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“Harder…please.”
I grip him harder.
“Faster.”
I stroke so quickly, so firmly, I’m afraid I’ll hurt him. His hand grips my shoulder. I can feel him shaking.
He moans. “If—” My hand stills, and his urges it to move again. He shudders. “If you don’t stop soon…I’m gonna come.”
I find his warning leaves me undeterred. I feel eager, almost frenzied, with the urge to see him come undone. I’ve only heard a bit about what techniques men like most, but I act on the knowledge.
I look into his eyes as I run my hand up and down his swollen sex. I can feel it throb as I do.
“Relax,” I whisper as his breaths begin to come in tugs. “What do you like?”
I trace my hand from top to bottom—teasing, languid. Then I grip his tip, as I saw him do, and I rub my thumb over the tiny slit as I cup his balls.
“Finley…”
“I like this.” I sway them a bit and his backside lifts off the floor. I stroke from mid-shaft to the tip and feel more moisture.
“What can I do?”
“Rub…your palm around.” He’s grunting.
I do as I’m told, rubbing over the wetness. With a gentle squeeze, I release his heavy sac and stroke his sex. His hand rubs over my arm, the fingers trembling as he drags air into his lungs and groans it out.
“I’m close.”
I quicken my stroke, run my thumb over the wet spot where he’s leaking, and then, when I’m positive he’s just swelled further, when he starts to writhe and grab at me, I close one hand around his sac and pump my other up his length again.
When my closed fist brushes the notch there at the rim of his glistening tip, he gives a mighty jerk and grabs himself.
My head spins as I feel his sac harden against my palm, as I watch his thick cream spill between his fingers, dripping down the taut engorgement of his sex.
He’s panting, but his face has slackened. I watch his pulse thrum at his throat and want to lick it. Bite it.
My gaze attaches to his heavy pecs, finding his perfect, brown nipples erect. I’m aware as my hand lifts away from his sex that it’s time to step away. He’s relieved—I’ve eased his discomfort—but between my own legs, I feel heavy. Heavy and…riotous.
He runs a hand over his length, and I throb. I can’t say where. Perhaps it’s all of me. I press my thighs together, feeling odd and slightly fearful.
His eyes open. “You okay?”
He looks near asleep.
I hear myself laugh. “Yes, are you?”
He inhales deeply. “Great.”
I turn around and get a towel, setting it atop him.
“Thanks.” He’s still panting a bit, so I decide I’ll clean him up. It’s quite strange to run such ordinary terrycloth over his slackening sex. It’s still enormous. As I wipe it tenderly, it seems to flinch.
He groans.
“I’m sorry.”
“Fuck no.” His eyes open again. “Hey, do you want…” His brows draw slightly together, and I can feel the question in the ether.
