Chapter 27 #3
“Yeah. Love. I love you, Luke. I tried not to, but you had to keep being your wonderful self and I couldn’t stop myself from falling.
” There. I’d said it twice now. This time on purpose.
“You don’t have to say it back. I know this is a newer development for you than for me. I’m sorry if I made things—”
His lips stole the rest of the sentence, as he walked me backward into a lamp post, the kiss a little wild and full of fervent emotion, connection distilled into touch.
“We need to get back now,” he growled. Not a grumble this time.
A true possessive growl. Where Vincent’s brand of possessiveness had been, ‘you’re mine, now cut off all contact with everyone you know outside me, and if you dare talk to anyone without my permission, I will treat it as if you cheated,’ Luke’s was, ‘you’re mine, now let me protect you and shower you with attention and affection. ’
By the time we made it back home, the head downstairs was hot to go and ready to play, no foreplay required.
We stumbled into the bedroom, mouths connected in passion. We’d exchanged sensual kisses—heated, heavy, hungry, and suggestive too—but these kisses were everything. Christ, and they were hot. So hot. The core of the earth. Volcanic.
As we reached the bed, he began the tantalizing task of undressing himself. I should have been doing the same but I’d become weirdly fascinated by the prominent bluish-green vein I followed from his forearm down to his hand.
His fingers moved to the waistband of his jeans, working the button free with unhurried precision. I didn’t think he meant to tease, but the way his hips shifted and the lazy pull of his zipper, descending tooth by tooth to expose the swell encased in his boxer briefs, certainly felt like it.
I stared, awestruck. That was not just a bulge. It was the bulge. The stuff of wet dreams and cinematic porn. A masterpiece of suggestion. Of promise.
With torturous slowness, he pulled down the elastic of that last article of clothing covering him.
I swear I heard time crack as it fractured around me.
Split cleanly into two distinct realities, everything before this exact instance and now.
Now, where I stood inches away from seeing him completely.
My breath hitched as he revealed each new section, my focus on nothing but this moment, this view, this unveiling.
And finally, there he was.
His cock jutted upward, proud and powerful, flushed a ruddy hue that made my mouth water.
Thick and heavy, veined with that same blue-green that ran along his forearms, it arced toward his navel with exquisite confidence.
When we were showering the other night, I’d been too focused on everything else and hadn’t been able to appreciate it.
And it was a model cock, worthy of appreciation.
Magnificent, commanding, irrefutably beautiful.
Of course it was. It belonged to Luke, the most captivating man I knew.
It stood to reason that his dick would have the same allure as the rest of him.
I wanted him in my mouth like yesterday. Like last week. This cock, his cock, was made to be worshipped. And I intended to show him how much.
Once I found myself equally bare, I laid him out on the king-sized bed, kissing him as we went, then climbing over him, straddling his hips.
With one hand free to explore his body, the fingertips of my other trailed up the length of him. “I want to take this cock into my mouth and ruin you until you’re exploding inside me. Is that alright?”
“Jesus Christ, there’s no way I can say no when you offer it like that.”
“You’d be a fool to,” I said, my voice dropping. “I told you I love blow jobs. And I’m going to prove it. I’m going to lick you slow, suck you deep, until you forget how to breathe. Until you’re shaking and spilling into my mouth because there’s nothing left of you to give but pleasure.”
Luke’s breath hitched, chest rising beneath my palm. “Uh, yeah, so I think I just became afraid for my life. Because you’re going to do things, amazing, holy-shit things, and I don’t know if I’ll survive it.”
“You’ll survive,” I murmured, kissing the corner of his mouth. “But you might not be able to get up when I’m done with you, you’ll be so boneless and strung out on bliss.”
His laugh morphed into another hitching breath as I began by placing kisses at the center of his palm and trailed up his arm.
Kissing the soft underside of his forearm, I moved upward to the crease of his elbow, then the firm line of his bicep, before continuing my journey to the strong slope of his shoulder.
From there, I moved along the line of his collarbone, marveling at the way he trembled beneath each touch.
His breath stuttered, then caught again when I reached the front of his neck.
I pressed my lips there, feeling the leap of his pulse beneath my mouth as I kissed up the column of his neck, the underside of his jaw, the corner of his mouth again, and then both of his cheeks.
Dazed eyes looked at me, his pupils wide, mouth slack.
Leaning in until my breath ghosted over his lips, I whispered, “Close your eyes, honey. I only want you to feel this, everything I’m going to give you.”
He complied immediately, my voice his leash, and when I tugged he followed. I had never held that kind of sway over another person before. It filled my chest with a glowing kind of intoxication. His willingness made me sexy and powerful and desirable.
Moving back down the plane of his chest, my lips skimmed over the expanse of muscle. His breathing grew unsteady and shallow, fingers twitching where they lay against the sheets. His heartbeat answered every brush of my lips with an increasing pace.
I paused to pay homage to his nipples, circling one, teasing until the flesh pebbled, sucking it into my mouth.
His entire body jerked beneath me on a sharp intake of breath, a hiss that cracked into a soft needy moan.
I gave the other the same treatment before kissing my way down his stomach, my lips trailing the grooves of definition, my hands exploring in tandem, my fingertips brushing his sides.
I pressed another kiss to his stomach, then another, lower still. By the time I reached the junction of his hipbone and lower abdomen, that alluring triangle that pointed to the landing source of my ministrations, his entire lower body shifted in eagerness.
Pausing right above the perfect head of his cock, I looked up.
His eyes were still closed, lips parted, cheeks the color of sexual excitement.
His face was an illustration of undiluted desire and I got to see it.
I got to see him this way. The man who didn’t often feel this kind of pull toward anyone came undone under my touch, my actions.
The enormity of that staggering privilege collided with every message of my past. The relationships that shaped me, starting with my parents, then Vincent, had taught me I was too much or not enough.
They made me believe I was a burden, useless, dispensable, and that choosing me was an act of pity I ought to be grateful for.
I’d spent years mistaking scarcity of love as proof of my own unworthiness.
But here, in this moment, Luke looked at me like I was the axis his whole world tilted on.
He hadn’t said it like I had, but I knew. I knew to the marrow of my being that Luke loved me. I would spend the rest of my life proving myself worthy of that sacred gift.
Lowering my head, I pressed a light kiss to the flushed tip, his muscles jumping under my touch. I wanted to give him everything, to worship him until he forgot a world existed outside this room.
“Are you ready for my mouth?” I asked.
“God, yes. Please, I want your mouth.”
“Then open your eyes. Watch me take this paragon of a cock.”
His lids fluttered open.
“Don’t take your eyes off me,” I commanded in a whisper.
“Wasn’t planning on it. I’m going to memorize every second so decades from now, when I’m old, my body failing, I can still close my eyes and come back to this and know I lived something extraordinary.”
My breath snagged—no, stopped—for a heartbeat or two, winded by the magnitude of his statement. “Dammit, Luke, I’m supposed to be the one wrecking you right now.”
“You are,” he said. “You don’t have to touch me to ruin me.
You could just look at me like that, with all that wonder and devotion in your pretty blues, and I’ll fall apart.
You could just breathe my name and the sound of it would tear through me.
The way my heart reacts to you is rewriting everything I ever thought I knew about love. ”
“Luke . . .” I whispered, but nothing else followed.
I’d have to say what I needed through my actions.
My hand slid up the inside of his thigh, fingers wrapping around the shaft.
Lifting his cock from where it lay, I tilted the head toward my waiting mouth.
A bead of precum wet the tip. Leaning in, my tongue slipped free to swirl around the plump head, relishing the salty sweetness that coated my palate.
Parting my lips, I sucked him into my mouth. Sliding downward, my tongue massaged the underside as I went. Luke had no shortage of endowment, and it didn’t take much for his cockhead to bump the entrance of my throat. I breathed through my nose, resisting the urge to gag, taking him deeper.
“Jesus. That’s so fucking good. Everything is so good with you. I love how you touch me,” Luke said.
I swallowed around him in answer, squeezing and releasing. In reflex, his hips bucked, pushing himself deeper, a strangled groan breaching his lips.
A beat later, he froze, reeling himself back. “Sorry. Sorry.”
Maybe in another time, another place, I wouldn’t have liked that. I might have flinched from it, bristled at the feeling of being used. It might have struck me too much like control and a way to declare dominance.
But with Luke, it wasn’t that, could never be that.
He didn’t use sex to possess. That was antithetical to the way he touched me and the way he watched me like I was wondrous.
With him, the response didn’t signify ownership, it happened involuntarily and spoke to the way I affected him, the way I undid him.
You couldn’t get purer than that. I didn’t want his apologies. I wanted only his pleasure.
“Move, Luke,” I instructed. “Fuck my mouth. I want the full length of this perfect cock thrusting between my lips. Want you to give me everything.”
Chocolate irises darkened to onyx. His fingers dove into my hair, tangling in the strands. He began with shallow, testing thrusts. His eyes searched my face for pain, for discomfort, for the slightest protest. There was none. If he knocked, he would find only unlocked and wide-open doors.
His next thrust came faster, harder, and I moaned around him. His grip in my hair tightened and he drove forward again.
Fucking glorious.
My docket of experience included either average size or noticeable girth but never both at once. This was one more way Luke would ruin me for anyone else. Nothing would ever compare again.
Garbled noises escaped me. Sounds to express my lust. My ardor.
Nothing structured. The only subject on my mind was him.
The only verb I planned on using was touch.
Me touching him. Him touching me. His erect penis touching the back of my throat, my rim, the entrance to my hole, the innermost flesh of my ass.
The only object worthy of attention. Our desire.
Leaning my weight into his hips, I tapped my fingers into his thigh in a pattern we’d never rehearsed but he somehow understood. Freezing, his hand loosened its grip.
“You okay?” he whispered, his chest still heaving, a sheen of sweat visible across his pecs.
“I’m fantastic.” I kissed the skin above the dark thatch of hair at his pelvis. “Are you? Is this okay for you? It’s not pushing you too far?”
“Very okay. Better than okay. If this is wreckage, I don’t ever want you to put me back together. But tell me if I’m getting too carried away or hurting you or—”
“You’re fine,” I interrupted, nuzzling into his lower abdomen. “I only paused because when I return to this magnificent cock, I ask that you let me go solo. Can you do that for me?”
“I’ll do most anything you ask of me.”
“Then lie back and let me take care of you.”
This time, my motions began slow and exploratory, my tongue following each raised vein, tracing the curve of his girth, learning every texture.
His moans were different now. Not the carnal ones of wild lust from before, but drawn-out sounds, dragged from the depths of his being, rich with intimacy.
Bobbing my head with growing intent, my hands gripped his thighs, letting each plunge push me deeper into the sweet surrender of giving, taking joy in the way he writhed beneath me.
“Oliver,” he croaked. “I’m gonna blow if you keep that up.”
Removing myself with one long suck and a playful little pop, I licked my lips, looking up at him. “Then give in. I want you to cum and I want it in my mouth. You gave me freedom, now let me give you everything back.”
“You do. You give me everything I never knew I wanted.”
I was going to choke on his sweetness, and while I loved when he showered me with affirmations and compliments, the only thing I wanted to be choking on was his full, ready-to-burst cock.
With zeal, I took him back into my mouth.
Endgame my goal. I’d stay here until he handed me the shot of his body.
It didn’t take long. With a final undulation of my head as I moved back up, pressure tight around him, he tensed beneath me, thighs trembling.
An undone noise filled the room, followed by a full-bodied spasm against me, and then a flood of warmth.
Spurts of cum spilled across my tongue in surges, each one met with a greedy swallow.
I drank every drop, every shudder, stroking him through it and drawing it out, prolonging his release and savoring each pulse, each trembling aftershock, until his sounds broke into overstimulated whimpers.
When I finally pulled off, his body sagged against the mattress with a groan of spent satisfaction.
I pulled off him with a wet sound. Giving him one last parting lick across the sensitive tip to seal the memory in his flesh, I crawled up the length of his body and nestled against his side, resting my head on his chest. The thud of his heart filtered into my ear canal.
When he spoke, the words were barely above a whisper, vulnerable and wanting.
“Would you take me? Like . . . be inside me, make love to me?”