Chapter Twenty-Four #2
“I wish you could see this right now,” Evan murmurs, admiring how my face is completely filled with him. “You’re so fucking gorgeous.”
I moan when his musky scent fills my nostrils—all man, mixed with ambient notes of campfire smoke—eager for him to start using me.
When he feels my head press back into his hands, he understands my subtle request that he begin putting me to work.
The sting I feel from him tugging on my hair mixes with the overwhelming fullness I feel in my mouth.
He starts slowly at first, seemingly trying to make this last—either that, or being unnecessarily gentle with me. I can handle deep throating, though. Love it, actually.
It doesn’t take long before he starts guiding my head in earnest. Bobbing up and down, I try swallowing whenever I feel his tip brush my tonsils, clogging off my throat, hollowing out my cheeks on every upstroke.
Drool spills out the edges of my mouth, and tears leak out the corners of my eyes, with each punishing thrust downward.
Finally, he transitions to holding my head in place, my arms gripped tightly around his thighs, as he snaps his hips up into my mouth. “Fuck, fuck, fuck,” he curses. “Brooks, you are so fucking perfect. So beautiful. It’s like your mouth was made for my dick.”
I moan my agreement to that last statement, and he groans. “I’m—fuck—I’m close, baby. Can I come down that pretty throat of yours?”
I nod the best I can, said throat currently being speared aggressively, giving me everything I asked for. Everything I craved, and he’s delivering on. Holy crap on a cracker, this man can deliver.
In case you haven’t guessed yet. I’m a big fan of blowjobs. Giving, more than receiving. Love it. Seeing a man, spread open and vulnerable, waiting for my eager mouth—it really is chef’s kiss. I love my face being right at the epicenter, watching from below, as he erupts. Agh, it’s unreal.
Don’t even get me started on cum.
I feel his body starting to tense, feel his balls drawing up close, like a wave drawing up before cresting and breaking.
And break he does. He shudders and shakes through his release, his fingers getting impossibly tight in my hair.
His thighs are like vice-grips on my shoulders.
His moans, groans, and curses almost sound like he’s being gutted.
I almost can’t swallow all of what he pours into me, some of it leaking out of the corners of my mouth as I struggle to drink it all in. He tastes as amazing as I’d imagined.
After he goes boneless below me—sinking back into the blanketed sand, his thighs loosening their hold on me—I untangle myself, wipe the back of my mouth off with my hand, and settle myself back at his side, after tossing another big log on the fire.
With a victorious grin, I watch him as his heaving chest rises and falls as he gulps air.
He loosely wraps an arm around me again, and with what little strength he has left, he pulls me in close, craning his neck and searching for a kiss.
“You sure?” I ask him. “I just sucked down roughly a gallon of your release.”
He nods. “I’m sure. I want to taste myself on your lips.”
I give in, we kiss until his heart rate returns to normal, and he comes back down from his post-orgasm high.
When we finally break apart, he seems content to just want to stay laying here for a bit longer, listening to the water lap at the shore.
I yank my hoodie back out, and slip back into it.
It’s warm from being underneath him, and I feel cozy just like this—tucked underneath his arm, enjoying the comfort of this silence.
This is perfect. Maybe I’ve subconsciously needed his constant touch just as much as he seeks mine.
I can’t believe I was stupid enough to try to push this away, too afraid to get my heart hurt.
This man right here has shown me that I’m someone worth loving, even without saying the words, if I just make time to let it all in.
I’m about to drift off, when I suddenly become aware that Evan’s heart rate has kicked up again.
I feel his pulse battering against his chest, from where I had been using his pecs as a pillow.
The soft strokes he was plying my back with slow down, almost to a stop, and I feel him start to shudder a little.
I prop myself up on my elbow and peer down at him, noting that his eyelids glisten with unshed tears. “What’s wrong?”
I’m willing to bet it was that wretched inner voice of his again, taunting him in the silence after everything we’ve done tonight…
He looks tormented about how to answer. The look guts me.
Whatever the reason for this sudden shift, I’m sure I’m about to be wrecked—like a ship sailing headlong into an oncoming storm.
I hate seeing him being battered by the sea of turmoil that is his past; I only ever want to navigate him through it, but I don’t know how.
I wish he’d share with me what that past entails, but he needs to be ready to tell me… I can’t force that upon him.
“I don’t deserve this…” he finally rasps, sounding like he’s gulping back a sob.