His pupils are blown, almost eclipsing the brown, his nostrils flared. His mouth is parted, his bottom lip slick. The flush has spread across his cheeks and down his neck. It colors the tips of his ears pink.
I tilt my head back, my lips seeking his. His eyes go wide, and for a split second, I think he’s going to pull away. That this is where he draws the line. But then they flutter shut, and his mouth finds mine.
It’s clumsy at first, just a press of lips. My neck is craned at an awkward angle, and our noses bump. Then I open my mouth with a soft gasp, and he takes the invitation. His tongue slides against mine, and it’s even better than I imagined. Warm and wet, tasting of Red Bull and spearmint gum. I moan into his mouth, my whole body arching off the bed.
Everything else fades away. The dinging phone. The boxes. Staci McPherson. There’s only North. The heat of him, the taste of him, the feeling of his hard cock in my hand and mine in his. The world has shrunk to the size of this bed.
North kisses like he plays football. Total abandon, a hundred percent committed. He shifts, crowding over me, forcing me back against the pillows, never breaking the kiss. His body is a cage of muscle and heat around me. His free hand slides up my side, bunching my shirt as it goes, his palm skimming over my ribs, my stomach. My skin tingles everywhere he touches.
He breaks the kiss long enough to pull my shirt over my head. It catches on my ear. He tosses it onto a stack of half-open boxes. Then his mouth is on me again, trailing a wet path down my jaw, my throat. He bites down on the spot where my neck meets my shoulder, and I cry out.
“North, please,” I beg, not even sure what I’m begging for. More? Faster? All of it?
He flicks his tongue over one nipple, then the other, before latching on and sucking hard. The sensation shoots straight to my groin. My fingers, which have fallen away from him, tangle in his hair, holding him to me. I’m lost. Adrift. I’ve never felt anything like this in my life.
He releases my nipple with a pop, blowing a cool stream of air over the wet skin. Kisses a line down my stomach, lower, lower. Then he kneels between my legs, pushing my jeans the rest of the way off. I’m completely naked now, splayed out onmy bed, my cock standing straight up, glistening at the tip. He breathes over me, and then he’s looking up, eyes locked on mine.
“Holy shit, Gav,” he whispers, his voice hoarse. “I want to suck you so bad.”
I answer by wrapping a hand around the back of his neck and guiding him down.
The first swipe of his tongue over the head makes me cry out, the sound echoing off the bare walls.
The second is a long, slow lick from root to tip.
By the third, I have to stuff a fist into my mouth, biting down on the meat of my palm to stifle the noises I can no longer control.
He keeps lapping at me, getting me good and wet, his spit mixing with my precum. His fist closes around the base, and he drags his tongue up the underside. Another flick against the slit. A swirl around the head. Then he looks up through his lashes, a wicked grin tugging at his mouth, before lowering his head and taking me into his mouth.
7
The sight of this six-foot-five mountain of a man, the golden boy, the star quarterback, gagging around me is something I never dared imagine. And here it is, happening, in a dorm room full of cardboard boxes. North, on his knees for me, jaw stretched to the limit, those full lips wrapped tight around my cock, spit running down his chin.
He goes too deep and coughs, pulling back. My dick slides from his mouth with a slick pop. A strand of precum hangs between his lower lip and the swollen head. He grins at me. “Don’t look at me like that.”
“What look?”
“You think it’s funny that I can’t fit the whole thing in my mouth.” He catches the strand with the tip of his tongue, licking it clean like melted ice cream.
“No, I swear.”
“Then why are you smiling like that?”
“Because it feels so good.”
“Yeah? How good?” he says before ducking back down.
He swirls his tongue around the head, dipping into the slit. I shudder. He’s watching me, gauging my reactions. He’s alwaysbeen a quick study. Whether it’s a new play on the field or, apparently, a dick in his mouth. He takes me deep again, farther this time, swallowing around me, and I can feel the muscles in his throat working. I can’t help but thrust up into that wet heat, my fingers tangling in the sheets, bunching the fabric in my fists.
“How good?” he repeats, muffled around a mouthful of me.
I try to form words. Sentences. “So… good, North. So fucking good. Ten out of ten.”
He’s bobbing his head now, finding his pace. His hands are on my thighs, gripping them, holding me down, pulling me apart. His stubble scrapes against the sensitive skin of my inner thighs, sending little sparks of pain and pleasure all through me. I can’t stop watching him. Watching my dick disappear between his lips, watching the stretch of his mouth, the flush on his cheeks, the tears gathering in the corners of his eyes.
When he tries to take me all the way again, he gags hard and pulls off, panting, saliva dripping from his chin.
“Fuck,” he says, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. “I can’t. You’re too big.”
