Chapter 17 #2
“Oh no,” I say, and I move his hands away again.
I even manage to sit up a little and give him a look.
“I’ve got to finish this, and then we’ve got to move your car so Gran can park in here when she gets back.
Besides, you shouldn’t start something unless you plan on finishing it.
” I almost say that’s what Dad says, but I don’t.
“Trust me: we’re both going to finish.”
When he paws at me again, I say, “Go inside, horn dog. Have something to drink. I’ll be in when I finish.”
He’s pretending to scowl at me as he stands. “You know, a lot of guys would love having their boyfriends get frisky with them like this.”
“That’s good information,” I say. “Now go inside.”
He actually stops at the door to look back. He’s not exactly pouting, but there’s something, the tiniest hint, like he’s been spoiled before and isn’t sure he likes the change. And then he goes inside.
While the oil finishes draining, I get the new filter, the new oil, everything else I’m going to need. I open the garage door again because I wasn’t joking; I do need the light. And then, when it’s done, I get back on the creeper, put the plug in again, and stare up at the underbelly of the car.
He’s not mad. At least, not really. Gray likes acting like that. A little like a kid who doesn’t get his way. Not at WISP, of course. Not even at work, not usually. But he likes teasing. And he likes being teased.
So, he’s not actually upset. He’s not angry.
But then, I think, I’m sitting out here in the garage. Alone. Just like Dad.
I get out from under the car, wipe my hands on a fresh shop towel, and head inside.
The house is warm. It smells like the curry Gray brought for lunch—as payment, he kept saying, even though he doesn’t need to pay me.
He does sweet things like that. He’s thoughtful.
He’s so fucking hot, I think, that sometimes none of this seems real.
And that’s the thing I’ve got to remember.
He can have anybody he wants, and he picked you for some reason.
So, you’d better get it right. Or you’re going to be right back out in that fucking garage.
I unzip the coveralls as I go, push them down to my waist. I’m wearing a plain white tee underneath, but it feels like I’m naked without that extra layer of padding. Like I can feel the air moving against my chest.
He’s in the kitchen, opening a beer over the sink, and I come up behind him and wrap my arms around his waist. He leans back into me, his head coming to rest against mine, and he rocks slightly, so our bodies are moving in rhythm.
“Hey,” he says. “That’s a nice surprise.”
I kiss his neck.
He makes a soft, happy sound and puts the beer down, and the glass clicks on the countertop. When I slide my hands past the waistband of his joggers, he makes it again, and then he does this little, startled movement when I finally get my hand on his half-hard dick.
“Cold,” he says a little scratchily.
“Guess I’d better warm you up.”
I play with him for a little while, kissing his neck and shoulder.
I like how he feels, pressed against me, like we’re not in a hurry for this to go anywhere.
He could have anybody. Literally anybody.
I’m not stupid. I see how guys look at him.
Hell, I see how women look at him. He’s funny, and he’s smart, and he always knows what to say.
But I’ve got him right here, and he’s mine, and I keep running my hand over his dick, letting him get hard and sticky under my fingers.
“Slow down,” he says in that same scratchy voice.
You have to get it absolutely right, I remind myself. Or he’ll leave too.
I draw my hands back, and Gray turns around.
By then, I’m already getting down on my knees, and I take his joggers with me.
He’s got a nice dick. It’s a good size, no matter what Gray says, and it looks great on him.
The right size, if that makes sense. And it’s pretty too.
There’s a lot of weird-looking dicks out there, and I’m glad Gray’s is one of the nice ones.
He’s cut, and his head is shiny where I’ve been rubbing his pre, and he’s so hard the veins are popping out along the shaft.
“Oh shit,” Gray says, and his voice sounds destroyed, the way it does sometimes after he lets me sit on his chest and fuck his face. “Hey, hold on, you don’t have to—Christ.”
It’s less a word and more a sound when I lean forward and lick the tip of his dick.
The taste is salty; it’s the smell, right now, that hits me.
I’ve smelled it before when we’ve messed around.
Funk isn’t the right word, because Gray’s always clean.
But it’s the smell of his body, deep and masculine, and it’s stronger here.
I’m surprised by the warmth, too. I’ve had my hand on his dick.
I know how it feels. But it’s different against my mouth.
At that first lick, his arms move backward automatically, and he knocks over his beer.
He swears, and beer fizzes, and a moment later, he thumps the bottle into the sink because I guess he doesn’t have the presence of mind to pick it up again.
It’s a compliment, I decide, but it only registers at the back of my head, because I’m leaning forward again, pressing my lips to the shaft now, parting them, letting my tongue dart out.
He keeps himself trimmed, so I’m almost to the root before my nose brushes his pubes.
The taste of his body seems to get stronger every time I open my mouth.
His knee is bouncing, I realize.
When I pull back, I look up at him. “Is that okay?”
“Uh, fuck yeah it’s okay. It’s fucking amazing.” But then his brows knit together. “Hey, are you sure you want to do this? If it’s too much—”
This time, I take him in my mouth, and he doesn’t make a sound. He stops talking, and his stomach tenses, and that knee starts bouncing faster than ever.
It’s not like there are books on how to give a good blowjob.
I mean, maybe there are. Mr. Hazard would probably know.
But I know a little, mostly to be careful of my teeth, because guys make jokes about that all the time.
I’m surprised at how quickly my mouth seems full.
I hit the back of my throat, gag, and pull off.
“Easy,” Gray says. He runs his fingers through my hair. “Slow down.”
“I gagged,” I say, which is about the most obvious thing in the world, but I didn’t expect it.
He gets this huge grin, but only for a moment, and then he’s stroking my hair again. “Yeah, well, that’s what happens when you stick a dick back there. You don’t have to deep-throat me, babe. What you were doing was great.”
I give his dick another considering look, trying to figure out how it can feel so much bigger in my mouth. Then I take him again.
I’m slower this time, more careful of how far down I go.
At first, I bob up and down the way they do in porn, but then, mostly by accident, my tongue flicks high on his shaft, and Gray actually has to catch himself on the sink with one elbow.
After that, I alternate—moving up and down, and teasing that spot that drives him wild.
He must be trying hard not to grab my hair because he’s got his hand on the back of my head, and his fingers keep opening and closing, and now it’s not just his knee anymore, it’s his whole body, trembling.
The jitters against the cabinets sound like somebody tapping out Morse code.
“Sammy, I’m close—hey, pull off, oh God!”
I don’t know what to expect when he starts shooting. I guess I thought—well, I didn’t expect it to feel like somebody blasting away with a squirt gun. And the taste. It’s different. Strong. I’m not sure it’s good, but it’s not terrible either, and I don’t think I’m ever going to love it.
But what I do love is how Gray has both elbows hooked over the sink to keep himself upright. And I love the look on his face, his eyes half-closed. And I love this sharp, savage feeling that I did that. I got him off. And he liked it.