Chapter 25 #2
I still want to fuck him, but I doubt he’d be into it.
When it’s just him and me like this, though—talking, drinking—it doesn’t seem like such a stretch that he might want to be closer in whatever way works.
That he’d let me, the same way he let me suck his dick.
If I ask nicely. If I smile pretty enough.
If I let him know how much I want him.
With the next plunge of my tongue into his mouth, I let go of his tie and put my hand between his legs.
He shifts toward me, spreading his thighs to give me better access. His rock solid length strains against my palm, and I give it a tight stroke through the fabric. His kiss gets hornier, both our breaths heavy. “We should get out of here,” I tell him.
“Your place?”
“I’d fuck you right here if I could.”
“Jesus.” He crashes his mouth to mine. It’s bruising—rough and possessive—his hand splaying across the side of my face like he’s trying to hide me from anyone who might be watching.
He lifts his hips, pressing his cock harder against my hand, allowing me to cup his balls.
I give them a nice, firm squeeze to entice him out of this fucking booth.
His resulting moan is so loud, he pulls away, ducking his head like he embarrassed himself. I smile and kiss him just beneath his ear. “Yes. My place.”
He nods.
I’ll probably only end up on my knees again—or, God protect my hole—my hands and knees, but I’m not picky. I want to get off with him—bottom line, but I might want to come back to this bar some time, and hooking up in this booth might make that difficult.
With regrets, I take my hand out from between his legs and swallow what’s left of my tequila.
Leaving the bar, I’m shocked at how bright it is outside—how high in the sky the sun is.
We’re two blocks up from Gramercy, and walking with erections in well-fitted pants.
Luckily no one in New York looks at anyone else—except for today where it feels like everyone’s staring.
At me. At him. At our crotches. We’re not even touching each other, nor walking particularly close.
“Is it just me…?”
“No—they all know,” he says.
“You nervous?” I ask.
“Not even close.”
Our pace grows brisker, and I say, “You’re gonna try to tie me up, aren’t you?”
“Your place, your rules.”
“It’s like that, huh?”
“Apparently,” he says, sounding out of breath.
We get to the building in almost no time, and yet—it takes forever. Entering through my private entrance, we all but sprint to the stairwell. As soon as the door closes behind us, he shoves me against the wall and attacks my mouth with long, deep licks of his tongue.
I groan, grabbing him by the hips and pulling the full length of his body against mine.
Our equally rigid erections grind—our hips moving out of sync with our mouths—like they’ve got minds of their own.
I run a hand over his ass, gripping the muscled flesh through his pants.
He untucks my shirt, hot palms moving to slide up my sides.
“This’ll be better in bed,” I try to tell him when I can get the rushed words out.
His head dips to inhale and kiss my neck. “I want you.”
“I noticed.”
Our hips thrust again, making me grunt while he shudders.
“I don’t even know who the fuck I am anymore.”
He keeps saying things like that, but it’s not subtle to me.
Not only that he wants me or is attracted to me for whatever reason, but he needs way more than a pet to purr against his leg or offer herself to him passively.
He needs to be felt and kissed and handled with want as naked as his own, and right now, I’ve got that covered.
He turns me the fuck on. Drunk or sober, behind his desk or slumped back in a booth—he makes my heart beat faster—and it’s not fading with repetition.
It’s only getting more intense to the point where I could barely look at him today when we were supposed to be working.
Every move I make reminds me of last night—my backside is still on fire—my asshole aches and keeps twitching randomly, and each twitch puts a thrum in my balls that makes me warm and needy.
“Get off me so I can fuck you.”
“Christian,” he sighs against my throat.
Letting his ass go, I move my hands up his back and give his shoulder blades a squeeze. I like it when he says my name like that. Like I’ve got something no one else can give him—or won’t.
But I’m fucking happy to.
I get him moving again. We make it into my apartment where I have to stop him from pulling my clothes off at the door. His face is flushed, and his eyes are wild, roaming all over me.
“Bed,” I tell him.
“Fine.” He grabs me by the neck and drags me in that direction, attaching his mouth to mine along the way.
I shove the jacket off his shoulders and loosen his tie the rest of the way. He’s wasting no time, going straight for my belt buckle. At the foot of the bed, we finish undressing each other in a hurry, a tangle of arms and rough kisses—gropes and grunts of appreciation.
His cock is thick and hard. The tip slick and dark. I’m about to push him to the bed and take it into my mouth when he drops to his knees and wraps his lips around mine.
“Fuck!” I cry, the shock of it coupled with how warm and wet his tongue is makes my knees buckle, and I have to grab him by the shoulders so I don’t collapse.
“Umph…Christ,” he gasps, jerking me in his fist a few times before engulfing me again.
“Goddamn, that feels good,” I tell him. It certainly doesn’t feel like he’s never done this before.
His pulls on my cock are long and powerful.
His tongue is busy wrapping me up and twisting around my shaft, flicking quickly over the tip before swirling back down my length again.
It feels impossible—like something only a high end sex toy could do—sending zaps of intensifying pleasure down my legs and up my spine.
It would be easy to come. It’s not like I can remove my mind from the moment and try to focus on something else. He’s consuming me.
“Is this what you want?” I manage to ask.
Because maybe it is. Maybe getting fucked by a man is a bridge too far for Gibson Hayes. Especially one he can so aptly dominate. It’s not like he doesn’t have me on the ropes even while he’s the one on his knees.
Our eyes meet—his lips stretched and red around my shaft.
He circles me with his tongue as I stare down at him.
I swallow hard, using so much restraint, it’s making me light-headed.
Lightly running a hand up my leg, his thumb grazes the thin skin of my inner thigh, and then, without breaking eye contact, he takes me deep.
That’s a yes.
I clamp a hand on his shoulder and let my hips move with him, chasing the release he’s determined to suck out of me. Yes. Yes.
Blissed out, I let every sensation spill through my veins, heating my core and turning it molten. My thighs shudder, pressure building in my groin. “Fuck, I’m gonna come,” I warn him, in case I wasn’t clear enough that I was extremely close.
He slows down, but deepens his suction, elongates the strokes of his tongue, and seems to savor the erratic pulses of precum spurting from my tip. He moans and closes his eyes, blowing me like he’s in a trance.
It’s mind-bendingly erotic, and the sound of Gibson’s wet mouth surrounding my length tips the balance. I come with a choked gasp, the orgasm gripping my insides and shattering my dick. The second my cum gushes into his mouth, he grips me by the base and tugs me like he intends to drain my balls.
I’m not sure I’ll stay standing long enough for him to do that.
I throw my head back, gasping for air, fighting to stay upright.
He sucks as I spill and spill, the contractions in my groin resulting in sharp spasms of my cock, and with every one, I feel like I’m coming all over again. It feels infinite.
I’m clawing air into my lungs as he moves to kiss and tongue my crown, cleaning up whatever drops are left.
He finally stops, rising to his feet just in time to follow me down as I collapse on the bed.
I may be weak, addled, and jerking with aftershocks, but I dig deep, rolling him to his back to press my mouth to his.
I sweep the taste of myself mingled with whiskey off his tongue, and it’s not bad. Good, in fact. A low growl escapes me as I search for more of the distinct flavor in every place I can reach.
Breathless, he gropes at my ass, and I whimper because—ouch. “Sorry,” he whispers, moving his hands up my back. His hips rock, restless and searching for friction.
His mouth is lazy as it accepts mine, but his body is tense and vibrating. He needs to get fucked, and he just sucked the ability to do it right out of me. Asshole. Is he always this self-destructive?
He pisses me off so bad, and I swear I can’t get enough of it.