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“Well, okay. Something tells me you know how to use that.”
“Are you saying I’m a slut?”
“Of course not.” He gave me a look, and I felt suitably chastened. “I’m saying you’re probably talented—and I’d like to find out.”
He gave me room so I could sit up, the gauzy chemise covering all my randy bits as I scooched toward him. He looked so hot kneeling there with his arms crossed, waiting for me. I went onto my hands and knees and reached for him.
“Oh God,” he moaned as I slid two fingers into a belt loop and tugged him forward. He unfolded his arms to steady himself as I worked at unbuckling his belt.
“What do you have inside your pants, Mr. Kenney? I’m dying to find out,” I said, running a hand over the bulge in front and gasping at the size and solidity beneath.
“I can’t wait to show you,” he breathed, one hand going to my head and the other pulling his belt out of the loops with practiced ease. He threw it to the floor and watched me unbutton and unzip him, his mouth open and his breaths coming in short puffs.
His cock strained against the cotton of his black boxer briefs where a dark spot was spreading. At the sight of it, a jolt of arousal shot down my spine and into my balls.
“I can smell you,” I said, in a breathy, sex-kitten voice that I sincerely hoped he appreciated.
His cock jerked. “I can smellus.”
We stared at each other as I tugged at the waistband of his briefs and pulled them down over his healthy erection. His cock bounced free—a lovely, average-sized specimen—smooth and juicy. It was just the right size—big enough to make me catch my breath in anticipation rather than terror. Just the right amount of girth on it and about five inches long.Perfect.
“Are you measuring my cock, Toby?”
“Um. No,” I lied.
He didn’t fall for it. “Well? Do you think it will fit?”
“Sure it’ll— Wait a minute. I said I didn’t want you to fuck me, remember?”
He grinned and snorted a laugh. “Gotcha.”
“Very funny.” I examined his penis, tilting my head. “It’s a little on the small side, if I’m being honest.”It wasn’t.
He winked. “No, it’s not. And sizedoesmatter, at least a little. Any guy who says different is lying.”
“You think? Alastair, that’s a very outdated concept, I hate to tell you.”
He wasn’t listening, I didn’t think. Because his hand had wrapped around his cock and his gorgeous eyes had gone half-lidded.
I stared at Alastair’s cock as he let go of it and dropped his hands to his sides, waiting. I wrapped my fingers around the base and leaned forward. Then I licked the bubble of moisture off the top with the flat of my tongue in one long, lazy stroke.
Alastair—Mr. Kenney—made the most delicious sound of surprise and pleasure. Fluid oozed from my own dick as I engulfed his cock, humming and flicking my tongue back and forth.
“Fuuuuck,” Alastair cursed, his fingers tightening in my hair. “Oh fuck. Toby.”
“Mmm?” I said, continuing my attentions.
“That’s so good.” He swallowed. “Sogood.”
“Mmm.”
He tasted fantastic—so clean, as if he’d washed his bits at some point, too. Was it possible he’d cleaned himself at the club? It did smell like the soap we used, to be honest. I pulled off with a slurp, giving him a look.
“Did you wash your cock at the club?”
“Ohhh, God, why did you stop?” he groaned, wrapping his hand around himself and gazing at me in confusion.
“Because I want to know if you washed your bits at the club. You taste…clean.”
