Page 50 of Saving Pookie

He couldn't stroke me, suck me, or fuck me.

But he could kiss me.

He'd done it before, three times to be exact. Now, four.

This time, though, he grabbed me by the back of my head and pulled me deeper into his kiss. There was a newfound hunger. Biting, chewing. Ravenous.

Was it because he liked kissing me? Or was it that he loved the taste of his own cum?

And that's how I got these stains in my new suit, the evidence of Braxton's jizz on my trousers and jacket.

He guides me down the stretch of the hallway as I clumsily stumble backward, stripping my jacket from my shoulders and disposing of it on the floor. He does the same, ripping his clothes from his body, and by the time we're in my bedroom, we're both wearing nothing but our matching pants.

He spins me in a quick circle, strong hands taking hold of my hips. His mouth falls to my neck, teeth dragging over the sensitive skin. He sucks hard enough to leave marks as one hand fumbles with my belt buckle. I can't imagine he's always like this, fumbling around like a nervous virgin.

He rips my pants down my legs and allows me to step out of them, leaving me standing in nothing but my briefs that hold my cheeks in place. I wonder what he thinks about the view, but I don't have enough time to ponder before he's ripping them down too, leaving me exposed.

"Are you sure this is okay?" he growl-whispers into my ear before lapping his tongue over my jaw. He grinds his body against mine, the hardness of his cock threatening to tear through the fabric of his trousers. "That I fuck you, I mean."

"I know what you meant," I groan, because dirty talk has never been my thing.

But that's all he needs to hear. I feel the commotion of his hands behind me, clawing at his belt buckle, the clanking of the metal ticking towards the inevitable. He grabs both sides of my briefs and pulls them down my thighs, down my legs, and finally tears them from my feet. With a quick shove, he pushes my exposed body onto the bed. I crawl forward, dig through the nightstand, find the bottle of lube, and pass it to him.

I take a glance over my shoulder and go slack-jawed at the sight of him as he pushes his pants and boxers down his muscular thighs, his perfect cock springing free. It's swollen again, the crown purple, like it hasn't been touched for weeks. I always knew he was a horny bastard, but Jesus Christ.

He doesn't bother fully undressing as he scrambles towards the bed, his movements restricted by the underwear around his thighs. He makes quick work popping the cap and pouring a generous amount of lube into his hand. I watch as he slicks his cock in a hurry, giving it a few pumps before tossing the bottle onto the floor.

He comes to a stop at the edge of the bed and I take in the sight of him working himself over, pumping slowly. His gaze meets mine and it stays there, and I'm not sure who's more nervous. The straight boy who is about to fuck a guy for the first time or the total bottom who hasn't been fucked in a month. In any other scenario, Braxton wouldn't be the nervous one.

Here, though... he's different. Restrained, cautious, excited but hesitant. His chest heaves in tandem with an exaggerated inhale, working to steady his breathing, I wager. He cocks his head to the side first and then flips his gaze to the ceiling. Breathes a little bit harder.

"We don't have to do this," I say quietly, offering him a final way out but saying a silent prayer he doesn't take me up on the offer.

His gaze shoots straight back to me, a sparkle in his ocean eyes. "I'm not a quitter." His admission stirs something inside me, bringing about a smirk on my face. He smirks back, his lips hitching at the corner. "Happy birthday, Pookie."

My head is a hurricane of hormones and emotions, and I can't discern if this whole fucking thing is his very special way of celebrating my birthday or if it's all a charade to mask that he really wants this for himself. He would most certainly say the former, but his slick cock tells me it's the latter.

I direct my attention to the wall in front of me, wrap my hands around the extra-large pillow, and brace for impact as I feel the mattress shift behind me, the weight of his body compressing the springs. He nudges my thighs apart with his knees, crawls over me, and nudges his slick cock between my cheeks.

"Happy birthday to you," he sing-whispers into my ear with a playful giggle. "Happy birthday to you."

I mouth a laugh into the pillow.

I feel him reach between our bodies, and the next thing I feel is the warm, wet head of his cock pressing against my hole. I exhale as he nudges forward just a bit.

"Happy birthday, dear Pookie," he sings, softer and quieter than before, a low hum of the quiet before the storm. "Happy birthday to you..."

He pushes in, breaking through the rim. A gasp hurls from the back of my throat, stunted at first and then drawn out. My eyes squint at the corners as I adjust to his width, stretching and burning as he sinks into me inch by inch.

I'm going to give him a pass because he's never done this before, but holy hell, does he need to learn about this thing called foreplay. When I think he can't fill me any deeper, he finds new depths until he's pushing against that magical spot that makes my entire body squirm.

"It feels..." his voice is strained... "Just like a pussy."

That's about what I'd expect him to say, but he's out of pocket. I cock my head over my shoulder. "Braxton?"

"Yeah?" he huffs.

"Please stop talking."