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Without any embarrassment, I settle into a lounge chair and start to play. I keep my eyes away from the window, pretending it doesn’t exist so that he doesn’t get scared and run away on me. I need him to see me stroking my thick cock and massaging my balls under the shining sun. I groan just thinking about how hard I must be making him—about how turned on he has to be.
Smearing precum from the slit all over the tip, my grip becomes more firm, hips lifting to stroke into it. I don’t stop, maintaining my causal position. One leg up, the other resting flat, head tipped back like I can’t handle what I’m doing to myself. Like it’s too good to even look.
I have two piercings underneath the head of my cock, curved barbell jewelry that doesn’t do much for me. It’ll do a hell of a lot for him, though. They’ll rub his insides just right, lighting up nerves he’s probably never even found before. Sensitive bits of himself that I’ll memorize, discovering exactly how he likes them to be pet. It’s why I run my fingers around them, highlighting the silver metal so that there’s no doubt in his mind he’s seeing clearly.
My whole body buzzes with chills as the door opening echoes around me, and still, I keep going. Waiting a beat to look, a thrill shoots into my core when I find him there. Standing with a hand shielding his eyes as if he looked at the sun too directly and needed to protect them. He’s lost his shirt, maybe justifying it with the prospect of going for a swim. Maybe he just couldn’t breathe with it on. Maybe he was touching his nipples. Either way, I appreciate the sight.
He doesn’t say a word, so neither do I. Until I moan louder, and he stiffens.
Hand hardly covering his eyes, he finally speaks. “Liam, what are you doing?”
“Putting on a show,” I moan, proceeding to stroke myself another time.
“What is this all about, punk?” he grinds out. Punk, because he’s been calling me that for years. With any luck, he’ll continue to do it. I think I’ll like the sound of the nickname laced with lust, pouring through his lips in the throes of passion. “You can’t just do this.”
“You know what it's about,” I accuse. “Which is why you’ve been watching me this whole time without saying a word. Probably squeezing your dick hoping it’ll go down, no luck in that department I bet.”
When I stand from the lounge chair, he takes a step back, still trying to avoid looking at me. “Can we skip the part where you pretend you don’t want me as badly as I want you?”
“Youcan’twant me, Liam,” he says desperately, looking for an excuse. “I’m too old for you, and I’mmarriedto your father. This isn’t something you can just have because you have a little crush or something.”
“I can have whatever I want,” I inform him. “I’m an adult, just like you. Twenty at the end of the month, unless you’ve forgotten. I’m also impatient, and unfortunately I’ve gotten tired waiting for you to realize how badly you need me. Look at you, you can’t even allow yourself to look at my dick. If you don’t want me, it’s just a dick, isn’t it?”
His hand falls and he meets my eye, trying to prove something. To me or him, I don’t know. Either way, he fails.
His face is flaming, and it’s not with outrage.
“God, you want me so bad,” I boast, licking my lips. “You’re so hot when you’re trying to resist me, coach.”
“You’re seeing things that aren’t there.”
“Yeah? Tell that to the hole your cock is about to slash into your jeans. You’re so hard, you might as well have a sign on your crotch full of filthy words that sum up how badly you need to be touched.” I take a step closer, pumping my cock with my fist slower for him. He drinks in the act because he can’t help it. “If I told you to drop to your knees and open your mouth, you’d do it without blinking. You’d pop open those pouty lips and offer me your throat to pound.”
“Liam, stop,” he pleads. Oh but he doesn’t want me to stop. Not even a little bit.
“You want it so badly,” I taunt, circling my wrist. “I bet your mouth is watering just thinking about it. It’s a nice one, isn’t it?” I ask, referring to my dick. “Thick, cut, and smooth. It would fill your mouth to the brim. You’d be moaning all over it like a blissed-out slut.”
“Liam—”
“Tell me why I shouldn’t put you on your knees, coach.” I take another step, leaving us close enough to kiss. If I let go of my cock, it’ll slap down against his stomach. “Tell me why I shouldn’t turn you around and arch your back after I’m done with that pretty mouth. Tell me why I shouldn’t ruin you for anyone else. Tell me why I shouldn’t make you mine.”
“The pavement will hurt,” he blurts, cheeks tinting pink. So adorable when he’s flustered. “My knees, I mean.”
“Oh, I know what you meant,” I tell him, letting my cock go. He doesn’t have time to react as it falls to his stomach, resting against his bare abdominal muscles. No time to say a word before my hands are cradling his face and my lips are on his.
Our kiss sizzles with the burn of his warm skin connecting to mine. The lips I’ve been imagining in a million different ways for far too long taste just as good as I thought they would. They’re soft and pillowy, hesitant but demanding. He can’t believe he’s kissing his stepson—the son of the man he married—but he’s doing it. He’s following my lead, letting me part his mouth to swipe my tongue against his. His minty sweet taste fuels the fire burning in my stomach for him, and I press closer to his body.Harderagainst him.
He moans into the kiss, and all reservations are lost. He’s consumed by me, not a sliver of doubt in his mind. Not as my thumbs stroke his cheeks and my fingers caress the short bits of hair on the side of his head. Strong hands find my hips, resting there, subtly holding me in place. He doesn’t want me to pull away, and I won’t. Jonathan can’t resist me, even if he thinks it’s wrong. He gets it now. It can’t be wrong, not when it feels like this.
“Do it,” I murmur against his mouth. He’s panting, eyes fluttering open to meet mine. “Touch my dick, baby. It’s alright, I know you want to.”
“So fucking cocky,” he says, but his hands shift. I crush my lips back down onto his, needing to have them connected for the first time he puts his hands on me. With measured precision, both of his hands find my junk.
“Shit,” I hiss, nipping at his bottom lip. He has one hand cupping my balls and the other tightly surrounding the middle of my shaft. His shoulder drops down as he pumps his hand, stroking my cock like a pro. “Yeah, that’s it,” I encourage. “Just like that.”
My lips find his neck and he shivers. When I start to suck, he chokes on air. “Didn’t you say something about putting me on my knees?”
I grab his wrists, halting his hands from any further movement. I force his gaze directly into my eyes. “Go inside and kneel in the center of the living room for me. The carpet is soft enough to protect your pretty skin from bruising. Go, and I’ll be right behind you.”
