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“Never done this before?” I gasp as he latches his teeth on my neck. “Could have fooled me.”
His only answer is a low rumble as he kisses my shoulders, my arms, my sides. His tongue slides over my nipples, first the left, and then the right, leaving them wet, the cold air a shock after the warmth of his mouth. He’s going lower, gripping my sides with his big hands, kissing my stomach, swirling his tongue near the top of my shorts. My cock strains against the fabric, pressing up underneath his chin.
“You don’t have to,” I say, arching my back as he reaches under and squeezes my ass. “You don’t—” But he’s already mouthing me through the cotton. I can feel the sharp graze of his teeth, the swipes of his tongue. He pulls the shorts down over my hips and then his mouth is on me, hot and harsh. There’s too much saliva, yes, and his teeth get in the way, but it’s still like nothing I’ve ever felt before. Either he’s doing something so very right, or everyone I’ve been with was doing it wrong. I’m approaching the edge already, and I don’t want to lose control now. I don’t want it to be this way. I need more. I need so much more.
I reach down and push him off me, and the look he gives me would be almost comical if not for the swollen lips, the saliva on his chin. He looks like he is going to protest, but I shake my head at him and he stills.
I pull him back above me, my dick straining against my stomach. I brush my fingers over his chest and stomach and with a practiced twist of my hand, I unbutton his jeans. He’s watching me again, and when I wrap my fingers around his cock, his eyelids flutter gently. I brush my thumb over the slit, rolling my fingers around the head. “I want more,” I tell him as his eyes widen. I pull my hand out of his jeans and spit into it, then reach back down and get him wet. He groans again.
“I don’t want to hurt you,” he pants.
I laugh softly. “You’re not that big,” I tell him, even though the weight in my hand suggests otherwise. He’s also uncut, which is something I’ve never experienced before. There seems to be so much more skin than I’m used to and I have to keep from hyperventilating at the thought of angelic circumcisions. There’s so much I don’t know about him, but at the moment, it doesn’t matter.
He’s trying to be serious, even though his eyes keep rolling up in his head. “I can’t hurt you,” he says as I use my feet to push his jeans and boxers down to his knees. “I’m supposed to protect you.” He falls forward and bites gently into my neck again.
“You won’t hurt me,” I say, writhing against him. “You won’t let it happen. Please, Cal. Please.”
He pauses against my neck and I hold my hand still. His muscles tense. His length in my hand is hot and his shoulder is pressed against my mouth. There are those freckles there, the one
s I saw the night he fell. I count them with my tongue, first one, then two, and three and so many more. “Please,” I whisper.
He growls, low, and without warning, I’m flipped over onto my stomach and Cal falls against me, pressing his cock against my ass. His tongue is in my ear, his teeth catching the lobe. He rubs his dick in the crack of my ass, and I can feel him leaking against me.
“Do I scare you?” he whispers hotly. “Are you afraid of me?”
“No, no. No, you don’t. I know what you are. You don’t scare me. You don’t. You can’t.” I’m babbling, I know, but I can’t find a way to stop.
“Do you trust me not to hurt you?” he rumbles in my ear, grazing his lips against the shell.
There’s no question, and not just because of what he’s going to do to me. “Yes,” I groan. “Yes.”
“And you know that I am here to protect you?” he says, rutting against me harder.
“Yes, I know! Please!”
“You called me here, and I came for you.”
“I know, oh God, I know!” My own dick is digging into the mattress, the pressure a thing of beauty. But it’s not enough. It’s nowhere near enough. I reach up and slide my hand into the drawer, finding an ancient tube of slick. I don’t know how long it’s been in there, or even if the stuff expires, but I don’t care. My fingers brush against a box of old condoms, and I grab one and hold it over my shoulder. “Do you know what this is for?” I ask as he pauses.
“Yes, Benji,” he says, sounding amused and annoyed. “I’m not an idiot.”
I press my right cheek into the pillow. “I know you’re not. Do you need to wear this?” This has to be the weirdest conversation of my life.
Hurry, hurry, hurry.
He scowls. “No. I’ve never been with anyone but you. This is my first everything.”
I figured that, but it still annihilates me to hear. “But I’ve been with—” I try, only to have him cover my mouth with his big hand.
“I don’t want to hear about anyone else,” he hisses in my ear. “I don’t want to hear it from your mouth. I don’t want to know. I never did. I never watched because I couldn’t take it. I couldn’t. It hurt my heart. You can’t hurt me now. I don’t need that.”
“Cal….”
“Do you trust me?” he snaps.
“Yes,” I say quietly, because I do.
“Then put that down. You won’t hurt me. I won’t hurt you.”
