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The two massagists look confused, and one even looks disappointed. He probably wanted to jack Luke off. I don’t blame him. He probably developed magnet hands, as well, and doesn’t want to tear his palms away from Luke’s skin.
“We were hired for ninety minutes,” one of them says. “Are you sure?”
I slip off the table and grab my credit card. “Of course. I’ll still pay and tip well if you leave the oil.”
They look at each other and then begin packing up. Luke moves to sit on a chair, his thighs spread out before him, a tiny towel covering his crotch. I catch myself eyeing him as the candles are blown out, leaving us cloaked in the moonlight.
When they’re finally gone, I move toward Luke and pull that towel away from his groin, exposing him.
“Better,” I say. “Much, much better.” And I run a finger across his thick length.
“Eli,” he huffs, his cock straining towards me.
“Get on the bed. Face up. You wanted a tantric massage, I’m going to give you one.”
* * *
He’s moaning, sweat dripping down his temple as I continue to stroke him. The oil is almost gone. I’ve used so much, bringing him close to orgasm repeatedly only to bring him back down again. He’s writhing on the sheets, fisting them as he arches his hips up into my hand.
“This is supposed to be relaxing,” he grunts as I slide a slick finger into his hole. I crook it, and he gasps.
“I’m relaxed,” I say. “I could go for much, much longer.” That’s a lie, though. I’m burning up from the inside out. Pretty soon, I’ll be consumed. I want to sit on him and let him slide that big wet dick right into my front hole.
But I won’t. I can’t.
But why I shouldn’t becomes more and more unclear the longer I’m with him. God, I want him more than I’ve ever wanted another person and yet I can’t bring myself to straddle him and take what I want.
Fear. It’s there, lingering constantly. I can’t seem to let it go.
I find his prostate again and run my finger over it, causing Luke to moan loudly beneath me, his hips arching off the bed as he fucks my finger.
“Please,” he says on a broken exhale. “Please, Eli.”
I ignore his pleas and instead bring him so close to orgasm that he’s whimpering, only to bring him back down again. I can read him now. The way his jaw tightens, the way his breath stutters, how his eyes slam shut.
He’s panting, has been for a while now, his thick chest heaving with each breath.
“I can’t stand it,” he mutters, shaking his head on the crumpled sheets. “Can’t take any more.”
I wet my lips and roll his balls in my hand, my other hand slipping from his cock and massaging his thighs. They bunch under my touch. I love how responsive he is, how he just takes it so good.
“You can come when the oil runs out.”
He swallows roughly and groans. “Fuck. How much is left?”
I turn my eyes to the nearly empty bottle, and his eyes follow mine. He snaps his eyelids shut and curses.
“Too much left.”
“You can handle it.”
“Fuuuuuck,” he says as I begin pumping him again.
He lasts like the good boy he is, only exploding across his chest when I give him permission, and then I move on top of him and hump myself into an orgasm. His eyes are on me the entire time, our bodies sliding against each other’s, slick with come and oil. His hands knead my ass cheeks, his mouth moving across my face as I clutch onto his hair, digging my fingers into his scalp. And then, when his lips brush over mine, I lean back and come loudly.
There is no decorum here. I’ve just splayed myself wide open.
When we’re done, we both breathe deeply, trying to steady our galloping hearts.
