Chapter 31 Ivan #3
He kisses me again, deep and slow and thorough, his tongue sliding against mine.
I can feel him already starting to harden again against my thigh, the semi-firm length pressing insistently.
We're young. We recover fast. And apparently almost dying from an orgasm isn't enough to keep him down for long.
"I want to explore you," he says, his lips brushing mine. "Every inch—your skin, your muscles, your cock, your ass. Is that okay? Can I take my time with you, touch you everywhere?"
"Yes. God, yes. Do whatever you want. I'm yours—touch me, taste me, finger me if you want. I want it all."
He starts at my neck, pressing open-mouthed kisses along my throat, finding the spot just below my ear that makes me shiver and gasp, my body arching up instinctively.
His hands are on my shoulders, sliding down my arms, mapping the muscles there with his palms, fingers digging in just enough to feel the give of flesh over hard-earned strength.
"You're so solid," he murmurs against my skin, his breath hot and teasing.
"I keep saying it, but I can't get over it.
You were this skinny little kid, all elbows and knees, and now you're—" He squeezes my bicep, feeling the thick muscle flex under his grip.
"This. You're built like someone who works with their hands.
Like someone who's strong enough to hold me down and fuck me senseless. "
"Working construction will do that. Carrying lumber and tools all day."
"I like it." He kisses across my collarbone, his tongue darting out to taste my skin, lapping at the faint saltiness. "I like all of it. I like that you can pin me down. I like your weight on me."
His mouth moves lower, finding my nipple, and when he sucks on it—harder than I did to him, swirling his tongue around the tight, dusky peak—I groan and arch up into him, my hands fisting in the sheets, cock jumping against his thigh.
"Sensitive?" he asks with a grin, pulling back to look at my face, his eyes gleaming with mischief.
"Apparently. I didn't know—I've never—fuck, Jay, that feels incredible."
"Good. I'll remember that." He does it again, harder this time, using his teeth to nip gently, tugging just enough to send a sharp jolt straight to my groin, and I nearly come off the bed. "I like learning what makes you lose control, what makes this big body of yours tremble for me."
He moves to the other one, giving it the same treatment—licking flat and broad, sucking deep and wet, biting gently until I'm panting, a thin sheen of sweat breaking out on my skin. My cock is so hard it's almost painful now, throbbing insistently, pre-cum leaking from the tip.
"Your stomach," he says, kissing down my abs, tracing the defined ridges of muscle with his tongue, dipping into the valleys between them. "Do you know how many times I stared at your stomach last weekend? When you came out of the shower in just that towel, water dripping down these lines?"
"You were staring at my stomach?" I manage to ask, though thinking is getting harder, my world narrowing to the heat of his mouth.
"I was staring at everything. But yeah." He traces his tongue along the ridges, making me shiver, muscles clenching under the wet slide.
"This especially. And this." His fingers find the trail of dark hair below my navel, following it down to where it disappears into my boxers, tugging lightly at the coarse strands.
"I wanted to follow this with my tongue.
I wanted to see where it led—to this thick cock I've been fantasizing about. "
"Can I take these off?" he asks, his fingers hooking in the waistband, nails scraping lightly over my hips.
"Please. God, please. Get me naked—touch me."
He pulls my boxers down slowly, torturously slow, the fabric dragging over my sensitive skin, and my cock springs free, slapping against my stomach—hard and aching and leaking profusely now. Jay just stares at it for a long moment, his lips parted, his eyes wide and darkening further with raw lust.
"Jesus," he breathes.
"What?" I ask, suddenly self-conscious under that intense gaze.
"You're—" He shakes his head slowly, reaching out to trace a finger along the underside. "I can't get over how fucking huge you are. Long and so goddamn thick, veined all over like it's begging to be licked."
Heat creeps up my neck, floods my face. "I thought I was average."
He chuckles. "You are not average." He wraps his hand around me, and his fingers don't quite meet around my girth, the shaft too thick for his grip, the skin flushed a deep red, the swollen head glistening with pre-cum that beads at the slit.
"Heavy. Thick. God, Ivan, you're—" He strokes me once, base to tip, his thumb swiping over the head to smear the slickness.
"This cock—fuck, it's a monster, so girthy I can barely close my hand around it, long enough to hit all the right spots. "
"Is that—is that okay? I mean, when we—if we—"
"It's incredible." He strokes me again, watching my face, learning what I like—the firm pressure at the base, the twist over the head. "You're incredible. I can't wait to feel you inside me, stretching me wide, filling me up completely."
The image that creates in my head—Jay underneath me, taking me, his body opening for mine, that tight heat clenching around my thickness—almost makes me come right there.
"Not yet," I gasp out. "We need to—research, do preparation—"
"I know. But eventually." He grins at me, eyes wicked. "I want to feel you inside me—want you to fuck me deep and hard with this fat cock."
He explores me with his hand first, learning my shape, my weight, what makes me gasp and jerk—squeezing the base where the veins throb thickest, rolling his palm over the sensitive head until more pre-cum wells up.
He cups my balls next, rolling them gently in his palm, feeling their heaviness, the soft fuzz of hair, and I groan and thrust up into nothing, hips seeking more.
"That good?" he asks.
"So good. Don't stop. Please don't stop—your hand feels amazing wrapped around me like that."
He strokes me again, from root to tip, tightening his grip at the head the way I like, collecting the pre-cum to make the slide slicker, and I thrust up into his fist helplessly, a low moan tearing from my throat.
"I probably should've asked a question first," he says, still stroking me, the obscene wet sounds filling the room.
"Now?" I can barely form words, my cock pulsing in his grip. "You want to ask questions now?"
He grins, thumb circling the slit teasingly. "Yeah, I should've asked first if you want to be a top or a bottom? Before I called dibs as the bottom. Have you thought about it?"
I laugh, the sound punched out of me by pleasure. "Whatever you want works for me. I'm not particular as long as I'm with you."
"I think—" He strokes me from root to tip again, slow and deliberate, watching my face as pre-cum drips over his knuckles. "I think when we do that, when we're ready for it—I'll be the bottom. I really want to feel you inside me. I want to know what it's like to have this thick cock filling me up."
The words, the image they create, almost push me over the edge right there.
"But not yet," he adds quickly, his free hand trailing lower, over my balls.
"No rush. I want to do this first. Learn what you like.
Learn how to touch you." He lowers his head, and I feel his breath hot against my cock, making it twitch.
"I want to taste you the way you tasted me—suck this gorgeous dick until you're begging. "
"Jay—" His name comes out as a plea, desperate and raw.
He licks the head, just a quick swipe of his tongue over the slit, lapping up the pre-cum, and I shout and grab the sheets so hard I might tear them, my hips bucking involuntarily.
"Sensitive," he murmurs, echoing what I said earlier, his eyes locked on mine. "Good to know. I like that—the way it jumps for me, leaking like it can't wait."
He licks me again, longer this time, from base to tip, flattening his tongue along the underside to trace the prominent vein, and I'm gripping the sheets so hard my knuckles are white, my whole body trembling with the effort not to thrust.
"Tell me what feels good," he says, pulling back to look at me, lips shiny with my pre-cum. "I don't know what I'm doing, but I want to make it good for you—want to deepthroat you if I can."
"Everything," I gasp out. "Everything feels good. You're doing everything right. Just... more, please."
He takes the head into his mouth, and the wet heat of it—tight and sucking—makes my vision blur, makes the room spin.
He sucks gently, experimentally, tongue swirling around the ridge, dipping into the slit to coax more pre-cum, and I moan so loud it's almost embarrassing, my cock throbbing in the velvet warmth.
"Like that?" he asks, pulling off to check, a string of saliva connecting his lips to my glistening head.
"Yes. Fuck. Just like that. Don't stop—suck me deeper."
He takes me back in, deeper this time—half my length disappearing into his mouth, his cheeks hollowing as he bobs slowly, and I can sense him figuring it out.
How to breathe around my girth, how much he can take without gagging, where to press his tongue flat against the underside for more friction.
He gags slightly when he tries to go too deep, my thickness stretching his lips wide, bumping the back of his throat, and he pulls back, coughing, eyes watering but determined.
"Sorry," he says. "I'm sorry, I just— you're so thick, filling my mouth completely. Hard to take it all."
"Take your time. There's no rush. It's... fuck, it's perfect already."