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Lucas sleeps beside me, his arms around my middle like I’m his teddy bear. As if he can sense I’m awake, he stirs, pulling me even closer to him and pressing his lips against the crook of my neck.
And then he kisses, and kisses, and kisses, until I’m burning up, until his skin is burning up too. Until my stomach twists with need and I’m hard, and he’s hard too, because I can feel it nudging against my hip.
Sometime in the early morning haze, after making me shiver with his lips against the most sensitive parts of my neck, when my desire peaks and starts to spill into frustration, I say it:
“Lucas.”
It could be a complaint or a beg.
It feels as if it’s been an eternity, but he leans back and slips his fingers into the waistband of my pants. He drags them down, along with my boxer-briefs, at a glacial pace. I wonder if he’s trying to drive me insane. I wouldn’t be surprised if that was the sadistic kind of thing Lucas was into.
After pulling my clothes down enough, my cock pops out and slaps against my lower stomach, and my cheeks heat. I hope the room is too dark for Lucas to see it properly.
But he must, because he pauses and stares. After a moment, he lets go of my pants and reaches out, and when his fingers touch my erection, my entire body jerks and a whimper escapes me.
His lips curl into a smirk. That’s the Lucas I know.
His thumb massages the slit until pre-cum leaks, and his smirk widens. Then, he lets go and finishes undressing me, chucking the pants and boxer briefs and socks off the side of the bed.
“I meant what I said,” he whispers. “I’m going to take care of you. I’m going to take care of you the way no one else can.”
His fingers curl around my cock, and I can’t help myself, I moan. And then I keep moaning, mouth open, my body going tense as he strokes me up and down. Right now, I feel a hundred times more sensitive than usual. I’m not sure why. Maybe the emotions from last night have frazzled my nerve endings, but it doesn’t take long until I’m on the verge of finishing.
That’s when Lucas slows down to a torturous pace. He lowers his head and kisses a trail from my lower stomach, up over my abdomen and chest, to my neck. He starts to suck, his wet tongue against my skin.
“Listen to you,” he says, “panting already.”
His fingers focus on my cockhead for a bit, coaxing out more pre-cum and using it to make the whole shaft slippery. “Look at how much you’re leaking.”
He kisses the underside of my jaw, then over my cheek, following the places where my tears had dried earlier.
“You like this, don’t you?” he says. He increases the speed of the hand stroking me, and I gasp. “Tell me. Tell me you like it.”
I can’t. I don’t.
“Tell me you like it,” he repeats, holding his face above mine so he can look directly into my eyes. When I don’t respond, he lets go of my cock, and I whimper in protest.
He sighs, as if annoyed. “Charlie. Tell me you —”
I grab the back of his neck and kiss him. He’s startled for a second before relaxing, and when he parts his lips, I slide my tongue inside. He moans into my mouth, and the deep noise does something to me. I’m so hard it hurts.
This time, Lucas kisses me roughly. He’s messy, spit getting everywhere, and kisses me so hard I wonder if my lips will bruise. When he tugs my bottom lip between his teeth, sharp enough to sting, I make a whining sound. The faintest hint of stubble on his jaw scratches against me, but despite the sting, I like it.
It’s a reminder I’m kissing a man. It’s a reminder I’m kissing Lucas. Which is terrifying. The thing about terror, though, is that when it twists my stomach into tight, complex knots, it feels a lot like butterflies.
I make a whimpery noise. Maybe it’s a sob.
He continues to kiss me savagely, and I pray to god he doesn’t notice me thrusting into his tight, slippery fist.
When he pulls back, his lips are darker than usual. Swollen. His fingers play with my dick slowly, the tips of his fingers trailing up and down.
Frustrated, I buck my hips up and down. He curls his lip and lets go, leaning back on his haunches.
“Get up,” he says.
I stare at him. Is that it? Isn’t he going to finish?
“Get up,” he repeats, louder, and I startle.
