Page 38 of These Secret Years

“Jesus,” he whispers.

I laugh lightly at the muted awe and the slight widening of his eyes as he takes in my long dick. “Okay, so we have one thing in common.”

He licks his lips. Maybe his mouth waters the way mine does when I think about his. “Why don’t you want me to touch?”

I stroke my cock sending pleasure coursing through every vein. I release a puff of air and try not to get too dramatic about it, but it’s ten times better with him watching. Within seconds I’m breathing as heavy as he still is, and I’m closer than I thought. “Nothing personal,” I tell him in answer to his question. I press my hand down harder onto his putting more pressure on my chest. “You can touch me here.”

He does, sliding his hand over my pec and brushing his thumb back and forth over my hardened nipple, which feels fucking great, too.

I squeeze the base of my cock, trying not to blow as fast as he did. No shade to him, though. I was as relentless as I knew I could be. Although, I’m pretty sure I could have described a blow job to him in this state and gotten him to come in his pants.

“Do you jerk off a lot?” I ask, while I work on recalibrating my level of arousal.

He takes his eyes off my cock and turns to my face. “Yeah. I mean…a normal amount for a single person, probably.”

“How many times a day?”

“Once or twice.”

Seems pretty normal for a guy. “You find that satisfying?”

“It has to be.”

“Not really, Knight. You’ve got options.” I gesture at myself as an example, but it’s more a theoretical example as in “look at me here right now—this is the kind of thing that can happen to you if you hang out with the right people.” Not as in I’m an option, although I realize it’s a subtle distinction in our situation.

“You have a girlfriend.”

“Right, well, I didn’t mean me, exactly.”

“Then what is this?”

“This is summer.”

“Okay…” His thumb stills and our gazes lock for a heavy moment. I get back to jerking off, needing to stay in control of this detour my day took. His hand moves up to my neck. There’s a not insignificant part of me that wants him to squeeze, but I don’t ask him to, and I don’t expect him to. He’s soft, this tall, hard-all-over young man who can take a hit from a three-hundred pound dude and probably not even break a sweat. He’s like cotton candy on the inside. A sugary sweet, gay, golden boy with sad eyes and a perfect dick.

And if he’s not really like that, then I don’t want to know about it.

His hand on my neck? I think he just wants to touch my skin. If I ever do this with him again, I’ll have to remember to take off my shirt. Give the poor guy something. Not much, given the pitiful state of my body, but I don’t think he’ll mind so long as at least one of our dicks is involved.

Fuck, just thinking about a next time—the idea of getting that cock into my mouth again and tasting him is enough to bring me right to the edge. I glance from his face down to my hand, shuttling it back and forth over my length in much quicker moves.

My breath punches out of me in short bursts, my abs contracting as my hips decide they want to put on a show.

“Jesus,” Knight whispers.

The awe in his voice and the rise of his own dick in my periphery is enough to set off my orgasm. “Oh, fuck that’s good,” I say as the wave crests just before my dick erupts. I cover the head, catching the cum as it shoots out with a half dozen mini contractions that have my nerves singing with relief. I lie there for a moment, limp, in a semi-altered state of consciousness, the whole world a little blurrier. A little better. And then, when I can move and remember what I was picturing when I came, I turn, taking his brand new erection into my mouth and holding my hand up to his lips.

As his fingers wrap around my wrist, and his tongue meets my cum-covered palm, he groans like it’s his first taste of water after a full marathon.

He comes fast the second time, too, and I’m semi-hard again, but I ignore it because I’m capable of that. When he says he wants to kiss me after all that, though, I’m not sure how to handle it.

There’s the should I, and there’s the do I want to?

I shouldn’t, but the more important question is do I want to, and the answer to that turns out to be yes. I really do want to.

I grab hold of his shoulders and drag myself up to straddle his lap. “This is summer fun, okay? We both know it can’t be any more than that.”

He nods, gaze fixed on my mouth, and fuck, that’s hot, too. He wants this so much he might as well be shouting it, but he contains himself, telegraphing his need through the pressure of his fingers on my hips and the quickness of his breath. I make the move, pressing my lips to his gently because I’m not sure how involved he wants to get with this part.