Chapter 14 #3
I touch the top of his head, sliding my fingers along his scalp, considering.
I’ve never seen his hair down. The black strands are always tied back in a bun, the occasional piece escaping but never falling free around his shoulders.
I want to see it. I want to glide my fingers through and hold his head still while I use his mouth.
But I also want this—a clear view of his face and eyes, all the sharp angles and the swoop of dark eyelashes.
I want to see the slide of muscle in his shoulders and the spread of his legs, the smooth skin of his chest and the curve of his hard dick.
“Go on,” I say, stepping close enough that Nils has to tip his head back to keep his eyes on mine. Instead of picking up right where he left off, he starts at my calves, fingers coasting gently over the muscles.
It’s hard to watch his face and stand still—hard to see the parted lips and feel the soft exhalations against my thighs and not take more than he’s ready to give.
My stomach is clenched tight by the time his fingers tease the crease of my groin, cock throbbing underneath the lace that has long since stopped being soft and now feels like a cage.
When Nils leans up on his knees and presses forward, kissing me through the fabric, my hips jolt backward. He looks up at me.
“Sorry,” I murmur, stroking his cheek. “Keep going. You’re doing good.”
Anyone else might have missed it, but the flutter of eyelashes and the soft inhalation of breath might as well be a neon sign.
He liked that, I realize, swaying slowly forward as he mouths my dick through the panties.
I groan, unsure of how much of this I’m realistically going to be able to take.
If I’ve ever been with a man so intent upon slow foreplay, I cannot remember.
He nips lightly at my stomach, making me jump.
This time, the puff of air against my groin is laughter, and the eyes that look up at me are playful.
“Take them off.” I repeat my earlier missive, watching as the mirth melts once more into heat.
He does, carefully sliding the panties down my legs and letting my dick bob free.
I’m a little bit bigger than him and a lot more meticulously groomed, something he takes notice of right away, fingers teasing the smooth skin at my base.
I wait, wanting to give him the space to decide for himself, but he looks back up at me, thumb gently circling the head of my cock and pressing into the slit.
Head tilted just barely to the left, his eyebrows rise in a silent request. What next?
“If I tell you to do something that you don’t want to, stop.” He watches me, free hand cupped around the back of my knee and somehow just as distracting as the one on my dick. “If at any point you are finished or want to try something else, stop.”
I really don’t think I need to tell him this, confirmed by his answering nod, but I further relax into the moment now that I have.
I can talk him through every second of this if he’d like me to—order him around, provide instruction and praise—but I need to trust that he’ll enforce any boundaries we come across.
“Harder than that,” I instruct, a pulse of pleasure snaking through me when he tightens his fingers. I wait, letting the pressure build through a handful of strokes. “Open your mouth.”
I sway forward as he does, body automatically reaching for the warm, wet hole in front of me.
Nils doesn’t wait for the next set of instructions but uses his hand to bring my cock to his mouth, tip just barely inside.
Swallowing roughly, I cup one hand underneath his chin and rock forward just a bit, breath catching when he sucks gently.
“That’s right,” I tell him, voice low, thumb stroking over his cheek. “Good boy.”
The praise is a rock thrown into the center of a pond to watch the ripples. A tease and a careful step toward something I could take further if he wanted me to.
Close as we are, I catch every reaction like a string of dominoes falling.
The snag in his breathing, the twitch of a shoulder, and the eyelids that fall closed; fingers pressed hard into the back of my leg, and the way he opens up to let more of me inside.
Carefully, I arch my back, a groan slipping out at the way it feels to have that wet heat surrounding me.
I’m grateful for how slowly we’re moving, grateful that I’m able to hold back and not come too quickly.
It clicks, suddenly, that the purpose of sex doesn’t always have to be a blind rush to come.
It can be this, too—a loving and careful exploration, and trust that feels bigger than naked bodies and orgasms.
“Relax your jaw.” Another stroke of his cheek as he complies. “There you go, just relax.”
My head feels fuzzy from the incessant thrum of desire radiating from my core, senses overloaded.
Nils shifts on his knees, settling in a little further while I rock slowly—so, so slowly—into his mouth.
Every now and then, his eyes close for a few seconds as though he’s having trouble keeping them open, head bobbing shallowly as he tries to be a more active participant in the blow job.
I stop him each time, one hand still cupping his chin and the other on his cheek.
When his own hand drops down to where his dick is sitting untouched, hard and flushed dark, I stop him again.
“Not yet.” He pauses. “Put your hands on your thighs. There you go,” I croon, smiling to myself when he makes a tiny, needful noise around my dick and rests his palms down. The back of my knee tingles where his fingers are no longer pressed tight.
Not wanting him to wind up with a sore jaw, and fast nearing the point where I can no longer hold off, I pick up speed.
My movements are shallow enough not to gag him, but deep enough that I can feel myself when I press a thumb to his cheek.
My voice wavers when I try to talk, release finally ramping up enough that I can no longer push it down.
“So good for me. So beautiful. I dreamed of seeing you like this, kneeling for me. Leaking all over yourself. Dreamed of being so far inside you I could feel it.” I push harder against his cheek, hips stuttering when he groans deep enough that I swear I can feel the vibrations up my spine.
I’m only half-aware of what I’m saying, too focused on watching my slick cock slipping through his lips. “So, so good for me.”
This time, the sound Nils makes is closer to a whimper, and when he closes his eyes, they don’t open again. His hands, still resting on his legs, are tense, dick flushed and hard and probably painful.
“Show me how you touch yourself,” I murmur, once more losing my rhythm when he moves quickly to follow the order. I’m not sure what is more pleasurable right now, the blow job or the realization that Nils is so beautifully pliable and willing.
His hand moves over his dick a lot faster than he was touching me. A lot faster than I’d touch him were I able to reach. I want to tell him to slow down, but release sparks along my nerves, and I’m too close to the edge to do anything but fall.
“I’m coming,” I tell him, pulling back. I’m not going to come in his mouth unannounced, or anywhere near his face.
A hand clamps around the back of my thigh before I can slip all the way out, just the tip still inside his mouth as I come.
For the first time all evening, I lose track of what’s happening.
I don’t know what Nils is doing or what I’m doing or who the heck the president is.
Everything narrows down to a wave of release, sharp heat before it simmers to warm, and the continued suction of Nils’ mouth, cheeks working underneath my hands like he’s trying to drink me down.
He’s still got his mouth on me when he comes, groaning again and shoving me straight from orgasm into oversensitive.
My dick twitches like it wants to rally, but I pull back again, needing a break from the prolonged sensation.
Nils takes what is probably his first full lungful of air, lips parted and hand still moving idly on his cock.
Tipping his face up, I lean down and kiss him, looking for myself on his tongue and needing just one more minute of contact before it’s gone.