11. More, Please #2
It was the limit of what he could handle.
Stay upright, stay open.
Hands behind his back.
Receive. Taste. Suck.
Jonathan squeezed his skull harder and made a groan that Connor heard even through the fog of cock.
Receive. Tongue. So good.
His lordship wanted him to take it like this, hands behind his back, so he could keep pretending he didn’t want to be touched by a servant, but his lordship secretly wanted his groom.
Connor would give such good head that Jonathan would collapse and then he could carry him to his chamber and take care of him the way lords demanded.
Deeper. Don’t choke. Breathe.
Saliva on his chin.
Don’t come.
He would be so good that his lordship would keep him for always.
Receive. Receive. Receive.
Jonathan thrust deep, again and again, deeper, and his fingers dug into Connor’s scalp. “Do you want it?”
He did. His shoulders shook and his stomach quivered with the tension of staying balanced. He pushed his face forward to show Jonathan that he wanted all his cum.
Want so much more.
Jonathan moaned, a tiny sound, almost strangled by Jonathan’s effort to hold back, but continuing and rising. Then his orgasm flooded Connor’s mouth, throat, chin, and he pushed hard on Connor’s head for balance.
The pressure grounded Connor, forced his knees to dig through the thin towel, making him a steady pillar for Jonathan while he swallowed and swallowed.
He’d made his lordship happy. He’d given him pleasure that left him gasping and undid his composure, and the power of being responsible for the hitch in Jonathan’s breathing and the tremble of his stomach muscles left Connor shaken, too.
He felt light, almost floating, because he’d given Jonathan this gift.
Jonathan pulled out of Connor’s mouth and used the pad of his thumb to rub feathery circles in the mess of saliva and semen on the side of Connor’s chin.
Connor let his eyelids flutter closed. His head felt cottony and too heavy to hold up, his cock throbbed, and his thighs trembled.
“You look so good like this.” Jonathan’s voice was raspy. “You look perfect.”
He wasn’t, no one was, but the moment was definitely perfect.
He pressed his cheek against the hard bone of Jonathan’s hip. The shirt fabric rubbed across his face, smooth and comforting. In the vague fuzzy parts of his brain, he wondered why he wasn’t feeling edgy and needy. That’s how he usually felt when his partner had orgasmed and he hadn’t.
He dropped his hands from behind his back and wrapped his arms around Jonathan’s thighs. Inside, he hummed, but it wasn’t the jiggle-his-legs type of hum, it was a new feeling. One where his chest wanted to vibrate with happy sounds, but also, he wanted to sit still.
Jonathan stroked Connor’s chin and tilted his face so that they looked at each other.
His lordship would take care of him.
He felt boneless, fluid, like his aching cock was the only solid part of him left, and he wanted to touch it to check, but he figured he should wait.
“Dress me.”
The command made more cum leak from Connor’s cock. He felt it where his athletic shorts had turned into cling wrap, and shuddered.
Being ordered like that, like he was a valet, like he was in service, left him nearly undone. He’d never roleplayed, never shared his fantasies, never even let other guys boss him around, because it had felt exposed and risky, but somehow he already knew Jonathan would be safe.
Jonathan saw him, not a big guy, not a jock, when he held Connor’s wrist or wrapped around him tightly. Jonathan saw the soft guy.
He felt dazed with need, wobbly on his knees as he followed Jonathan’s orders, shook out Jonathan’s briefs, held each leg open, and then raised them up Jonathan’s thighs.
Finally, he carefully cupped Jonathan’s flagging cock and tucked it to the left. What if he put it in his mouth again? Just stayed here on the floor and held it on his tongue and…stayed.
He’d never done that to a spent cock.
“Other side.” The command was sharp, as if Connor should have known how to arrange him, and he shivered. He needed that voice to tell him many, many things.
All of them about cocks. Well, maybe some of them about mouths.
He adjusted as he’d been told. Being Jonathan’s manservant meant that he was permitted to smooth the waistband and run his palms across the front, the sides, and then around to the back. He moved slowly.
Every stroke of his fingers and palm was a stolen moment until the one where his lordship would remember that Connor shouldn’t be touching him this familiarly.
“Finished.” He didn’t say milord, he didn’t.
“Thank you, that was outstanding service.”
It felt like he tapped into Connor’s secret life without any effort. Maybe Connor was drunk on the scent of sex that surrounded them, but it was a very good buzz.
“Now I would like breakfast.” Jonathan put a finger under Connor’s chin, closing his mouth and taking charge of him with only that finger. “If I enjoy the French toast, if it is as good as you promised, then I’ll reward you.”
Don’t come, don’t come. Make breakfast first. Make very good breakfast. Most excellent breakfast ever.
Connor nodded. Warm fingers glided down his neck to rest at the point where his tendons connected with his shoulder.
“Did I put this mark on you last night?” Jonathan’s voice was low and thick.
He didn’t trust his voice, so he nodded again. He remembered Jonathan’s mouth, on him, sucking.
This morning he’d worn his deepest neckline T-shirt so that he could study the purple-pink irregular oval while he did squats in front of the mirror. Its brighter pink center was a promise from Jonathan’s lips.
It had required enormous willpower to focus on his form and counting reps, because all he’d wanted to do was rack the weights and rotate in front of the mirror searching for more places where Jonathan had left marks.
Jonathan continued to stare at him, his eyebrows crinkled down as if he was searching for something in Connor’s expression, maybe reassurance that sucking color onto his skin was okay. “Do you like it?”
“Yes.” It was summer, so there was no problem with work.
Thinking about the mark on his neck made him feel loose and floaty, like he was on a sunbaked patio with a margarita. Connor smiled at him, because for some reason Jonathan liked it when he did.
“I looked at it while I was working out.”
Jonathan smiled back, but it wasn’t one of his exasperated smiles, or his triumphant ones, or the secret, small ones that betrayed his inner thoughts and which Connor was beginning to recognize.
It was a new smile, one that made an image of a mink or a wolverine flash in Connor’s mind, some dark-furred wild creature with sharp bright eyes. It was a smile that made his cock beg.
“I’m glad.” Jonathan pressed firmly into the love mark and then rolled Connor’s skin between his thumb and finger, a squeeze that arched Connor’s spine until he nearly lifted from the floor.
It didn’t hurt, it felt amazing, like Jonathan knew more about Connor than anyone ever had. Jonathan knew he wanted to be claimed.
Fuck, fuck, his cock thought so too. He was coming, pulled so tight he was losing his balance and toppling.
He squeezed his eyes shut and threw his arms around Jonathan’s waist to stay upright. His nose was buried in the shirt fabric, and he was surrounded by the heat and scent of Jonathan’s skin, Jonathan’s cum, Jonathan’s sweat. That scent was everything.
He was still coming. Fuck. Still coming.
After, there was a long moment when he clutched Jonathan’s waist, breathed against the crushed fabric and the skin of his stomach, and felt like nothing more than the blank expanse of empty page at the end of a chapter. The next thought hadn’t started rushing at him yet.
Oh God.
The next thought arrived like a line drive from a designated hitter.
How had he.
Why had he.
He was messy-texting himself in his head, like one giant typo, and how was he going to stand. His legs weren’t working. He couldn’t possibly cook in these sopping sticky shorts, so he was going to have to go upstairs, and Jonathan would leave.
He clutched Jonathan’s waist harder, because he couldn’t let him leave, not yet.
Stay. With me.
“Shhh.”
Jonathan shifted his hands to Connor’s head, to his hair, but differently this time, stroking it away from his forehead with soft fingers. That touch might be the only thing keeping Connor here.
“Shhh. That was a lot, I know that was a lot.”
Was he shaking? Maybe he was shaking. He wanted to tell Jonathan not to worry about him, but the noise he made into the skin of Jonathan’s stomach didn’t match the thoughts ricocheting in his head.
“You were very good, Connor. Very good.” Jonathan made some little sounds, spoke little words that were only a few notches above crooning. Maybe he said hush and sweet and shh it’s okay, but it was far away and fuzzy.
He slumped into Jonathan’s body. It would be alright.
“You are absolutely perfect.” Jonathan’s voice was warmer and softer than Connor could remember hearing. And he kept his fingers working in Connor’s hair. In a moment, Connor would be able to get to his feet, because he was all the things Jonathan kept murmuring.
He was good. He was perfect. And Jonathan was perfect for him.
Jonathan steadied him as he rose from the floor and filled a glass with water while Connor put his hand on the counter and pretended he didn’t need the support. The water helped, and then Jonathan gave him a peeled banana and made him eat until his knees felt like they could take him up the stairs.
“I’m going to…” He circled his hand vaguely in the direction of the ceiling above. “Be right back.”
“I’ll be here.”
Connor believed him.