"Fuck." The word burst out of him. "Rafael, yes, finally—"
I bit his lip again to shut him up and tasted fresh copper. He moaned into my mouth.
The button on his jeans fought me. My fingers were clumsy, but I was determined. It’d been too long since I’d had him. Too many days since New Orleans, too many near-death moments. I needed him now, needed him like this, raw and desperate and alive.
I finally got his cock free and wrapped my hand around him, stroking gently. He fit perfectly in my hand, like God had made him exactly to my specifications. I could wrap my fingers around him completely, control every sensation, own every response his body gave me. I stroked him again, root to tip, and his hips bucked forward, chasing more friction.
My own cock throbbed in sympathy. I was so hard it bordered on painful, trapped behind denim and cotton, leaking steadily. I wanted to taste him, needed it like I needed air.
I released my grip on him and spun him around before dropping to my knees in the cold mud. The impact jarred through my bones, but I barely noticed. The storm beat down on my back and soaked throughmy shirt until the fabric clung to my shoulders, but all I could focus on was the heat radiating off Lorenzo's body.
I leaned forward and licked a long, slow stripe up his length.
"Oh, fuck." His hands flew to the wall and slapped against wood. "Oh, fuck, Rafael—"
I moaned at the taste of salt and musk. The storm mixed with the taste of him, and it felt like communion and baptism rolled into one. Pre-cum beaded at his tip, and I licked it away, chased the taste back to its source.
I wrapped my hand around him and looked up at him. His eyes were dark and wild, and he was breathing so hard, so fast, the little clouds of breath coming out of him looked like smoke. Our eyes locked together, I leaned forward and closed my lips around him and began to suck.
"Jesus Christ." His voice broke. "That's—fuck, that's so good—"
Heat flooded my tongue. The taste of him overwhelmed everything else—the storm and copper and salt and something uniquely Lorenzo. I had no idea what I was doing. I had no technique to fall back on, just a ravenous need to consume him, to take him so deep he'd feel it for days.
I moved too much too fast and gagged when he hit the back of my throat, but he seemed to like it, so I tried it again. The second time, I was more prepared and was able to take him deeper, wrap my tongue around him and stroke him with it.
"Oh God, look at you." Lorenzo's voice came out wrecked, barely coherent. "Do you have any idea how hot this is? You on your knees for me? You finally letting yourself—ah, fuck—"
Rain pounded down on us both, but all I could focus on was the weight of him in my mouth, the taste coating my tongue, the sounds he was making above me like prayer.
I hollowed my cheeks, and his whole body jerked.
"Yes, just like that, don't stop—" His hands pressed against the wall. "You're going to make me—easy, easy—"
But I didn't go easy. I couldn’t. I doubled down and used my tongue along the underside where the skin was softer, more sensitive, where I could feel his pulse. I learned what made him gasp, what made his hands press against the wall until I could hear wood creaking, what made those frantic sounds climb higher and higher in his throat.
This was worship. This was me on my knees in the mud, offering up everything I had, everything I was, everything I'd ever be. The taste of him was more sacred than any wine I'd ever blessed.
"Rafael, slow down or I'm going to—Fuck, I'm trying to make this last, but you're—ah—"
I didn't slow down. I wanted him coming apart in my mouth. I wanted to taste him, to swallow him down like a sacrament.
His thighs trembled. His breathing fractured into ragged, starved sounds. "I can't—" His words shattered into pieces. "Rafael, I'm going to—I can't hold—"
He came with my name breaking on his lips like a prayer, like a curse, like both at once.
Heat flooded my mouth. The taste of him was salty and bitter and overwhelming, so much I almost choked on it. The instinct to swallow was strong, but I held off, letting him empty himself into my mouth until his hands finally left the wall, pushing weakly at my shoulders. "Too much, too much—"
Not enough, I thought as I pulled off of him and surged to my feet. I caught him, pinning him to the wall, and pressed my lips to his. His eyes widened as he realized I still had a mouthful of his cum, but he didn’t fight me. He closed his eyes and opened his mouth, letting me thrust my tongue into his mouth.
White stripes glistened down his chin where he couldn’t keep up. I sucked it back from him and shoved it deep inside again, rolling it onto his tongue, then taking it back when he tried toswallow.
He caught my wrist, holding me in place, letting the cum spill out and run down both our faces.
Mine. The word pounded in my head louder than thunder.
He bit me, tried to turn the kiss mean, but I shoved the taste back down his throat, using my whole body to pin him in place. Mouth to mouth, tongue to tongue, spit and cum and rainwater blending until I didn’t know where I ended and he began. It was sick. Filthy. The hottest thing I’d ever known.
I licked him clean, licked the mess off his lips and chin, tasted myself and him and metallic rain. I’d never get tired of it. Never stop needing more.
