Chapter 25 Stormy #2
"My turn," he says. His gaze drops to where I'm straining against the fabric, the thick outline of my cock clearly visible, the wet spot dark and spreading. "You lie right there, darling. Don't move. Let me take care of you."
He starts at my neck. His beard drags across my skin and the roughness of it sends electricity down my spine.
I gasp and grab his shoulders. He takes his time.
He kisses my jaw, my ear, the spot below my earlobe that makes me arch off the bed.
He talks the whole way down, murmuring against my skin between kisses.
"I have wanted to do this since the day I saw you on that ladder.
You have no idea how hard it was to stand at the bottom of that ladder and act normal.
I almost died, Stormy. That ladder almost killed me.
I had to go inside and have a conversation with myself.
A real conversation. 'Tex, you are a grown man.
You have seen a man's ass before. Get yourself together.
' I did not get myself together. I have not been together since.
I am a permanently disassembled man and it's your fault and those sweatpants should be illegal. "
I'm laughing, shaking, hands buried in his hair, and then his mouth moves to my chest and the laughter fractures into moans.
His tongue circles one nipple, slow and wet, then he draws it into his mouth and sucks—firm, steady pressure that sends a bolt of heat arrowing down to my cock.
I arch into him, hips lifting, a broken sound tearing out of my throat.
He kisses lower, across my ribs, down the center of my stomach. At my hip bone he drags his teeth—light, teasing—and my back bows off the bed. A raw sound escapes me. He looks up, chin resting on my stomach, eyes searching mine the way they always do.
"Still good?" he asks.
"Yes, don't stop."
"That's my line." He whispers against my skin. "You stole my line."
His fingers hook into the waistband of my shorts. I lift my hips; he slides them down and off, tossing them aside. Then I'm naked beneath him. His eyes roam over me slowly, taking in every inch. The way he looks makes me feel wanted and cherished.
His hand trails down my stomach, then he wraps his palm around my cock. I jerk hard into his grip, a ragged moan spilling out. He strokes me once, slow, base to tip, his thumb sweeping over the head, spreading the slickness there.
"God, you're beautiful," he breathes. "Every inch of you. You're so perfect, Stormy."
He settles between my thighs, broad shoulders pressing warm against the insides of my legs. The solid weight of him there feels good.
When his mouth finds me, the world reduces to a single point of light.
He takes the head first. I have never in my life felt anything close to this.
His mouth is hot and wet and he takes me in slowly.
Lips soft, tongue swirling slow circles around the sensitive crown, tasting the bead of precome at the slit.
Then he slides down, taking more of me inch by inch, lips stretching around the shaft, the wet suction perfect and unhurried.
The heat of his mouth, the velvet drag of his tongue along the underside whites out my vision.
My brain fractures open.
I've been intentionally made hard before.
Hands in the dark that knew exactly what they were doing, that worked me mechanically until I was erect.
Because if I wasn't hard, I could say no, I didn't want it.
So, they made sure I was hard. They made sure my body responded even when my mind was screaming no.
And I hated myself for it almost as much as I hated them.
They used my own body against me. Made it react, made it ready, then used the readiness as proof that I wanted it.
See? You like it. Your body says you like it.
And I would lie there, night after night, hating my own skin for betraying me, for responding to touch I didn't choose, for getting hard under hands I didn't want.
This is different.
Tex's mouth is on me and there is no next step or act he's preparing me for. He's not warming me up so he can take what he wants. His mouth is here because he wants to be here. His tongue is doing this because making me feel good is the thing. Not a step toward the thing he wants.
Nobody has ever touched me just to make me feel good. Nobody has ever put their mouth on me with no other agenda than my pleasure. I'm twenty-five years old and Tex is the only person who has touched my body as if my enjoyment mattered.
The realization makes my eyes burn, and my throat close up. For three terrible seconds I'm suspended between the ecstasy building low and the sob rising in my chest, and I don't know which will break first.
The pleasure wins.
Because Tex's tongue presses flat against that spot just beneath the head—the one that makes my spine melt—and the sob turns into a moan that sounds like relief, like coming home to my own body at last.
He pulls back to the tip, tongue working broad, wet strokes along the underside, then tight, teasing circles around the swollen head. Then he takes me deep again, all the way, until his nose brushes my skin and the tight heat of his throat squeezes around me. I cry out, hips lifting instinctively.
"You taste so fucking good," he murmurs, lips vibrating against my shaft. He kisses the inside of my thigh, beard scraping sensitive skin, then returns to me.
"Do you have any idea what you look like right now?
Stormy. Look at me." I look down. His face is between my thighs and his eyes are locked on mine and his lips are swollen and wet.
"You are the most beautiful thing I have ever seen in my life.
I need you to know that. Every part of you.
This," he presses his mouth to the inside of my knee, "and this," his lips trail up my thigh, "and especially this. "
His mouth returns to my cock and I forget how to breathe.
He finds a rhythm, slow, then faster, hand stroking in perfect sync with his mouth, twisting gently at the base. He pulls off just long enough to kiss the head, then speaks against the slick skin.
"So beautiful. God, baby, you're so perfect. I can't get enough of you."
Then he takes me deep again, throat working around me. My hands fist in his hair. My heels dig into the mattress. The pleasure coils tighter, higher, unstoppable.
"Tex… Tex, I'm—"
He pulls off just enough to rasp against me, "Don't hold back on me, darling. I've got you. Always."
Then he swallows me down one last time, hand tightening with perfect pressure, and everything shatters.
The orgasm rips through me. My back arches hard off the bed, hands yanking his hair, cock pulsing thick and hot in his mouth.
I come hard, spilling across his tongue.
He stays with me, swallowing every pulse, mouth and hand steady, holding me through it.
Not pulling away. Not rushing. Just there, loving me through the aftershocks until I'm trembling and spent.
I come back to myself in pieces. His weight settling beside me, his arm pulling me against him, his mouth pressing against my temple. I can feel both of us. The slick of sweat between our bodies, the heat radiating off his skin, the spent softness of our cocks pressed together at the hips.
"Hey," he says. "You still with me?"
I press my face against his chest, wrap my arms around him and hold on. His heartbeat is fast under my ear, matching mine, and his arms close around me. We lie there tangled together, breathing each other's air, naked and damp and completely undone.
"So that's what it's supposed to feel like," I say. Tex's words from the shower our first night together. "That's what it feels like when you choose it."
Tex presses his mouth to the top of my head and breathes me in.
"Yeah, baby," he says. "That's exactly what it feels like."
I'm not afraid of my body anymore. For the first time in my life, my body is giving me joy. The dark rooms didn't win. The hands in the night didn't get the last word.
Tex got the last word.
I listen to his heartbeat and I know with absolute certainty that whatever comes next, I will fight for our life together. The way Tex fights. Standing up. Feet planted. Eyes open. With Tex right beside me.
"I love you, Tex."
"I love you too, Stormy. Every morning I'll tell you. Remember?"
"I'll never forget."