Chapter 16
Sixteen
Jason
Mother of God, Victor is impressive. I was too busy trying not to look at him the previous times I’ve seen his body.
Broad shoulders, a smooth chest, pecs that would make a saint weep.
Arms and abs that speak to years of discipline.
He tapers down to narrow hips, long legs, and if I make him turn around to show me what is surely an equally impressive ass… well, I'll save that view for later.
Obviously, as an athlete and trainer, he has a professional obligation to stay fit, but good Lord, what He’s given to this man. Who’s standing in front of me, patiently waiting. ”I’m trying to decide what I want to do with you,” I finally say.
A smile blooms on his face along with a bright gleam in his eyes. “Want a suggestion?”
“Sure.”
“How about you take your clothes off and kiss me.”
“I’ve heard worse ideas,” I say as I pull my shirt off over my head.
I’m nowhere near as fit as Victor, but he looks about as hungry as I feel, so I shove down a momentary clench of shame at being naked before him and stand up to shuck my pants and underwear.
When I straighten up, Victor lifts a hand and brushes a wayward strand of hair off my forehead.
I close my eyes at his touch so I don’t see him move closer, but I feel him.
There’s a faint puff of breath on my cheek, then his lips are on mine. They’re firm and warm and I part my own lips almost instantly because I’ve held back enough today.
This week.
Ever.
When our tongues meet, I lose track of everything—my fears, my doubts—in the miracle of Victor’s lips sliding against mine, our tongues tangling.
“Jesus wept,” I mutter against his lips when we pause for air.
Victor chuckles and the vibration thrums through me.
“What now?” he asks.
Damned if I know. I want everything. I want to shove him to his knees and feed him my cock. I want to lie back and pull him on top of me so I can feel his weight pressing me into the bed. I want to roll him over and see what it would feel like to be inside him.
With no more than a couple of nights with him, I hate that I have to pick something. Not to mention that Victor’s had only God knows how many others. He’s the only man I’ve ever done anything with. I’ve no idea what I’m doing here.
“Jason,” Victor says, interrupting my spiraling thoughts. My eyes snap to his. “Stop thinking so much. Tell me what you want.”
Well, the beginning of my list is as good a place as any. “I want you to suck me.”
He smiles, slow and sure. “Your wish is my command,” he says lightly but he holds my gaze like he’s trying to impart a deeper message.
He brings his hands to my hips and walks me backward until the backs of my knees hit the bed.
I let them fold until I’m sitting on the edge.
Victor drops gracefully to his own knees and puts his hands on my thighs.
He pushes them gently apart and shuffles forward.
My cock strains toward him. A single bead of fluid wells up at the tip.
Victor bends his head and delicately licks it away.
“Oh, God.” I should not be taking the Lord’s name in vain, especially in these circumstances, but I can’t help it.
Victor’s eyes flick up at me. “You taste like heaven,” he teases.
At least, I think he’s teasing, but then I stop thinking entirely because he slides his lips over my cock, and I lose track of everything but his warm, wet mouth. Victor alternates between deep sucks and long, lingering licks. My toes curl and my hands clench the already-rumpled bed linens.
“Merciful Christ, you’re so good at this, baby.”
It’s only when Victor looks up at me, his eyes wide, that I realize what I’ve just said. Not the blasphemy, although I’m a little ashamed I can’t seem to stop that.
The other part. Leah liked to be praised and only the Blessed Virgin knows why that habit is still so ingrained after all these years. I suck in a deep breath and prepare to apologize.
Victor pulls off with a pop and immediately wraps a large hand around my cock. “I am quite good at this, if I do say so myself, and if you want to call me baby or anything else, that’s fine with me. Stop thinking so damn much, Jason, and let go.”
I close my mouth and then close my eyes as Victor strokes up, then down, the length of my shaft.
I can’t keep my eyes closed when he resumes sucking me, though the sight of him on his knees between mine is incendiary.
My hands twitch on either side of my thighs and I put them on his shoulders in lieu of grabbing his head.
“Go ahead,” he pants in between hard pulls that make my spine tingle and my balls tighten. When I don’t move, he gives a snort through his nose, grabs my hands, and places them on his own head without breaking his heavenly rhythm.
“Oh, Christ,” I pant. I thread my fingers in his hair and tug experimentally at the strands.
“Yeah,” he mumbles around my cock.
“I want to fuck your face,” I tell him. “Can you take that?”
He pulls off me and sags in between my knees, like his strings have been cut and the only thing holding him up are my hands in his hair.
“Yeah,” he says. “Do that. Please.”
His mouth is shiny and wet and his cock is stiff and nearly purple between his strong thighs. As much as I’m loving his mouth on me, I want him to have some pleasure here, too. “Jerk yourself off while I’m doing it,” I tell him.
He nods, his right hand wrapping around his thick length even as he shimmies back enough to allow me to stand up. I tighten my grip in his hair and good Lord, I can see his jaw relax right before I grab the base of my cock and angle it to fit between his parted lips. “Oh, yes, that’s it.”
His tongue is soft but his lips are firm around me and I ease into his mouth with agonizing slowness. “You are really good at this, aren’t you?” His eyes shine up at me with knowing satisfaction. “Babe,” I say experimentally.
It’s a little too close to what I used to call Leah for complete comfort, but his face goes soft and his eyes close and I feel an absurd measure of pride that I’m the one who made him look like this.
Debauched, with a mouthful of cock, saliva dripping from his slack lips down his chin, his hand working his dick with a frantic rhythm. But also blissful, like there’s no place he’d rather be than on his knees before me, taking my cock like I own him.
I feel like Jesus must have while walking on water.
Powerful, yet afraid with every step that I’ll sink and take everything down with me.
And then I look again at Victor’s upturned, trusting face, and the hand wrapped around evidence that he wants this as much as I do, and I increase the pace of my thrusts.
“Yes,” I grunt over and over with each thrust. “So good.”
My eyes dart between the vision of my cock pistoning between Victor’s lips and his cock winking in and out of view in his fist. “I want to see you come before I shoot down your throat.”
Victor’s hand stutters in its rhythm, then strokes faster and faster. His whole body clenches, his lips clamp down around my cock, his toes curl behind him, and his shoulders hunch forward. Then, with a guttural groan that vibrates around my cock, ropes of white shoot between his fingers.
“Yes, that’s it, babe.” I’m hardly aware of what I’m saying because I’m taking advantage of Victor’s loose, post-orgasmic haze to push incrementally farther into his throat. “So good, babe. Just let me…”
My vision whites out as I come down Victor’s throat, the soft strands of his hair sliding between my fingers clutching his head. I hold him still, his nose nearly touching my pubic bone, while I unload into the tight grip behind his tongue.
I come back to myself when my spent cock slips from Victor’s mouth. He drops back onto his heels and coughs wetly. “Oh, Christ, I’m sorry,” I say, and reach for him. He waves me off, shakes his head, then turns over into his hands and knees to cough some more.
“Victor, I am so sorry,” I repeat helplessly.
What should I do? Pound in his back? Fetch him some water?
Call the front desk? Surely no one’s actually choked to death from giving a blow job before?
I don’t even know the Spanish word for blow job.
Mi abuela might have eventually taught it to me—she was that kind of grandmother—but she died when I was in high school, and that’s certainly not a word that comes up much during Spanish-language Mass at Saint Sebastian’s.
Victor finally stops coughing and wheezing and flops over onto his back, arms and legs splayed wide on the polished wood floor.
“I’m fine, Jason,” he says. His voice is wrecked but the expression on his face looks like a painting of one of the saints in the throes of ecstatic martyrdom. “If you apologize again, that’ll be the last blow job you get from me and now you know what you’d be missing.”
He grins at me like he knows his own worth and okay, yeah, that was a world-class blow job. I’m trying carefully not to make comparisons to any I’ve had before because that feels disloyal to Leah, but I have to give the man his due credit.
I raise my hands in surrender. “No more apologies, I promise.”
Victor rolls over and pushes himself up from the floor.
Still naked, and apparently unselfconscious about that, he grabs some tissues off the bedside table and cleans up the white spatters on the floor.
He takes the crumpled wad into the bathroom and there’s the sound of running water for a bit before he returns to the bedroom.
“I think I’ll take a shower,” I say.
“Probably a good idea,” Victor replies with a wicked grin.
When I come out of the bathroom, Victor’s in bed, on his side, facing the bathroom door. He’s turned all the lights off and there’s only a glitter of lights in the valley below and a crescent moon low in the sky illuminating the room.
“Well,” I say awkwardly. “Um, good night, I guess.”
“Where are you going?” Victor asks.
I jab my thumb in the direction of the doorway. “It’s your turn in the bed.”
“Jason.” Victor flips the covers back. “Get in the fucking bed.”
He’s still naked and his soft cock nestles amid copper curls. His long legs are under the sheets and his feet are thin lumps at the very end of the bed. He is far too tall to be sleeping on the sofa in the other room.
And to be honest, the thought of sleeping on the sofa myself is less than appealing, especially with all that warm golden skin on display.
“Alright,” I say. I climb into the bed and arrange my limbs so I’m not taking up more than my side of the bed.
Victor's breathing goes slow and even, his body lax against the sheets. I should sleep too. I have to get up before dawn tomorrow for the cloud forest hike, and I want to be awake enough to spot a resplendent quetzal if we're lucky.
Instead, I prop myself up on one elbow and look at him.
The moonlight coming through the curtains turns his skin pearlescent. His face is slack in sleep, younger-looking without his usual animation. There's a small scar on his shoulder I don't remember from fifteen years ago. A story I don't know, from a life I wasn't part of.
I have an irrational urge to touch it. To ask him about it. To know everything that's happened to him since I pushed him away.
This is just sex. You don't need his life story.
But I trace the scar anyway, feather-light so I don't wake him. He shifts slightly, murmurs something unintelligible, and settles again.
I pull my hand back. This was supposed to be simple. Physical. An itch to scratch before we go back to our separate lives.
It's not supposed to feel like this.