My head snaps up and my eyes fly open. Yep. It’s his dick all right. In my hand. I’ve never held a guy’s dick before, obviously. It’s thick and heavy and pointing straight up, pressed against his belly and leaking precum on his rippled abs.
I don’t know what the hell he was worried about. He’s got absolutely no reason to be self-conscious. He may not have the insane definition of a dancer’s body—hell, few people do, and it’s nearly impossible to maintain—but it’s obvious he works out. His stomach is flat, his biceps are firm, and his thighs and calves are toned and taut.
And his goddamn cock is a thing of beauty. Long and pink and smooth, capped with a mushroom head that I’m dying to put my lips around. Without really thinking about it, my fingers form a tight circle and I give it a long, slow stroke.
“That’s it.” He thrusts up into my hand. “Harder. Don’t be afraid to be a little rough.”
I hesitate, my grip on him loosening. The polar opposite of what he asked for. But never having done this before, I’m overly cautious. I know how I like to be touched, but I’m not sure how that translates into me touching another dude’s dick. “I don’t want to hurt you.”
He reaches down and closes his hand around mine. His cock throbs, hot and hard in my fingers. “Don’t worry. I’ll tell you if it’s too much. I want to watch you jack me off.”
Who am I to deny the man what he wants? I slide my hand down his shaft, over the head and back to the base. And because I like having my balls played with, I decide to go lower, cupping his in my palm and squeezing.
His already dark eyes grow even darker as he lifts his hips to make it easier for me to fondle him. “Keep that up and I won’t last long.”
“No fair. You’re not allowed to come. Not before I taste you.”
I lean over and touch my lips to the tip of his dick. My tongue flicks the slit that runs down the middle, and I get my first taste of guy goo. It’s warm and slightly salty, like saltwater taffy.
My first thought is how easily I could become addicted to it, a prospect that’s equal parts thrilling and terrifying. My second is that I don’t care how fucking frightening it is, there’s no way I’m leaving this apartment without returning the favor and swallowing everything he has to give me.
“Cocktease.” David nudges his hips upward again, lifting his fine ass off the couch. “Stop torturing me and suck it already.”
He doesn’t have to ask me twice. “Your command is my wish.”
His cock is stiff and dripping. For me. I brush my lips across the head and rub the shaft against my cheek, teasing him one last time with my five o’clock shadow before I open wide and put him out of his misery.
“Fuck,” he moans. “Need this. Need you.”
His words make my heart happy, and my lips curve into a smile around his dick. I suck him in deeper and deeper, trying to fit his entire length into my mouth. I can’t quite get there. Yet.
But he doesn’t seem to mind my lack of experience. I must be doing something right because he comes in mere minutes, bucking and writhing and muttering incoherently as he floods my mouth with the saltwater taffy taste of his orgasm.
When he’s done, I raise my head and plant a kiss in the middle of his sweat-dampened chest, where a fine trail of dark hair bisects his abs. David reciprocates, kissing my collarbone, then gathers me to him and stretches out on the couch, taking me down with him. His arms band around me and he buries his face in my neck.
Wow. David’s a snuggler. Who knew?
Fortunately, so am I. We lie there, legs tangled, holding each other as our panting subsides and our heart rates return to normal, and it’s fucking heaven. I’m so blissed out I don’t even care that his couch really isn’t big enough for the two of us and I’ll probably wind up with a stiff neck and sore back.
“Sorry,” he murmurs against my throat. “I should have warned you I was about to blow.”
Apology totally unnecessary. He’s crazy if he thinks he’s getting any complaints from me. It wasn’t like a warning was going to change anything. He blew exactly where I wanted him to blow.
“It’s okay.” My words are slow and slurred. Now that we’ve both gotten off, exhaustion is starting to creep in. “I didn’t mind.”
He nuzzles the spot behind my ear and inhales. Did he just sniff me? I hope I smell like Nautica Voyage and not postcoital funk.
“Are you sure you’ve never done this before?” he asks. “You’re awfully good for a novice.”
“I’m pretty sure I’d remember if I had.”
“I’m pretty sure you would, too.”
He chuckles, and the sound reverberates through me, making my heart swell like the Grinch’s when he finally figures out the true meaning of Christmas. If the sex was mind-blowing—and it was—this—the after-sex cuddling and pillow talk is something even bigger. It’s soul-shaking.
My eyelids droop as I relax into him, fighting to suppress a yawn. But it’s a losing battle. As much as I want to stay awake and savor every second tangled up with David, exhaustion is winning this one, hands down.
I feel his fingertips skate over my jawline, through the long-past-five-o’clock stubble that dots my face. “You know, my bed is way bigger. And way more comfortable.”
