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Keeping his grip firm, he slides his hand to the base and gives me a little squeeze. Relaxing his hold on the upstroke, he pumps me several times before once again tightening his fist. Alternating between the two with no discernable pattern, he continues to stroke me, never letting me fully sink into the rhythm before changing it up again.
The constant adjustments are maddening, but only because I’m anxious to find the release I’m still not sure he can give. Truthfully though, if he’s able to achieve it after all this teasing, I’m fairly certain it will be the best I’ve ever had.
Sliding his hand low enough to cup my balls and press them into the base of my cock, my hips surge forward as my head lolls back against the couch and agarbled moan escapes my throat.
Tripp lets go of my dick and palms my sac, giving it a nice, firm tug. “No wonder these are so sensitive. They’re ready to burst, aren’t they?”
I swivel my hips as he kneads them, too consumed with lust to care that the motion makes it look like I’m fucking the air, which Tripp seems to enjoy.
“Jesus, big guy. What I wouldn’t give to be sitting on that beauty right now. I knew it’d be big, but big and you know how to use it... Damn.” He gives my nuts a final squeeze and spins toward the coffee table, sliding open a drawer I hadn’t noticed before.
“What’s that?” I heave as he grabs something inside.
“Lube. I don’t want to chafe you and risk not getting to have any more fun.”
“What sort of fun?” I ask before I can stop myself.
Tripp’s grin turns devious as he squirts the liquid into his palm and wraps it around my shaft, causing me to gasp and buck simultaneously. “Damn that’s cold.”
“I’ll warm it up, don’t worry.” He starts stroking me, twisting his wrist as he reaches the top. As promised, the friction makes the gel warmer as he gets my cock nice and slippery.
I wonder briefly if this is what it feels like to be with a woman bare. I never tried it, but the thought nearly takes me out of the moment, and in a desperate attempt to salvage it I repeat, “What sort of fun?”
“Hand jobs, blow jobs, fucking.” His eyes snap to mine, hooded and heated and full of challenge. I swear the carnal nature of his gaze has my toes curling. “You like that idea?”
“I’m not sure how to answer that while you’re holding my dick.”
Tripp throws his head back with a whoop that turns into a bout of laughter. “I don’t think anyone’s ever made me laugh while I've had a raging boner.”
“You’re hard?” With him kneeling before me, only his eyes gave any indication he was enjoying this.
“Wanna see for yourself?” He swipes his thumb over my slit and gives the crown of my shaft a firm squeeze.
Since I kind of know how this goes after last night, I don’t hesitate. “Yeah.”
Tripp lets go of my cock and stands between my legs, holding his hand up. “You have to undress me. My fingers are too slippery.”
With his groin even with my face, I can see the bulge straining for release, and mine jumps in response. Using surprisingly steady hands, I unfasten his pants and shove them down his hips. He steps out of them and straddles my lap, resting his weight on my thighs.
“Shirt too,” he instructs.
Once the excess fabric is out of the way, he scoots forward until our cocks are side by side. The firm skin rubbing against mine steals my breath, and I can do little more than gape as I look at our dicks pressed into one another from root to tip. It’s an image I never expected to see much less appreciate, though there’s no denying I enjoy it.
Tilting his hips, Tripp uses the slippery surface of my skin to glide his erection against mine. Every nerve along the way ignites like a firework, a series of tiny explosions that pop and fizz and render my senses useless as I revel in the obscene amount of pleasure this rigid friction brings.
Has it ever felt like this?
Admittedly, it’s been a while since I’ve been intimate with anyone, so my memories about what it was like in the past are fuzzy. What I can recall is having to really concentrate, to visualize what it should feel like rather than experience it, because the reality somehow fell short. And while I could force myself to finish, it never quite felt like the epic encounters I’ve heard my teammates describe. Hell, I’ve even seen some of Luca’s encounters, and mine definitely weren’t like that.
What’s happening right now though… I’m not conjuring some scenario as a means to an end. I’m not telling myself what it should feel like to revel in some false reality. I’m simply reacting to what’s happening. No imagination necessary. In fact, I doubt my imagination could top what I see with my own two eyes.
Tripp hovers above me, the peaks and valleys of his stomach rippling in a hypnotic rhythm as he pumps his hips. The muscles in his left shoulder are taught as he braces a hand on the back of the couch, and the muscles in his right contract while he works our shafts with feather-light strokes. Glazed green eyes track his movements, though they drift briefly to my face when he flicks his head to the side to clear away unruly strands of white-blond hair.
This—Tripp—might be the most erotic thing I’ve ever experienced.
My breathing gets more labored with each slide of his solid length against mine. I don’t know if that’s from the sensation or the view. Maybe some combination of both. All I know is two swollen cocks rubbing together makes my heart race in a way I’ve only ever felt on the ice. Then Tripp contracts his fist, and my pulse finds another speed.
Tripp cants his hips as he strokes up and down our lengths. “Rub your dick against mine. Fuck my hand.”
