CHAPTER 21
Jesse
Murph is a cock master. It’s like I’ve had a superhero friend my entire life, but only knew Clark Kent. Now, I can’t stand to be more than two feet away from him, even though we’re off that godforsaken love boat for the afternoon. It’s like my body knows he has secret powers and wants to siphon some of them from him.
“You’re awfully cuddly,” he quips, not bothering to look at me as he peruses a rack of sunglasses in the shop we popped into.
I can see the smirk at the corner of his mouth as I obnoxiously rest my chin on his shoulder from behind him. If my new clinginess bothered him, he’d do that face palm thing he does. Someone’s playing the indifferent card. Two can do that tango.
“I don’t want to lose you. What if you get accosted? Hearing a grown man yell, ‘Stranger danger,’ isn’t good for your badass image.”
Snickering, he shakes his head and reaches back, giving my hip a squeeze. It nudges me forward, forcing my erection into his ass cheek.
Shit. Busted.
“I think the only person I’m in danger of being accosted by is you,” he rumbles, finally glancing back at me.
Has his warning glare always looked like a fuck fest invitation? Damn. I am never going to be able to take him seriously when he’s mad from now on.
I should probably quit staring at his mouth, but I can’t stop thinking about what he did with it earlier. Sucking on my neck, nipping at my ear, mouthing my cheek. He kept himself in check the entire time we double-jerked, while all I could imagine was what that mouth would feel like on mine. That’s weird, right?
We both know how to kiss. It’s not like I need to explore kissing. Plus, if he wanted to kiss me, he would have, wouldn’t he?
I’m kind of glad he didn’t after the way I moaned my head off this morning. If he kissed me, I might hate it and not be able to enjoy the other stuff anymore.
“Didn’t you say you wanted to do some shopping?”
“Huh?”
“You said you wanted to buy some new swim trunks, remember?”
Stepping back, I try to adjust myself casually. “Oh. Yeah. Mine look kind of bummy compared to what I’ve seen some of these guys in at the pool.”
“Who are you trying to impress?” he challenges, cocking a brow.
For some reason, I want to think it’s jealousy, but I know he’s just giving me shit. Why should I be happy about him being jealous? “Myself,” I insist, sauntering off.
I get far enough away from his body heat and scent that I can think about something other than how horny I am. Are awakenings supposed to make you rabid with lust? I don’t know if my body can even produce enough jizz for how many times I still want to get off.
Once the other night. Twice this morning. I should probably start drinking vitamin water.
I recognize a few guys from the cruise by the swimming apparel racks. They smile at me and head to the checkout. Swooping in like a fashion spy, I quickly find my size in each style they selected, then I scurry to the changing booth.
I don’t know why, but I feel like a new person, or at least a newer version of me. Jesse two-point-oh. It feels like I should try new things, open myself up to new possibilities. Like, I’ve never eaten Brussels sprouts because most people say they’re gross, but what if I like Brussels sprouts and just never knew it?
The giddy tingling in my body ever since I discovered Murph’s wall dildo hasn’t subsided. I don’t want it to either. I feel… alive.
Damn. These are kind of snug. Are they supposed to be this snug?
Cracking open the door to the dressing room, I locate Murph and wave him over. “Psst. Murph! Come here. I need your help.”
Frowning, he ambles through the racks to my stall. Why is his frowny face so hot? I really need to stop thinking about how I could change that expression with some of the skills he showed me.
“What?” he asks, scanning my face and my bare chest.
“Do these look okay?” When I’m sure no one’s nearby, I open the door wider to give him the full reveal.
His expression is inscrutable as his eyes travel down my body and stop on the tight red Speedo. Mouth agape, his lids hood. I swear, every muscle in his face just went slack. Is he having a stroke? We did get a lot of sun today, walking on the beach.
“Murph? You alright?”
Someone lets out a laugh, deeper in the store, which seems to pull him out of his stupor. His palm goes to my chest, forcing me backward into the changing booth.
“You can’t buy those,” he blurts, kicking the door shut behind him.
“Why not? Do I look bad in this color?”
Blinking at me, he almost appears drugged. His unfocused mask vanishes, though, and he frowns.
“No, but I can see your dick,” he whispers.
Peering down, I agree to an extent. I can make out the outline of my tip, hugged against my balls by the constricting fabric, but I take offense to the way he said it like he was scolding me. He makes it sound like I’m flashing him. I saw plenty of guys in these on the cruise ship.
“So what? We’re dudes. You can see our dicks in everything. It’s kind of unavoidable.”
It’s true. A few days ago, all I acknowledged was the general region of a guy’s fly, but now, I’m hyperaware, like Murph’s lessons granted me heightened vision.
This morning at breakfast, I could see the imprint of his cockhead through his shorts when he sat down. When we walked on the beach, I caught the shape of his shaft each time he crouched to collect a shell.
“Not like this, you can’t,” he argues.
“Like this? What’s that supposed to mean?”
He looks at my groin again, warily, and then his lips go flat. “It’s obscene.”
Obscene? Rude! My dick is not obscene. It’s… normal.
“This isn’t any different than yours has looked all day!”
Eyes crinkling at the corners, his head rears back. “You’ve been looking at my dick?”
“Well, yeah. It’s been bouncing around like its mission in life is to be noticed.”
“You’re being ridiculous because you’re pouting.”
I’m ridiculous? Earth to Denial, population one!
I’m not going to let this slide. Dropping to my knees brings me eye level with said dick.
“Ha! Look at it! I was right. I can practically see your top dick vein through these shorts.”
I trace my finger down it just to prove my point. Shit. It’s kind of hard and feels like I’m practically touching it for real, sending a little shiver down my spine.
Why is this so fascinating? I don’t even realize I’ve continued my demonstration by circling my fingertip over the ridge of his cockhead until I hear him let out a painful sound and grip my shoulder. His other fist is in a ball at his side, like he’s trying to restrain himself. It’s now that I notice how rigid he is, just like he was in the shower the other morning.
The shower… I probably shouldn’t be thinking about the shower right now.
“Are you about done?” he grits.
Wetting my lips, I’m enamored by the heat radiating off his groin and the way his scent is overtaking the enclosed space. “No.”
I press my nose forward, feeling his hardness push against my cheek the way it did that morning. I’m drooling; drooling for the sensation of my mouth being filled again. I like the way it tingled when that log of silicone was raking against my tongue and my cheeks. It wasn’t warm though, the way Murph is warm. It wasn’t as silky as the way his felt against my cock this morning. I bet this is better.
“You’re hard,” I murmur into the fabric of his fly, but it’s just an excuse to brush my lips against his length.
“You have… your face… in my crotch,” he practically chokes out.
“Because it’s obscenely unavoidable,” I counter, allowing myself a sniff.
I can’t believe I’m sniffing his crotch. Maybe I am obscene.
Exhaling, his hand flexes on my shoulder. His fingers knead the muscle there hungrily. “Are you just going to slobber all over it? You’re getting my shorts wet.”
Slobber. I distinctly remember he said that slobber was sexy, how seeing a guy drool for your cock was a turn on. I can’t deny it—I am drooling for it. With shaky fingers, I undo his button, gaging his expression to see if his complaint really was a complaint.
He stands perfectly still. When I lower his zipper, his throat undulates like his mouth has gone dry. Murph wants some slobber. Should I be this excited that I can oblige? I do love to prove him wrong. That’s got to be part of the reason.
Reaching into the flap of his boxer briefs, I wrestle his warm cock into my hand and free it. It’s pointing right at me, just like his dildo was. If I thought that looked real, his has it beat. There’s a glossy sheen on the tip, like he’s leaking already. I can’t get over how cool it is that it’s because of me.
A thought occurs to me. If people suck cocks, they taste that. Right? It’s inevitable. My brain and my salivary glands make some kind of connection at the sight of his precum. Maybe something primitive knows that’s what I’m drooling over, that taste, whatever it will be.
“Hi,” I whisper. “I’m Jesse.”
Murph lets out a disbelieving sputter, making my face warm over my dicktroduction. I will not feel silly about having manners. Technically, his dick and I have already been introduced, so this is just a formality. I can’t help but feel that it’s calling to me with that ooze of precum like it’s a welcome gift, though. Apparently, it likes my manners.
Sticking out my tongue, I lap it over his tip. A burst of saltiness and something earthy, like a potent flavor of Murph’s scent, makes my taste buds tingle. Murph lets out a little gasp. His hand goes to the back of my head, his fingers stroking anxiously.
I’ve been here before. I remember that touch. I know what to do, and while it still feels a little surreal, I can’t wait another second to have him in my mouth.
Forming the ‘ice cream O’ he taught me, I capture his cockhead in my mouth and lap at the underside of his silky flesh. Shit. It’s so soft. I don’t think there’s a softer texture in existence. Cocks might very well have been made for our mouths.
And it’s warm, the perfect temperature, not an invasive contrast to the heat of my mouth. Staring down the remaining few inches, I can tell he’s shorter than his dildo, filling me with a burst of delight. I’ll be able to take all of him in, no problem.
The stifled noises he’s making, though, have me wanting to tease him, to make him wait for the grand finale. I didn’t know he could grunt so much or how sexy it sounds. Murph’s always in control with his deadpan jokes and comments. Right now, though? He sounds like he’s one grunt away from going caveman on me. I feel like a god.
Slurping and sucking, I cringe when a drop of drool trickles down my chin. Instinct has me wanting to wipe at it, but I remember what he said. My superhero panties are now a size too small. If he thought my dick looked obscene in them a moment ago, I can’t imagine what they look like on me now. The restriction is at least helping to hold back my own arousal. He said the giver should enjoy oral too, and I certainly am. I’m also certain this was the point where he said eye contact had the best effect.
Peering up, I watch his chest heave in and out as I bob my head. He’s gritting his teeth, and his eyes look like they do when he’s buzzed. I freaking made him drunk, drunk on my mouth. I really am a superhero.
His hips are starting to rock, nudging for more. His silent request has my stomach swirling and the hairs on my legs standing at attention.
When I draw back to the tip and suckle his tip with barely any pressure, he rasps, “You’re such a shit.”
He is completely unhinged. I want to see more of it. Smiling around his cock, I dive forward, feeling him slide all the way to the back of my throat.
Damn. Why does that feel so good? I’ve stuffed my face with more food than this, but the way his cock is filling my mouth is a sense of nourishment I’ve never experienced.
Gasping, his grip on my head tightens. “Jesse,” he grits. “Fucking hell. I’m going to cum if you keep that up.”
Groaning into his groin, I picture it. Will it taste like his precum? So far, I’m in heaven, spearing my constrained dick in the air.
We’re halfway through this cruise. We never talked about what happens when we go home or how long his exploration lessons are going to be available to me.
What if he starts going to Seattle again? All my exploring could just sexually frustrate him enough that he needs more and goes back to his road trips. I don’t like the sound of that. I have to try. I have to, because I’m not ready for this to end.
Gripping his hips tightly, I start working in earnest, even adding a few new moves to my technique. Swirling my tongue around his shaft as I retreat and return seems to be a welcome effect, judging by the sounds he’s making. My skin prickles under his touch, the way he’s caressing my jaw, the way his thumb is tracing my lips.
I remember he said quality, not quantity, and he seems to make the most feral noises when I work his tip. Gripping the rest of his length, I start stroking him while giving everything I have to feasting on his cockhead.
“Jesse!” he croaks.
The next thing I know, warm fluid hits my tongue. Ha! I did it!
Whoa. It’s… a lot, and it just keeps coming.
Crap. What do I do?
I’m pretty sure I just downed a gulp of it. Was I supposed to? I don’t love the taste, but I don’t exactly hate it. It just… is what it is, but… it’s sperm; living, squiggly, microscopic sperm. Right?
It’s alive.
And now it’s inside of me.
Hands slip underneath my armpits and haul me to my feet. Dazed and breathless, Murph stares at me.
Shit. I should have swallowed before he pulled me up. Now I look like a squirrel with a mouth full of nuts.
Recognition flickers on his face. “You don’t have to—”
Before he can finish his sentence, I gulp. He should really learn to speak faster.
Wetting my lips, I blush. “It’s fine. Or… I hope it’s fine. Whatever. It’s done.”
“Jesse, I told you that if you don’t like something, you don’t have to do it. Not everyone likes the taste of fluids.”
“The taste is fine,” I counter, then realize I never imagined discussing jizz with him like it’s some kind of delicacy. “It’s just… strange.”
“How can it be fine and strange? You don’t have to pretend you like it,” he assures me, stroking my arms and resting his forehead against mine.
He’s so cuddly after he cums. I never imagined him to be a cuddler. Frankly, I didn’t know I was either, but it makes all the other sensations even better.
Fiddling with the collar of his shirt, I want to rut my dick against his thigh since I still haven’t gotten off, but my stomach flutters anxiously over the topic of discussion. “No, I mean… it’s in my stomach now. All I can think about is that Sea-Monkeys aquarium I got at the fair one summer and them swimming around. They’re… alive. Right?”
Drawing back, he gapes at me. What the heck is that look for? Was I not supposed to swallow? He could have freaking told me!
“What?” I prompt, gripping his shoulder. “Why are you looking at me like that? Now, all I can think about is that guy in the movie ‘Alien’ when the creature rips out of his chest.”
Sputtering, his eyes slam shut. “My load isn’t going to rip out of your chest. You’ll be fine.” Tracing his finger across the crease in my brow, he adds, “But don’t freaking swallow next time if you don’t want to.”
Next time. That’s all I hear, spermy Sea-Monkeys are forgotten.
Smirking, I nudge him as I adjust myself. “I’m pretty good, huh?”
Snorting, his humor evaporates when he glances down to tuck himself away. Giving myself a once over, I can see that I just destroyed this Speedo with my wet spot. Gross.
Reaching out, Murph grabs the price tag on it and yanks. The elastic of the waistband snaps against my hips.
“Hey! What are you doing?”
Crouching down, he holds my shorts out for me to step into them like he wants me to keep the soiled Speedo on. “Uh, I’m not into shoplifting.”
“We’re not shoplifting. I’m going to buy them.”
“I leaked on it,” I whisper, only slightly embarrassed to admit it. “Wouldn’t you rather get a new pair?” He draws my shorts up my legs, anyway. I watch, baffled, as he zips me up. “I brought underwear, you know,” I complain, trying to hold the fly of my shorts away from my wet spot.
But it’s like he can’t hear me. Or maybe he can, because he bends down, snatches up my drawers and shoves them into my pocket.
Advancing on me, he doesn’t stop until my back hits the wall of the dressing room and his chest presses flush against mine. His hand moves mine away from my fly and cups my sensitive cock.
“I don’t want a different pair. I want these,” he murmurs with his mouth right in front of mine.
His palm strokes up and then down, quickly saturating my shorts as the spot on the Speedo leaks through. Crap.
I want to be annoyed, but I’m too distracted by the little kiss he places at the corner of my mouth as his thumb traces my swollen lips. My skin is tingling, and I have to close my eyes to keep from going lightheaded. It’s… overwhelming having his face so close to mine.
“C-can we go back to the ship?” I mumble, chasing his thumb with my mouth.
I still haven’t come yet. That’s probably what’s wrong with me. All my blood is in this Speedo.
“Yeah. I think it’s time to teach you how to kiss, but I don’t want to do it here.”
“I know how to kiss,” I say defensively, but as soon as I open my eyes, I stare at his mouth. A thrill shoots through me from the pit of my stomach all the way to my toes.
What is that about? Kisses don’t do that, let alone the mere thought of kissing.
“We’ll see,” he rasps, grabbing my hand and tugging me out the door.
It’s not until we’re back on the ship and he completely disregards my demands to stop by my room so I can change out of my sticky Speedo that I realize we’re still holding hands. His thumb grazes over my knuckles, and he gives me a tug when I slow to glance back at the stairwell that leads to my cabin.
“Quit your whining. I’ll take care of you.”
My feet comply dumbly after that as we head toward his room. Murph ‘will take care of me.’ I like how that sounds.
He’s always sort of taken care of me in some ways. I know I only get away with half the shit that I do because he lets me. He’s just so… soft under all that gruff; I can’t help it. It feels like a victory each time I get my way. Right now, however, I have to wonder what his definition of taking care of me entails. I think it might mean taking care of me with kisses. The way my pulse is racing, I’m pretty sure it means I’m going to like it.
Why am I surprised? I don’t think there’s anything with Murph I wouldn’t like.