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“Why blond?” Noah interrupts the silence.
“What?”
He tips his chin up, indicating he means my hair. “Why blond? Why not blue? Or green?”
“Blond goes with my eyes.” I arch into his hand, a silent plea for him to keep stroking. He does, dragging his fingers down to my rose tattoo and tracing the lines almost reverently.
I don’t typically let people do that—most guys treat ink as a sex symbol when it’s the one thing on my body that I don’t flaunt for sex —but the gentle giant admiring them now isn’t doing it to turn me on. Not deliberately. I can tell by the awed expression on his face, the same one he wore when he first asked about them. He appreciates the art, respects the words, and for that I’ll let him look as long as he wants.
Noah’s finger brushes over the petals, but when it hits the stem, which hovers just above my hip, my stomach clenches as I gasp. He pulls his hand back abruptly, mumbling a hasty, “Sorry.”
I take his hand and put it back, holding it to my torso. “Don’t stop. Just be ready for me to jump if you tickle me again.”
Using a firmer touch, Noah slides his hand to my hip, fingers grazing where my pubes would be if I had them, and I groan softly.
“It’s really more sensitive?” he asks, referring to my smooth skin.
“You ever shave that stubble off your face?” A faint line divides Noah’s brows but he nods his head even though he clearly doesn’t follow why I’m asking. “Then you know without that hair your nerves seem to wake up. They’re so alert you can actually feel the air on your face.” His expression softens as he connects the dots. “That’s how I feel everywhere.”
Noah’s Adam’s apple bobs as he swallows, and his hand shifts lower, fingertips ghosting along the base of my cock, which bobs expectantly. Blue eyes riveted between my legs, he traces a path up my length, licking his lip when that finger catches the precum pooling at the crown.
While I have the presence of mind not to spook him with jerky movements, I’m helpless to stop my hips from tilting upward, chasing after his touch. The barest of friction puts my entire body on edge, like I’m a star on the verge of becoming a supernova, the energy within me too unstable to contain.
Why his slow, curious touch has me so riled when I’m usually a fan of enthusiastic fucking, I have no idea, but with my cock as hard as a steel rod, there’s no denying I like being the object of his sexual exploration. That’s not new—I enjoy the opportunity to corrupt men who think they’re straight—although it doesn’t usually go like this. Sure, they might be a little hesitant at first, but there comes a point where they either strike like a rabid animal or nope the fuck out. I’ve never had a guy embrace the experience in such a prolonged way, mapping my body with awe.
I may boast about my spectacular dick, and I’m proud to say no one’s ever expressed disappointment. Still, Noah’s fascination is hot and mind-blowingly erotic, yet unexpected.
Circling the head, Noah spreads my precum over the tip, heightening the already delicious friction and making me keenly aware of his delicate touch. Then he slides his damp finger down my length to my heavy sac, cupping it in his large palm.
I rock my body over his with a heady moan, trying to stifle a gasp when I feel a firm ridge of pressure underneath me. This is getting him hard. Really hard. I give myself an imaginary pat on the back before shoving the thought from my mind. He’ll say something if he wants to acknowledge it. Instead, I let my body take control.
“I didn’t know men could feel so smooth.” He kneads my balls slowly, dragging his thumb over the somewhat taut skin.
“Do you like it?”
He gives them a firm tug, causing my cock to twitch with a ragged jolt, and resumes rubbing them with a distant, almost contemplative look. “Yeah. I like that you feel soft.”
“We need to work on your vocabulary. Nothing about me is soft.”
“I suppose not.” He slides his hand from my sac to my shaft, trapping it in his vice-like grip, and my vision goes hazy while my soul jumps out of my body.
Holy mother of God, have I entered Heaven?
“Damn that’s an iron grip,” I stutter when my senses return and I realize my hips are bucking and swiveling and straight up humping his hand completely of their own accord, because the fucker’s just holding my dick, not jerking it.
“Too much?” He relaxes his grip as he angles his head to the side like he actually thinks he might be hurting me.
“Fuck no. Keep doing that.”
The pressure returns, and I start thrusting into his fist, grinding my ass against his erection with each pass.
Jaw locked tight, Noah grumbles as I slam onto his lap, but he makes no effort to move. Whether that’s because he’s too afraid or too engrossed by the feel of my dick in his hand I don’t know, but the way his baby blues darken under hooded lids suggests any fear he might have is trumped by lust.
And I am here for it.
Though my limbs are straining with the effort to hold myself up while thrusting into his hand, I fucking love the imagery of writhing naked on top of a fully clothed man. It’s so…filthy, so primal and debauched. I’m ready to blow just picturing it, yet before I can Noah loosens his grip, and the explosion I almost reached fades into a quiet hum.
“Oh fuck. That’s… I need… Don’t stop.” Random words fall out of my mouth as I press my groin into his hand, straining to reclaim the bliss I almost found. When I can’t find it, my tortured gaze meets Noah’s.
