Fuck me. He’s so honest right now, lowering himself between my thighs. He watches me with a warmth so intense, it makes me wonder if anyone’s ever really seen me before.
He cups my tight balls. His lips brush the tip of my erection, and I press forward, easing into his mouth.
My spine arches as he takes me deep, and all I can feel is pressure and the way he takes every inch. Just fantasising my cock halfway to his stomach has me losing it.
“Fuck, Yosh…” My voice is a raspy groan. “That feels…”
The vibration of his hum blurs my vision into a collection of stars. His tongue circles as he traces his way back up, making it very clear what he likes. And what he wants me to like.
“I want you to watch me,” he whispers, briefly taking my cock out of his mouth, eyes hypnotic as he brushes his cheek along my painfully hard erection. “I want you to see exactly how much I love doing this.”
I nod like a good boy, unable to look away.
His lips slide down again, eyes fluttering shut with a needy sound.
That’s it. I'm officially one foot in the grave.
“God, you look so good doing that. Fuck, love, you’re…”
You're beautiful. You're perfect. You're everything.
I can’t push the words out; they’re stuck somewhere between my throat and my pounding heart. I hope he understands.
He picks up pace, and suddenly I’m feeling everything and nothing at the same time. Fuck, he’s taking me so sloppy and wet right now.
I grab the sheets.
I’m getting so fucking ruined.
And the worst part? I want him to. I want him to see me like this, see exactly what he’s doing to me.
That’s new.
That’s terrifying
But it feels so fucking good.
My legs tremble. I try pulling back to slow things down, but he doesn’t let me.
“I—fuck, Yosh.”
He grabs my hand, squeezing it reassuringly. At this point, I’m pretty sure my grip is stronger, but then he squeezes my hand twice and I come, choking out something fractured that is totally messing up my vocal cords.
My hips continue to fuck his throat in waves, over and over. Part instinct, mostly because he’s encouraging me to do so.
His hand doesn’t stop. His mouth eases as he keeps milking me through the aftershocks, through the urge to curl inward from how good it feels.
When I finally manage to open my eyes, he's right there next to me. His lips are swollen, his smile is shy, but satisfied.
I try to say something, but it dissolves into a breathless laugh and a very British “bloody hell.”
“I know,” he whispers.
He slides effortlessly into my arms, settling in like it’s always been this easy, this simple.
We share a pillow, breathing the same air, his forehead pressing against mine.
“I can’t believe I nearly died a couple of months ago,” I say out loud; it comes with the silentand I would have missed out on all of this’.
