Chapter 29 Benji #2
“Okay.” I hold his face in my hands so he can see I mean it.
“Whenever you’re ready. No clock on it.” I put my hand on his chest, over his heart.
“But I need you to hear me. You never have to feel embarrassed around me. Not about your body. Not about anything. Whatever we need to work through, we work through together. You’re not alone in this. Okay?”
Mickey nods, and the tension in his shoulders finally eases. His hands remain on my bare back, but his grip shifts — fingers pressing in with new purpose, like he’s made a decision.
“There is something I want to do,” he says in that same sexy, deep timbre from our shower call.
“Whatever you want is okay with me. You never need to ask. Every day is a ‘good to go’ day with me.”
His gaze travels over me — first to my mouth, then my throat, across my stomach and down to the waistband of my pants. When his eyes return to mine, the hunger in them is so intense it steals my breath.
“I’ve been thinking about this since the last time you were here,” he admits. “About what I want to do… and what I still can do.” His thumb traces my hip bone, raising goosebumps across my skin. “My hands work. My mouth works. And I want to use them.” He pats the counter behind me. “Hop up.”
The same counter from our first kiss in this bathroom. I know exactly how his chair fits beneath it. His mouth at the perfect height. My stomach tightens with anticipation.
Climbing off his lap, I steady myself with both hands on his shoulders. For a moment I just stand there — shirtless, barefoot — while he looks up at me from his chair with an expression that makes me want to crawl right back into his lap.
Instead, I hop onto the counter and settle on the edge, legs dangling. The mirror presses against my back and the harsh fluorescent light buzzes overhead, but none of it matters. Not when Mickey is staring up at me like he’s been planning this exact moment for weeks.
He rolls forward until he’s right between my knees. Strong hands grip my thighs, fingers digging into the muscle through the thin linen.
“I haven’t been able to stop imagining this since the shower video,” he murmurs.
His palms slide upward, the rough calluses dragging deliciously over my skin. Finding the drawstring at my waist, he tugs the knot loose with one pull. My breath catches as his fingers hook into the waistband and ease the fabric down.
“Lift up for me.”
I raise my hips. Working together, we push my shorts and boxers down my legs until they drop to the floor. Now I’m completely naked, my cock hard and flushed, right in front of his face.
Mickey stares at my cock with raw focus.
“Mickey, you don’t have to—”
“I want to,” he interrupts. “I crave you, Benji. Do you understand? I need my mouth on you. I want to taste you.”
“Yeah,” I breathe. “I understand.”
Leaning forward, he grips my hips and pulls me right to the edge of the counter. His mouth finds my stomach first, just below my navel. The heat of his lips and the drag of his tongue make my muscles jump. He kisses lower, following the line of my hip.
“Fuck… Mickey,” I gasp, one hand flying into his hair.
He wraps a firm hand around the base of my cock and strokes once.
Then he leans in and takes me into his mouth.
The wet heat is overwhelming. His lips stretch around the head as he sucks gently, tongue swirling in filthy circles over the sensitive underside.
He gradually takes me deeper, relaxing his throat until more than half my cock is enveloped in tight, slick heat.
The combination of his warm mouth, the firm suction, and the way his tongue presses flat against the vein running down my shaft almost makes me come.
He pulls back, lips shiny and tight, then sinks down again, taking me even deeper.
A low, hungry sound vibrates around my cock as he sucks me — a perfect rhythm of his mouth sliding down while his fist strokes the base in time.
Every few strokes he swirls his tongue around the head, licking up the precum that’s steadily leaking for him.
Looking down at him nearly undoes me completely. His eyes eventually lift to meet mine, dark with lust, while his flushed lips stretch around my cock and his cheeks hollow with every pull.
He pulls off just long enough to murmur, “Tell me what you like.”
“Just like that,” I manage, voice wrecked. “Exactly like that.”
Mickey makes a low sound of satisfaction and takes me back into his mouth.
“Mickey… your mouth,” I moan. “Jesus Christ, your mouth feels so fucking good.”
His eyes stay locked on mine as he takes me deeper, sucking harder, tongue doing something wicked at the tip on every upstroke that sends sparks shooting up my spine. The wet, obscene sounds of his mouth and hand working together fill the small bathroom.
The pressure builds fast and intense. My stomach tightens, thighs trembling.
“I’m going to come,” I warn, voice breaking. “Pull off. Mickey, I’m—”
He doesn’t pull away. Instead, he takes me deeper.
The orgasm crashes through me so hard my vision whites out.
My back arches and a raw, shattered sound tears from my throat as I pulse hard into his mouth.
His mouth stays on me through every shudder until I’m completely spent.
Then he eases off carefully. He presses one last kiss to the inside of my thigh and rests his forehead against my leg.
His hand gentles on my hip. His thumb traces a circle against the bone. “Still good?” he asks against my skin. Barely a whisper.
“Yes, better than good,” I manage. “So good.”
My hands move from his hair to his face. I cup his jaw and tilt his head up until he’s looking at me. His mouth is flushed, his chest heaving.
I lean down and kiss him. I taste myself on his mouth. I kiss him deeper, my thumbs on his cheekbones, and the kiss says everything that words can’t reach. He pulls back just enough to press his forehead against mine and we both just breathe.
I stay on the counter for another minute. Climbing down will end this moment and I’m not ready. His hands rest on my thighs, and I run my fingers through his hair.
Then my stomach growls loudly, breaking the moment.
Mickey looks up at me and grins. “Are you hungry?” he asks, amused.
“Starving. You made me forget about food. I brought Italian subs and they’re getting soggy while I’m naked on a bathroom counter. This is my life now. And I’m absolutely not complaining.”
I hop off the counter and pull my jeans up.
My legs are shaking. Not from the position.
From everything. I find my shirt on the floor behind the toilet, which is not where I expected my dignity to end up, but here we are.
His shirt is on the towel bar. I toss it to him and he pulls it over his head in one motion while I’m still trying to get mine turned right-side out.
I check my face in the mirror. Disaster. My lips are swollen, my face is flushed, my hair is wrecked from his hands. He flips the armrests back down, releases the brakes, and wheels toward the door.
We go back in the room. Everything is the same except us.
I unpack the subs. Italian with everything, the vinegar soaking through the paper.
Mickey bites into his and nods, the one I always wait for.
For a few minutes, we just eat. The silence between bites isn’t awkward.
It’s full. The silence of two people who just made a promise in a locked room and are now honoring it by sitting across from each other eating sandwiches like civilized adults.
After we eat, I reach for the cream and take his right hand without asking.
His hands first. Then I pull his shirt off again.
He lets me. His chest, his shoulders, the knots at the base of his skull.
Then I go to the floor. Cross-legged, the way I always sit for the feet.
I unlace his sneakers, peel the socks down, and wrap my hands around his right foot.
He watches as I finish the feet. Both calves. The long slow strokes from ankle to knee. And then I keep going, the way I did last time, above the knee, onto his left thigh, my palm flat against the quad. His hand comes down and covers mine. Presses it harder against his leg.
I look up at him. His face is different. Not the flushed face from the bathroom. Something careful and fragile and trembling at the edges.
“You know what I’ve been doing at night?” he murmurs. “I lie in that bed and replay every place your hands have touched me. Your fingers on my wrist. Your thumbs on my neck. And my body is starting to respond.”
My stomach flips. “Respond how?”
“Sensation. Below the waist. Not every time. But when I think about you, when I replay the things we do in this room, there’s something happening. It’s not what it used to be. But a signal is getting through.”
I pull back and look at him. “Are you telling me your body responds when you think about me?”
“It’s trying to. Not all the way. Not even close to what it was. But something is there that wasn’t there before. And it started with your hands on my skin.”
“You held back the biggest news of your recovery from me because you wanted to be sure?”
“Yes.”
“That’s the most Mickey Weaver thing I’ve ever heard, and I’m both mad and in love with it at the same time.”
The word slips out. Not the big one, not the full sentence, but the shadow of it. I said in love with it and the “it” is doing the heavy lifting but we both know what’s underneath. His eyes catch on it.
He reaches for my hand. Both of his around one of mine. He lifts it and presses his lips against my fingers. The knuckle kiss that’s all ours.
“I’m going to work to be the man you deserve, Benji. Chair or no chair.”
“You already are,” I say. “And Mickey?”
“Yeah?”
“The loft. Your place above the bar. When you’re home and you’re ready. That’s where I’ll be. Both of us. No clock. No locked bathroom. Just your bed and all the time in the world. And when that happens, I’m going to rock your world.”
“I know that already,” he says.
I draw back to look at him. “How do you know that?”
“You don’t do anything at half speed, Benji.
I’ve watched your face go from laughing to absolute fury in two seconds flat over unglazed pots.
I’ve seen the way your hands move when you talk about your work like your body can’t keep up with your brain.
You throw yourself at everything full force.
Someone who lives like that — who goes a hundred percent at everything he touches — is not going to hold back when he finally gets me in a real bed.
I know exactly what’s coming. I’ve known since the shower video. And I can’t fucking wait.”
“Me either, Mickey. Me either.”