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Instead, he kisses my knee, and I shudder.
What the hell is going on? I’m turned on from a knee kiss.
I have no idea what’s happening, but my bones are fucking melting. Then, they’re dissolving when he kisses up my thigh, his fingers coasting through the hair on my legs.
My dick is throbbing. I can barely speak. “So good. Too good,” I grunt.
When he takes a breather, I open my eyes. Then, like he’s found the confidence, he says, “I wonder if you’ll like this then.”
He licks a stripe down my shaft right to my balls, sucking on one, then the other.
“Fuck yes,” I howl.
He laughs but keeps on licking.
It’s too good, too electric, too everything.
He kisses up my dick. “And I wonder if you’ll like this,” he says, then flicks his tongue against the head of my cock.
I claw at the sheets. “Love it,” I groan. It’s such a thrill to experience him finding his dirty-talking rhythm.
“And how about this?” he asks, as he parts his lips wide then sucks me deep.
I pant, then answer, “Fucking love it. Keep doing it.”
He nods against my cock, then drags me deeper, moaning against my length.
I can see desire flickering in his eyes, can feel it in his hands sliding up my thighs, can hear it in his noises as he rumbles against my cock.
I’m drunk on Hunter. Utterly consumed with him. Pleasure pulses in my back. My thighs. Faster and faster still. I grab his head, curl my hands tighter. “Want to know what I’d really like?”
He drops me from his mouth. “Yes,” he says desperately.
“To come down your throat,” I grunt.
“Want that too,” he says with a groan.
Then he licks and kisses, sucks and slurps, touches and fondles. It’s the most indulgent blow job I could have imagined. It’s so good, I couldn’t dream this up. I didn’t even know head could be this luxurious until this man walked into my condo mere months ago.
And now, into my bed.
Into my life.
Into my…
My brain blurs as a climax seizes me then breaks me apart from the inside out.
I’m shouting. Groaning. Losing control as I come ridiculously hard. “Yes, fucking yes,” I chant.
It’s like I’ve shot to the sky on a rocket, hurtling away from this planet, powered by a jet-fueled orgasm.
Somehow, sometime later, I come down to earth, and my world is even better when I find Hunter straddling me, jerking his cock, fierce concentration etched on his brow. He’s so aroused, so close.
But that orgasm is mine.
I want it ferociously.
I cover his hand, stopping him. “Get up here and fuck my face. Now.”
Hunter scrambles to straddle my shoulders. “Like this?”
I don’t answer with words. I grab his hips and haul his cock deep in my throat.
“Oh, fuck me. I like this. I like this a lot. No. I fucking love it. Fucking love it so much,” he mutters as he pumps and thrusts, and seconds later, he comes. He’s bitter and salty and everything I’ve ever wanted.
When Hunter withdraws, he’s grinning down at me.
“That was so good,” he says, as wickedly sated as if he’d just finished a three-Michelin-star meal.
“It was the best,” I say. Our eyes lock, and I don’t know who moves first, but we collide in a flurry of limbs and sweaty skin. I move him down the bed, so we’re face-to-face, chest to chest, making out furiously. I kiss him hard and passionately. We taste like each other. He kisses me back, deep and rough. I band an arm around his back. He hooks a leg around my hip.
We kiss and rub, and no one is trying to come, but both of us are trying to get closer.
I don’t want to stop a thing.
Not tonight, not tomorrow, and not when this week ends.
30
I THINK YOU LIKE SPICE
Nate
The football spirals toward me through the crisp fall air as I haul ass down the field, arms outstretched, reaching.
Then boom.
Got it!
“Who’s the man?” I call out to my teammates during our light scrimmage on Wednesday.
Catching up with me, Jason smacks my palm. “You are. Let’s do it again.”
“Let’s do it every single day and night,” I say, upping the ante.
My quarterback laughs at my good mood, then gets back in the huddle.
We run another passing play, and once again, I grab that beautiful ball and I take it all the way home. When I reach the end zone, I spike it.
“Bam.”
Then I shake my hips like a hot dog showboating.
As we trot off the field, Jason claps my shoulder pad. “Someone’s in a good mood.”
“Can’t a man enjoy his football practice?”
“Dude, you’ve never been this fired up for practice before.”
“Hey now. I love me some football,” I say. Nothing can get me down.
Not a single thing.
We watch our second string take the field. Jason leans over to say, “I know you do. And call me a mind reader,” he says. “But I suspect Last Dude Syndrome is working out well for you?”
