Chapter 13
MICHAEL
—The Feeling
by Lost Frequencies
I’ve made a lot of responsible decisions in my life, so I tell myself there should be a time where I’m allowed to be impulsive—and I’ve decided that’s today.
I don’t even last ten minutes before the regrets sets in.
I sit on the sofa with my phone in hand, scrolling through nothing in particular and pretending I’m about to watch something.
But my leg keeps moving on its own, tapping against the floor.
Meanwhile, that familiar tightness builds in my chest.
I try so hard to convince myself to stay where I am, to be sensible like I’m supposed to—but before I know it, I’m already pushing myself off the sofa and reaching for my car keys. My hand slips in my haste. I catch the glass tray just before it tips over, steadying it.
I open my food delivery app as I move towards the door. I scroll through past orders until I find Taj’s address, still saved there since the last time I ordered food, back when Roland and Austin had been laying low in Nehvizdy.
I haven’t allowed myself to think about why the look in Taj’s eyes made me want to knock myself, or why the sadness in them made something in my chest twist. I definitely haven’t asked myself why his happiness has started mattering to me more than anything else.
If this ever gets out, it will turn into a scandal.
I already know how that will end if word reaches my university in Nigeria.
I might as well kiss that job goodbye. I don’t know where my bosses stand on everything, but they’ve said enough in passing for me to know there will be no support waiting for me there.
It doesn’t help that Nigeria also criminalises homosexuality.
I’m fully aware of all of this—and yet I find myself already walking out the the door.
I have to see him.
I start the drive to Nehvizdy without any kind of plan, and as I inch closer to the house, I still don’t know what I’m going to say to Taj. The only thought that stays constant throughout the drive is the way he looked at me. The idea of hurting him doesn’t sit right with me.
By the time I’m parking in front of his aunt’s house, my nerve almost fails me. I realise it’s a gated house, and that I didn’t think things through. Luckily the smaller gate is open, Taj probably forgot to lock it. I walk into the compound, finally settling on honesty.
But it turns out I didn’t need a plan at all. The moment the words are out of my mouth, Taj already understands what I mean. His hand grips my jacket before I can say anything else, and he’s yanking me towards him.
His mouth crashes into mine, the kiss immediately heated.
And, God, have I wanted this.
I barely manage to push the door closed with my foot before I’m drowning in Taj.
His lips move against mine, and I match his fervour.
When his tongue prods my lips, I open for him without hesitation, the kiss turning into a messy, fiery clash.
His hands are already working on my trench coat, fingers undoing each button impatiently until it loosens and slides off my shoulders, falling somewhere behind me.
If it makes any sound, I don’t hear it. My focus is entirely on him, the way he tilts his head to take more from me, to deepen the kiss.
I step out of my shoes clumsily, one foot nudging the other and nearly losing my balance.
But I don’t break the kiss. My hands move over him in return, running across his chest, feeling the steady rise and fall beneath my palm.
I find the zip of his jacket and drag it down.
I push the jacket off him, my fingers brushing against his sides as I do.
He lets it fall easily. At some point, his shoes are gone as well, but I don’t see how or when.
He breaks the kiss for a moment, his attention moving to my shirt. This time, there’s something firmer in the way he grips it, pulling it up and over my head—the way his eyes roam over my chest appreciatively makes me feel all giddy inside.
“I can’t believe you’re here.” His voice is a bit rough. And then his mouth is back on mine.
“I’m sorry about earlier,” I manage, the words half swallowed as our mouths meets again.
We stagger into the living room, bumping into something, but I don’t care to find out what as I reach for the drawstring of his sweatpants and loosen it.
He strokes the inside of my mouth with his tongue, and my knees almost give out under me.
I force myself to pull away, breaking the kiss as I drop to my knees in front of him, dragging his boxers down with me until I’m at eye level with his dick.
“I’ve been thinking of doing this since we met at the club,” I confess, and even to my own ears I sound dazed.
I had taken a quick peek that day in my office, when we got reacquainted, and his cock has featured heavily in my fantasies when I’m alone.
Now that it’s in front of me and I’m here actually taking my time, I realise I’d underestimated the size a bit.
Alright, more than a bit. He is long, thick, and veiny—just looking at him makes my heart speed up.
I’ve spent enough time imagining what it would feel like to have him inside me, but now that it’s getting real, I’m not entirely sure I thought it through.
Yeah, I’m fit and work out when I can, I’m not exactly fragile, and I can handle a lot of things.
But still, this might be . . . ambitious of me.
“Well?” Taj prods. When I glance up at him, he chuckles. “You’ve been having a silent conversation with my dick.”
I blink up at him. “It’s . . . huge,” I admit, licking my lips. “And I’m wondering how I’m going to take you.”
He groans at that. “You’re killing me,” he says, voice rougher now. “But we can use toys to open you up.”
“Hold that thought,” I say, and then I move my mouth over his cock slowly, taking my time as I lick at the tip, tasting the faint salt there.
“Fuck,” he rasps. His head falls back as one hand clutches the back of the couch to steady himself. After a second, he forces himself to look down again; when our eyes meet, there’s something intense in the way he watches me. “The sight of you like this is sending me out of my fucking mind.”
That does something funny to my brain.
Now, I’m wondering what exactly he means by that. Whether it’s some kind of power trip and the visual of his lecturer on his knees for him is feeding his lust . . . or if it’s me specifically. Me—as the one he actually wants.
I shake it off before I can spiral too far, focusing instead on what I’m doing.
I place my hands on his thighs, then lean in again.
I take him into my mouth, feeling the girth stretch my lips as I go.
My jaw adjusts around him, but I only go halfway before pulling back for air, my tongue dragging along his length as I come back up to the tip.
I pause there for a second, then ease back down again, slower this time.
The hitch in his breathing tells me everything I need to know.
When I come back up again, precum is dribbling on my tongue, sending a small shudder through me.
I bring one hand up to hold him at the base, and then I take him in again, finding a rhythm that feels right rather than forcing one.
It’s not perfect at first, but I keep going, bobbing my head up and down his shaft, trying to remember the way he handled me at the club before letting instinct take over.
It takes a few seconds, maybe even less, but the rhythm finds me—or I find it.
And once I do, everything feels easier, my movements becoming more fluid and confident, and I’m able take him deeper each time.
His cock brushes the back of my throat with each downward motion, my nose grazing his pubes as I keep going.
I choke around him, coughing as tears prickle at the corner of my eyes, but I don’t stop.
I don’t want to stop. There’s something consuming about it now, something that takes over my body completely.
I keep going, intending to suck him dry and milk him of all his cum like I’d been fantasising about.
“Holy fuck,” he rasps again. “You look so good on your knees sucking me off. You’ll look even hotter when I’m pounding into you.”
His words slam into me, and my cock twitches painfully in the confines of my trousers, the pressure suddenly too much to ignore. I use my free hand to fumble with my zip, dragging it down in a hurry to free myself, my hand wrapping around my length. I palm it, but don’t stroke myself yet.
“Yeah, touch yourself for me,” he coos, his eyes hooded as we maintain eye contact. “Show me how horny sucking my cock is making you.”
There’s something in the way he says it that makes it very hard not to obey him, or to even think straight—not that I was doing a brilliant job of that before.
A shiver runs through me again. I start stroking myself, trying to remain coordinated even as I continue sucking him off.
The dual sensation is overwhelming, and my body is struggling to keep up.
Still, I push through it. After only a few seconds, he reaches down and grabs a fistful of my dreadlocks, his hold firm as he guides me at first, then loses patience altogether.
His hips snap forward, thrusting into my mouth, deeper and harder, setting his own pace. My throat tightens around him instinctively, the sudden intensity forcing a strained breath out of me through my nose.
“Mike,” he groans, his thrusts turning erratic. “Can I come in your mouth?”
I nod as best as I can, the motion clumsy with him still filling my mouth.
It only takes a couple more brutal thrusts before he tenses, and then he’s emptying his cum down my throat.
I swallow around him, greedily taking everything he gives me.
My hand is still moving over my cock, with less control now, chasing my own release.
My breathing comes quicker. Within seconds, I follow, my release spilling into my hand as I shudder through it.
Finally, he’s pulling back, his softening cock slipping out of my mouth. Before I can fully recover, he’s hauling me up, one hand still tangled in my hair as he brings me into another scorching kiss, his other hand gripping my still clad arse.