Page 45 of Checking Out the Librarian

The rush of blood to his cock told him that had been what he needed to hear. He immediately linked his hands together at the small of his back, letting the backs of his fingers curl against the very top of his butt, and felt himself leaning forward slightly. Closer to the goal, his lips parted and his tongue pushed at his own teeth.

“Wider.”

He let his jaw drop and looked up at Jonathan’s face, so far away from him, so much pristine shirt and stern frown above Connor.

“I’m going to fuck your mouth.” Jonathan slipped a button free. His voice was sharp and each word sounded deliberate. “Your big happy smile.”

And another button.

Then the third separated from its hole, and the sides of the shirt parted to allow Connor to gaze at the fully revealed lines of the man who stood above him. Taut, slender, with leashed energy packed under his skin and his entire being, like his cock, focused on Connor at his feet.

“I’m going to fuck that big happy smile and you’re going to like it.”

In front of Connor’s face, Jonathan wrapped his graceful fingers around his cock. It was hard, reddened, waiting to enter his mouth, and he could see a drop of precum where the foreskin pulled back from his slit. Connor could die here with a big happy smile.

“If it’s too much, use your hands to stop me, you understand?”

It would be just right, but he nodded and dropped his jaw. Jonathan wanted him to open.

The feel of the head filling his mouth was dry and hot, almost choking him, until his saliva flooded and bathed Jonathan’s length to ease the motions. He closed his eyes to savor what Jonathan was giving him with each stroke, and realized Jonathan had already washed himself.

He must have wet a cloth, run it around his cock, stroked himself, maybe even in front of Connor’s mirror, while he was alone.

Connor leaned forward and loosened his jaw to take more. He felt sticky and stale, like he’d arrived directly from the stables to serve his bright shining lordship, the man who could afford to wear gleaming white shirts and who had absolute power over his groom, who was always sweaty, always on his knees.

He couldn’t lick him clean, because he was clean. He could only be a convenient place to stick a cock.

That was the service his lordship required.

The cuffs fluttered against his temples, smooth and cool, while Jonathan forced his head to move at his will. Each of Jonathan’s fingers locked him in place on his knees, sometimes pulling him closer, sometimes clenching tighter and digging crescents of fingernails into the scalp behind his ears.

Jonathan did everything. Connor’s only tasks were to balance on his knees, and to keep his mouth and throat open for Jonathan’s thrusts.

It was the limit of what he could handle.

Stay upright, stay open.

Hands behind his back.

Receive. Taste. Suck.

Jonathan squeezed his skull harder and made a groan that Connor heard even through the fog of cock.

Receive. Tongue. So good.

His lordship wanted him to take it like this, hands behind his back, so he could keep pretending he didn’t want to be touched by a servant, but his lordship secretly wanted his groom.

Connor would give such good head that Jonathan would collapse and then he could carry him to his chamber and take care of him the way lords demanded.

Deeper. Don’t choke. Breathe.

Saliva on his chin.

Don’t come.

He would be so good that his lordship would keep him for always.

Receive. Receive. Receive.