That makes no sense.
It takes me a second too long to realize that he’s sliding down my body, landing with his knees on the floor. “What— What are you doing?”
He reaches for my zipper, unzipping it halfway before I reach for him, pausing whatever he’s planning on doing. “What does it look like? I’m gonna suck your dick. Let go.” He tries to free his hands, but I don’t let go.
I hold on tighter.
“You can’t… I’ve never…” I don’t even have to finish before his eyes are on my face, wider than my own last night when I found him with a man. And I’m realizing slowly that maybe admitting that wasn’t the best idea, considering how he acted when he found out I hadn’t tried smokingweed.
“No one has ever…?”
My face has to be at least ten shades of red right now, the fuzzy feeling from earlier fading fast with Mike on his knees in front of me. I shake my head, staring up at the ceiling.
“Let me.”
“No.”
“Alex. Let me,” he says again, and something about the way he says it makes me look down at him. He doesn’t look all that fuzzy either. His eyes are clear with intent, and I have no idea why, but I find myself nodding, letting him unzip my pants and take out my cock.
He strokes me once, twice, three times, watching, his lip between his teeth, too slow to do anything but tease. I shift under his hand. “Dude, get on with it,Jesus Christ.”
Jason never touched me like this.
He said it wastoo gay.
Mike doesn’t seem to care.
“I knew you’d be big,” he says, the only warning before he takes me into his mouth.
I try not to move.
And that’s easier said than done, because I’ve never felt anything better in my entire life. The tight wet heat of his throat, the way he swirls his tongue. Hedefinitelyknows what he’s doing.
I never knew what I was doing.
All I know is, it doesn’t feel good to be where he is, but he wants to do this for me, so I’m going to stay still for him.
He pulls back, looking up at me, still stroking the same rhythm that has me leaking from my tip. He licks up every drop. “What the fuck,” I moan, and he smiles, proud of himself.
“You can touch me, you know,” he says conversationally, like my dick isn’t in his hand.
“I know.”
My hands don’t move from the fists they’re in at my side, clenched tight enough that it hurts, but I can’t pay it any attention right now.
Mike watches me with a curious expression, his eyes flicking to my fists, unmoving, before he makes a decision. He stops stroking me for one terrible moment, to unclench them, and put them in his hair.
He goes back to using his mouth, up and down, taking me as deep as he can go, while my hands rest in his hair, unmoving.
I’m not going to force him.
Or choke him.
I’m not going to hurt him.
A strand of hair falls in front of his face from the movement, and I brush it back, holding it in place, feeling his hair between my fingers.
When he does something especially good with his tongue, my hips shift a fraction, and he makes a sound that vibrates through my entire body.
