Chapter 3
DOMINIC
Ican’t believe I’m doing this.
This is insane. This is some kind of midlife crisis, but I’m twenty-eight. A quarter-life crisis.
Ryan pushes the door open and holds it for me like a goddamn gentleman. Like we’re walking into a restaurant and not a public restroom next to the highway.
But this road trip was about finding the man in me again.
Taking life by the balls instead of standing in doorways watching it happen to me.
What’s the point of driving all this way if I’m just going to be the same coward in a different zip code?
Maybe this is what I need. Something wild and reckless.
Completely out of character. The kind of thing I can never tell anyone about when I get back home.
The door swings shut behind us, and it’s just the two of us and the buzz of the lights. The whole room smells like industrial-grade cleaner and him. That same pine-and-earth scent that, for some reason, makes my dick even harder.
Ryan steps toward me, and I back up until I hit the row of sinks behind me.
“So,” he says, hands on my hips, thumbs hooking into my belt loops. “Last chance to back out.”
“Don’t make it weird,” I mutter. “Don’t talk to me like you know me.”
“Then how should I talk to you?” His breath is warm against my throat.
“Just... shut up and do it. I’m not here to make conversation.”
“Fuck, I love it when a straight guy gets bossy.” His hands slide from my hips to my fly, and he pops the button with one quick movement. The zipper follows, and then his fingers are hooking into the waistband of my boxer briefs.
“Yeah, I bet you love straight cock, don’t you?”
“Mmm.” He pulls them down, and my cock springs free, rock hard and leaking. A thick strand of precum stretches from the tip. “Goddamn,” he whispers, eyes locked on it. “Fucking gorgeous.”
He sinks to his knees on the dirty tile floor. And I have to admit, it’s a power trip. This big, muscular guy on his knees in front of me, looking up at me like my dick is the only thing in the world that matters. Those silvery-blue eyes, wide with hunger.
“Fuck, man,” he says. “This is even better than I imagined. Your cock is fucking perfect.”
“Are you gonna suck it or write a fucking poem about it?” I wrap a hand around the base and angle it toward him.
He grins. “Impatient. I like it.” Then he leans in and takes the tip in his mouth, just the swollen head, and slurps the precum off.
“Fucking—” I slam a hand against the counter behind me, my head falling back. It’s been a while, and the wet heat of his mouth is a shock to the system. Almost forgot how fucking good this feels. Even better than I remember.
Ryan works his way down, inch by inch. Savoring every bit of skin.
Goddamn, the man has no gag reflex. He takes all of me until his nose is pressed against my pubic hair, which I honestly should have trimmed two weeks ago, but he doesn’t seem to mind.
He holds it there for a long moment, lips wrapped around the base, looking up at me with those ridiculous eyes.
“Holy shit,” I whisper, watching my cock bulge in his throat. It’s equal parts fucked up and filthy hot. Hard to reconcile the two. I never thought I’d see my own cock buried in another dude’s throat, but here we are.
I think of Megan. She’d take it halfway and tap out.
One time, she tried to deepthroat me and almost threw up on our bed.
And I get it. I’m packing nine thick inches.
Not everyone can handle that. But Ryan takes me to the hilt and stays there, without gagging, throat muscles working around the head.
Humming a little even, like it’s the best thing he’s ever had in his mouth.
Then he starts to suck. No, not just suck.
He worships. With a skill and enthusiasm I’ve never experienced before.
One hand gripping the base, twisting as he bobs his head, the other cupping my balls, rolling them between his fingers.
Long, slow pulls from base to tip, cheeks hollowing out, moaning around my shaft.
Pulling off just enough to swirl around the head, lapping at the slit, then sinking back down until his nose bumps against my stomach. Over and over.
Seeing someone this into it, this hungry for it, is a fucking rush. No matter the gender. His devotion is stroking my ego just as much as his mouth is stroking my cock. I made the right call. This is what I needed. To forget. To be consumed. To feel wanted.
Ryan grips my ass and holds me in place as he fucks his own face with my cock.
Saliva and precum drip down my balls, soaking the fabric of my jeans bunched around my thighs.
The bathroom is filled with the sloppy sounds of him slurping around me, the grunts and moans he makes every time I hit the back of his throat.
And I join him. Letting out a string of curses. Because fuck, it feels good.
“That’s it,” I growl, gripping the back of his head. “You like that big dick, don’t you? You filthy fuck.”
He lets out a high-pitched whine. An affirmative. He likes being called names. Likes my roughness. Being put in his place. I’m usually not the type to get all vocal during sex, especially not calling anyone a “filthy fuck.” But this is all so dirty and wrong. I’m letting it take over.
And he seems to love it. He’s looking up at me with these wide, pleading eyes, like he wants to drown in my cum.
“Fuck my face,” he pants when he comes up for air. “I want to feel those balls on my chin when you shoot down my throat.”
I do as he asks. I grip the back of his head tighter and set a punishing pace. Driving into his mouth with everything I have, deep and hard, the kind of rough I’ve always wanted but never dared with any woman I’ve been with.
Ryan takes everything I give him and still wants more.
Hands digging into my ass, moans getting louder, hips rutting against the air like a dog in heat.
There’s a pressure building in my gut, coiling tighter and tighter, and I know this isn’t going to last much longer.
Not with a mouth like that working me over.
“I’m close,” I grit out through clenched teeth.
He redoubles his efforts. Sucking harder, faster, bobbing his head with a frenzy that has my vision blurring.
The bathroom fades away until all I can feel is the wet heat of his mouth, the counter digging into my lower back, his moans vibrating through my entire body.
I look down at him, at my cock pistoning between those swollen lips, at the stray tears leaking from the corners of his eyes.
And then I’m there. The last of my control snaps.
I bury myself balls-deep in his throat and let go with a hoarse cry.
Spurt after spurt, pouring myself into him, weeks’ worth of pent-up frustration and rage.
My whole body goes rigid, muscles locking up, and for one fleeting moment, I don’t think about a goddamn thing except the release. The sweet, sweet release.
Ryan swallows it all, greedily milking every last drop with a suction that has my toes curling in my boots.
His throat works overtime to keep up with the sheer volume.
I know I’m a heavy shooter. It’s always a big mess to clean up.
But not for this guy. He’s drinking it up like it’s the best damn thing he’s ever tasted.
Something about that, the fact that he doesn’t spill a single drop, makes my orgasm last even longer.
When the shudders finally subside, I slump back against the counter, my legs trembling. Slowly, the world comes back into focus.
Ryan keeps me in his mouth until I’m soft, then pulls off slow, lapping me clean like a kitten with a saucer of milk. My dick gives one last twitch, overly sensitive from the attention.
He leans back on his heels and wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. Tucks me back into my boxer briefs, pulls up my jeans, zips my fly. Casual as anything. Then he gets to his feet, that smug look on his face.
“Fucking delicious. You taste as good as you look, you know that?” His eyes drop to his own jeans, and there’s a dark, wet spot on his thigh. No way.
“Jesus, did you—”
“Come in my pants? Yeah. In the first minute, actually.” He grins. “Couldn’t help it. You’re that hot.”
I’m speechless. I’ve never seen anyone come from giving a blowjob. I didn’t even know that was a thing.
“Huh,” is all I can manage.
“Yeah.” He stretches his arms over his head, and I notice a sliver of tanned skin between his shirt and jeans. He’s got a happy trail, a dusting of hair leading down to where he just made a mess of himself. “So. Feel better?”
“Hard not to,” I mutter.
“Good. I aim to please.” He goes to the sink and washes his hands.
“Well, this was fun. Definitely something I’ll remember for a long, long time.
I might have to pull over and jerk off again later, just thinking about how your cock tasted.
” He catches my eye in the mirror. “Too bad you’re straight. ”
The words land somewhere in my stomach, heavy as a stone. I should be relieved, right? This was a one-time thing. A pit stop. A wild detour on my road trip to nowhere. I got my rocks off. End of story.
So why am I not?
Why does the thought of never seeing this guy again feel like a waste?