condom. "A guy can always hope, right?"
I giggled as I strode over to the bedside table and pulled out a bottle of lube. "Indeed, he can."
We both laughed before closing the distance between us, burning up in a series of ever-quickening kisses. My hands roamed his body, exploring his muscles with fierce hunger.
My fingers encased the thick base of his shaft, stroking the hot flesh in my fist. I wanted him inside of me so badly, needed the feeling of being filled up and overtaken. Of surrendering.
I lay myself down on the bed and lifted my legs in the air. "See anything you like?"
His eyes were transfixed by my hole, but he managed to look up, gulp, and stutter out a "Y-yes."
"Well then, Cayman"—my eyes fluttered innocently while I very un-innocently grabbed my ass cheeks and spread them open a little wider—"do you plan on doing anything about it?"
A nanosecond later, he descended onto me, his tongue crashing into my hole as he began slurping as if his life depended on it. He replaced my fingers with his, giving me a gentle stretch while his tongue probed me.
My head fell toward the bed. My lower back arched up. I pushed my body down against the groove of his slick tongue as he expertly worked my entrance, wetting it in anticipation of the main course to come.
I felt myself surrendering to my deepest desires. I knew I could trust Cayman. I was safe. And if all we ever had was just this one night, I wanted it to be a night I would remember for the rest of my life.
13
CAYMAN
Another assumption I could cross off about nice guys: they were bad in bed. Because, holy heck, Mitchell was a total devil in the sack.
The way he’d swallowed me with abandon, the way he’d presented himself to me on the bed, legs up in the air, showing me the most private, intimate part of himself.
