18. Donovan
EIGHTEEN
DONOVAN
Beck is going to be the fucking death of me. He’s cleaning me as if our come tastes like brownie batter and he’s got a terrible sweet tooth. His tongue on my skin feels so amazing I’m trying to get hard again, which is the least my cock can do after its pathetic showing earlier. I went from being lost in the sensation of Beck’s competent hands on me, kissing me like that’s all we had to do for the rest of our lives, to all of a sudden coming like a green kid in a whiteout of pleasure.
What the fuck was that?
I can’t dwell on the weirdness of my unexpected orgasm because the sight of Beck going to town on me, his blond head a contrast to my olive skin and dark blue jeans, is too distracting. I thought he’d probably be responsive and enthusiastic, but I didn’t know he’d melt my brains with how hot he looks between my legs.
We’ve only just started, but I’m fervently glad we have the rest of the summer to play, because I’m nowhere near done with him.
When I’m borderline too sensitive to take any more of Beck’s attentions, he raises his head and looks at me, licks his lips, and that’s it. I surge up, kiss that dirty mouth, and switch our positions. I have to get out of my stupid jeans, and while I’m taking care of them, he tugs his shorts all the way off, throwing them over the side of the bed.
“Nice tan,” I say, tracing the provocative line his Speedo has left behind around his upper thighs and lower belly. The line cuts through his light blond treasure trail.
“Thanks.” He grins up at me, and my chest makes a funny little twinge. God. I’m in bed with Beck, and it’s just as easy and fun as hanging out with him in the kitchen or by the pool. I ignore the overwhelmed sensation that makes it hard to breathe for a second. This is just sex between friends, between two people who have to share a house for the summer. This is about being conveniently attracted to the nearest available guy, and if that makes me a slut or a bad person, whatever. Beck agreed to this, and he seems just as into the physical stuff as I am. So any inconvenient feelings I might be experiencing are really beside the point.
To prove to myself that this is what it says on the label and nothing more, I take my turn paying attention to Beck’s nipples, pink little nubs that I’ve seen nearly every day at the pool. Now I know what his skin tastes like—sweet and salty—and how he sounds when I scrape my teeth over the tender peaks—breathy little moans that send my blood south.
He swears softly when I switch from his chest to his throat, licking and sucking my way up the column of his neck. I don’t usually spend this much time kissing my sexual partners—but with Beck, I want to try everything at least once. Or twice. Like right now, I want to feel his mouth around me again, since I’m almost all the way hard again.
I put my finger on his lower lip. He chases it with a nip and a kiss. “You wanna suck me off?” I ask.
He glances down. “Already?”
I shrug to downplay my eagerness. “I’ll return the favor.”
“Well, with that offer…how do you want it?”
I think for a second, then pull my bed pillows together to prop him up in the center of the bed. “Comfy?”
He adjusts the pillow behind his head and gives me a nod. “Comfy.”
“Good.” I rise up on my knees, bringing my dick conveniently mouth-height. I rest it on his lower lip, the same spot I’d just had my finger on. I glance at him, and he nods slightly, then I feed my cock to him in slow inches, letting him adjust, enjoying the feel of a warm, wet mouth and Beck’s pretty lips stretched around me. I keep going, checking in nonverbally with him, until he’s taken all of me. God, the picture he makes, eyes big, mouth stretched—my balls pulse and I have to hold back from pulling out and slamming back in like the caveman part of me wants to.
He starts moving first, grabbing my hips and using them as leverage to build up a rhythm of smooth strokes. He’s being a perfect vessel to fill up over and over again, and thank god I only came a few minutes ago or this would be finished embarrassingly fast yet again. The pleasure builds until I lose control and hit the back of Beck’s throat. He makes a strangled noise that has me thinking bad things, but I have the presence of mind to pull all the way out and check in with him.
“Sorry,” I say, but he just opens up right away again and swallows me down. Holy fuck. I don’t know if he’s trying to make a point or show off or what, but I’m not complaining. This is the best head I’ve had in a long time. When he moves one hand to my balls and starts rolling them, then pressing unerringly behind them, I twitch, my nerves lighting up with the new sensations.
“So you’re good at this, too,” I gasp, gaze glued to his pink lips, shiny with spit.
He pulls off for a second. “I’m better than good,” he corrects, then sucks on the tip, pulls off again. “And I swallow. So.”
I groan as he sucks me in again, and a finger circles my rim. “Of course you fucking swallow.” Makes sense, after the show he’d put on of licking me clean earlier. “You seem all sweet, but you’re a dirty little fucker, aren’t you?”
He hums his assent, wiggles the tip of his finger inside me. Shit. It’s tight—I haven’t had anything in there in a while. Still, he doesn’t overdo it, and the small intrusion just makes everything that much better. I don’t last much further after that, hips stuttering as my second orgasm of the night rolls through me, longer and deeper than the first one, which had just sort of happened.
True to his word, Beck swallows everything I give him, and when I finally pull all the way out, he licks his lips. His jaw must be fucking sore after that performance, but he kisses me anyway on my way down to the bed, my joints currently in a gelatinous state. I flop next to him, stealing one of the pillows. My hand somehow finds his dick, which seems ready for round two.
“I’ll get you back in a second,” I say, stroking him idly as he turns on his side to face me.
“It’s okay. We’ve got all night.” He smiles at me like we’re sharing a secret.
I smile back. “And all summer.”
Does his smile dim a little? “Right. All summer. So no rush.”
“I’m not leaving you hanging,” I promise. “So, where’d you learn to give head that amazing?”
“My second boyfriend was really talented in that area. He taught me a lot of tricks.”
“Ah. Well, thank him for me.”
“What makes you think I’m still in touch with him?”
“You seem like the kind of person who stays friends with their exes,” I say.
He makes a face. “I don’t know if that’s a good thing or a bad thing. But it’s true either way.”
“It’s a good thing. It means you’re mature enough to not let relationship status change the fact that you liked that person enough to be with them.”
“Or maybe it means we weren’t really passionate about each other if we’re fine being just friends,” he says. “That’s definitely how it was with my first boyfriend, Michael.”
“College, right?” I try to remember the little Beck’s told me about his dating history. He mentioned having a handful of boyfriends over the years.
“It was one of those ‘we’re both gay and we want experience so let’s be together even though we’re not that attracted to each other’ things.”
“Oh, one of those.” I have to admit I’ve never been in that position, but I get the gist.
“But experimenting with him did give me confidence, so when Aidan came along, I had the balls to ask him out, even though he seemed way out of my league.”
At the name Aidan I can’t help but freeze up. Obviously, it’s not the same Aidan. Different state, different dates. But Beck notices, because of course he does. “What? You okay?”
“Fine. Tell me more about Aidan’s great blow jobs,” I say, forcing myself to sound normal.
“Well, he was hot, and nice, and we dated for like two years. But when we graduated, he wanted to go to grad school in Europe and I did not, so we broke up. He’s still over there. I keep threatening to go visit but I haven’t yet.”
So definitely not the same Aidan. My Aidan was scared of flying and had never gone anywhere west of Chicago.
Besides, he hasn’t been my Aidan in forever.
Maybe Pete’s right and I have been letting him stop me for too long.
To keep the conversation going, I ask, “What happened next?”
“What do you mean?”
“After you and Aidan broke up.”
“Oh! Well, I moved to Jersey and took that nonprofit job. That’s when I discovered that casual flings were not for me. I got hit on so much, and sometimes I was tempted, but whenever I tried it I was too stressed to enjoy myself. I know that sounds totally stupid.”
“It’s not stupid,” I say, even though I’ve never had any trouble enjoying myself with a stranger. “You know what you aren’t into, and that’s valid.”
“Thanks.”
“That also explains why you gave me such a hard time when we first met.”
“What do you mean?”
“In the coffee shop, or afterward. I was hitting on you and you wouldn’t give me the time of day.”
“I knew you were hitting on me.” Beck sounds triumphant and I laugh. “I wasn’t sure,” he admits, sitting up. He’s not really hard anymore, but it doesn’t matter. I know I can change that when the time is right. “I was so hungover, I thought maybe I imagined it.”
“You were pretty hungover,” I agree. “Anyway, I’m glad you’re making an exception for me.”
“Am I?”
“With the casual sex thing,” I clarify.
“Oh. Well. I guess there’s an exception to every rule,” he says.
I like being Beck’s exception.
“What about you?” he asks, folding his legs underneath him.
“What about me?”
“I told you my dating history—well, most of it. There was one more guy in law school. Now it’s your turn.”
“What was the deal with the law school guy?” I ask, in part because I’m curious and in part to delay talking about my own history.
“Ben. He was much more serious about becoming a lawyer than me. We’re still in touch, but he’s on to bigger and better things. He got along better with my dad than me, which was kind of a red flag. And he was the last guy I was with, which was months ago. I’ve been tested since then, just so you know.”
I already knew without asking that Beck would have mentioned something if there was something to mention. “I’m negative,” I offer, though maybe I should have brought it up earlier. “And I’m on PReP.”
“Good to know,” he says evenly.
“Why was getting along with your dad a red flag?”
“No more stalling,” Beck says, tenting his hands over his bare chest. “Are you the kind of person who stays friends with their exes?”
I want to push back and tell him it’s none of his business, but I can’t bring myself to be that much of an asshole. Instead, I choose my words carefully. “I really only have one ex. And we decidedly did not stay friends.”
Beck frowns. “How is that possible? The only one ex thing?”
I take a deep breath. “The first week of college I met a boy. His name was Aidan, as it happens. He was my first... everything. First kiss. First love, really. I was a dumb kid when we got together, and after four years of being happy, I thought we were going to be together forever. The kind of love that you say Pete and Jack have—that soulmate kind of love? I thought I had it. Which is why I can tell you it doesn’t exist.”
“What happened?” Beck asks, voice soft as the pillow under my head.
“We were looking at apartments. We were supposed to move in together, start our lives. I was going to be a great actor, and he was going to become a famous architect. The usual twenty-two-year-old bullshit. And one day he up and tells me he doesn’t love me anymore. He doesn’t want to be tied down. He wants to be single for a while, he says. But it turns out that was bullshit, too. I found out a little while later that he met someone else, an older guy with tons of money who lived in a penthouse. He moved in with him. They got married like a year later, adopted a couple of kids. He never became an architect. He’s living that picture-perfect life that you call relationship goals. And I learned my lesson.”
“So that’s why you only do casual,” Beck says, sounding a little bewildered. “Because your first love dumped you?”
I huff. He makes it sound like I’m overreacting. He wasn’t there to see how utterly devastated I was after Aidan left. I could barely get out of bed some days. I loved him so much, and he tossed away four years of happiness like it was a half-eaten bagel. My voice hardens. “I only do casual because I finally grew up and realized that most so-called happy relationships are either bullshit or going to implode in some way.”
“You don’t really believe that, do you?” Beck looks like I just admitted to kicking puppies and small children.
“Look, maybe the real thing happens once in a while. Do I want Pete and Jack to be happy? Sure. They deserve it. But it’s just too rare to think I have any chance of it. I don’t play the lottery, either.” Maybe I’m jaded, but it works for me.
Beck looks at me and I force myself to meet his gaze, worried I’m going to find pity there. His face is unreadable, for which I’m grateful, but then he puts a hand on my chest and says quietly, “You deserve it, too, you know.”
I open my mouth but say nothing. Apparently, I don’t have a comeback for that.