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“Atlas. Hello?”
Shit, right, phone.
“Hey,” I croak. “Missed your call.”
“I noticed,” Ryder replies dryly. “No dings or dents today?”
“Nope.”
Blair has moved to my other ball, sucking and nipping along my sac.
“It’s getting late. Are you coming by tonight?”
“Um, actually, I was wondering if I could bring it by in the morning? You know. I was thinking that we don’t—ah—we don’t hang out nearly enough. Maybe we could… grab breakfast or something?”
Blair licks at the head of my dick, firming up slightly under his tongue. It’s slow and meticulous how he flattens his tongue and drags it up my shaft.
“You wrecked it, didn’t you? Trying to soften me up with sausage and pancakes.”
“No,” I say, but it comes out cracked when Blair fits me into his mouth. He sucks in slow pulls as his tongue keeps up the work on my shaft and twirls around the head. Fuck. “No, I just, um, talked to Momma recently and I’m feeling a little homesick. Don’t actually wanna go home. You want to or not?”
I don’t know what I was worried about, because my body is one hundred percent on board with Blair’s mouth. My dick is slow to fill, but when I glance down I can see the way I’m beginning to stretch his lips, how he pulls back an inch to make room for my length.
God, that is so hot. Blair is so fucking hot.
Is this what I’ve needed all these years? Blair Novak on my cock? He works it like it’s his, and it responds in kind.
“Yeah, fine,” Ryder says on a sigh, but I manage to hear the amusement in his voice through the ringing in my ears. “Eight sharp, got it? There’s a twenty four/seven diner you’re gonna pay for.”
I’m pretty sure I mutter ‘uh huh’ before I hang up the phone and let a strangled moan out of my throat, but I can’t be sure. It bounces off the bed and onto the floor, but fuck if I care.
Blair strokes me to a hardness I didn’t know I could reach, cheeks hollowed out as he slides his lips along my cock. There’s prickles of tears in the corners of his eyes, and my hips threaten to chase the suction as he slowly pulls it up my length, but I hold them down with a heavy hand because my self control slipped away the moment the phone hit the floor.
His mouth makes a lewd pop as it releases my dick, and his eyes flick up to mine just as he wraps his hand around my erection. My nerves are on fire with each slow pump, but it’s his fingers smoothing over the head and opening my slit with light pressure so the tip of his tongue can fit inside that has the mounting pleasure taking over.
He closes his lips over the tip as his tongue continues lapping at and slipping into my slit. My abdomen clinches as shockwaves shoot through my groin at a particularly good flick, and I have to make a decision fast.
“Blair?” I gasp out his name, and he looks up at the question, releasing my cock to free up his mouth.
I’m terrified of ruining this moment because my arousal is at a solid eight, and I want to come until I’m bone dry and too exhausted to think. But what if the touch aversion kicks in? What if I waste my night with Blair being too grossed out by myself to touch him?
He reads my hesitation and kisses the tip of my dick then rests his cheek on my thigh. “Want me to stop?”
With my libido swinging between both options, I throw an arm over my eyes and breathe deep. The urgency settles down, and the feel of Blair threading his fingers through mine settles the worst of my fears.
“Yeah, let’s stop. We can try some more later?”
I lift my arm, and Blair is smiling at me so pure and affectionate I can’t help but guide him up to me and pull his mouth down to mine. His breath is musky, and his tongue has a salty taste clinging to it but I enjoy every stroke as he fucks my mouth with it; almost like a claim.
“So proud of you,” he says into my open mouth, and I press in tighter with my fist in his hair.
We kiss until we’re both out of breath and my dick is resting soft between my legs. Every so often, Blair might reach down and give it a squeeze or sensual stroke, but instead of arousing it just feels good. The kind of good that has me stroking him in return—but not sexually.
I drag my hands down his back, scrape my nails up his arm, and use his neck as a canvas for my lips and teeth. We talk a little, and then we touch some more, and then we talk and touch at the same time.
It’s like as long as our hands are on each other, there’s something right with the world. Everything makes more sense when Blair’s head is on my chest, when his leg is thrown over my hip and his toes are digging into my calf.
My mind has to betray the endorphins swimming around by reminding me of Shiloh’s dare. The one he hasn’t let up on yet. Where I’m supposed to sleep with a man, and the thought of anyone other than Blair putting their hands on me makes me sick.
