“Jesus Christ,” I growl, the sensation of heat and pressure shooting straight up my spine. My hand flies to the back of his head, not pushing, just holding. Grounding myself as much as guiding him.
He moans against me, the vibration making my knees weak. His hand comes up to grip my thigh, fingers digging into muscle. I’ve been trained to withstand torture, to push through pain that would break most men. But this gentle pressure of his mouth through cotton might actually kill me.
I can’t take it anymore. I hook my thumbs into the waistband of my boxer briefs and pull them down, letting my cock spring free.
Wyatt’s reaction would be comical if I weren’t so far gone. His jaw literally drops, eyes widening as he takes in my size. I’m not vain about it, but I know I’m bigger than average. Thick and heavy, veins prominent along the shaft, head flushed dark and leaking.
His tongue darts out to wet his lips, an unconscious gesture that nearly makes me come on the spot.
“You sure about this?” I ask, giving him one last chance to back out. One final opportunity for either of us to salvage some dignity from this wreckage.
He doesn’t speak, just nods, eyes still fixed on my cock.
“Fuck,” I mutter, taking myself in hand. “Open your mouth. Give me your tongue.”
His compliance is immediate. No hesitation, no snarky comeback. His jaw drops, tongue extended. So different from the argumentative brat I’ve been babysitting. This new, eager version of Wyatt is doing dangerous things to my self-control.
I step closer, guiding the crown of my cock to his waiting tongue. I drag it slowly across the soft, wet surface, smearing precum as I go. Heat pulses through me, my balls drawing tight against my body.
Wyatt moans, eyes rolling back as he tastes me. His reaction seems genuine. Either he’s enjoying this or he’s a better actor than I gave him credit for.
My hand cups the back of his head, fingers threading through that soft, expensive haircut. My other hand keeps my cock steady as I guide the head to his lips.
“Suck,” I command, voice dropping to that register I use when I need absolute compliance. “Just the head. Nothing more.”
He obeys instantly, wrapping his lips around the crown and applying gentle suction. Wet heat engulfs me, his tongue swirling experimentally around the sensitive ridge.
“Fuck,” I hiss, fighting to keep my hips still. Fighting the urge to thrust deeper into that perfect mouth. I’ve been with womenwho’ve spent years perfecting their technique who couldn’t make me feel like this with just the simplest touch.
Wyatt, apparently emboldened by my reaction, tries to take more, sliding his lips farther down my shaft. He makes it about halfway before he chokes, gagging as his throat constricts around me. He pulls back quickly, eyes watering.
It’s not surprising. Even the most experienced partners have struggled with my size.
“Did I tell you to take more?” I growl, pulling back. “Follow instructions, Wyatt.”
His eyes flash with defiance mixed with excitement, and he nods, returning to just the head as instructed. I pull back completely after a moment, wrapping my hand around my shaft and stroking slowly.
“You’re touching yourself,” I observe, noticing the movement of his arm, the way he’s pressing his palm against the obvious bulge in his designer pants.
“Can’t help it,” he admits, voice hoarse.
“Take it out,” I order, still stroking myself. “Show me.”
No hesitation. His hands fly to his belt, fumbling in his eagerness. He undoes his pants and shoves them down along with his underwear—expensive silk or some shit, knowing him—still kneeling in front of me.
His cock springs free, and I’m stunned. He’s bigger than I expected, long and straight with a slight upward curve. Not as thick as mine, but substantial. The kind of dick that would have porn producers calling. Precum beads at his tip, threatening to drip onto the hardwood floor.
My mouth actually waters at the sight. I haven’t sucked a cock since my last deployment, but suddenly I’m aching to taste him, to feel the weight of him on my tongue. More precum leaks from my own cock at the thought, and I squeeze the base to keep from coming.
Wyatt begins to stroke himself, eyes never leaving mine, hand moving in long, smooth pulls.
“Stop,” I bark. “I didn’t say you could touch yourself yet.”
His hand freezes mid-stroke, a small whimper escaping him. The sound goes straight to my dick, my balls drawing up tight against my body. I’m not going to last much longer.
“Give me your hand,” I demand. “Palm up.”
He complies without question, offering his right hand to me. I take it, positioning his palm beneath the head of my cock as I continue stroking with increasing speed.
