Chapter 11
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Men rarely offer to do this for me. I’ve got fuckable lips and a skinny body, so my thicker cock is usually not what they’re expecting or looking for.
Whenever I get the sense someone might feel insecure in comparison, I go right to giving them oral and sliding my own hand into my pants.
As long as we both get off, it doesn’t matter.
I was fine with that until now. Until Michael fills his mouth with me, his crystal brown eyes watering as he takes me deep in the most erotic and intimate display of fellatio I’ve ever seen.
It’s mesmerizing and beautiful. So are the sounds he’s making; equal parts pained and ecstatic.
Each one conveying how hungry he is and how much he loves the taste of me.
I slide a shaky hand through his short hair and watch as his lips stretch to take more, his cheeks hollow with each suck and his tongue swirls around my shaft like I’m his favorite lollipop.
Like I’m the only drug he can’t live without.
Nothing I’ve experienced before comes close to this worship.
He’s destroying my defenses with the pure, undiluted need on his face and the feel of his mouth around me.
I’m as conflicted as I’m aroused, because I want everything with Michael.
I want to fuck and own his mouth and give in to him completely.
I think I might let this man do whatever he wants with me.
To me. Tie me up. Make me beg. Edge me, which is not something I’ve ever been into because who has the time for that kind of nonsense?
My hammering heart is all I can hear when he cups my balls and gives them a gasp-inducing tug.
Michael seems to be having the same problem I am.
He’s dominating and then vulnerable. Hesitant, then commanding.
It’s like neither one of us knows this script or our roles in it.
We just know we need to touch and be touched. Claim and be claimed.
His mouth and those sounds he’s making are going to make me blow soon, and instead of leaning into that, I’m tugging on his hair and backing away from his mouth as blood rushes in my ears like the ocean.
“Michael, please.”
He looks up in confusion, his pupils dilated, bronze skin flushed and lips swollen. He’s my fucking dream come to life right now. “What’s wrong?”
“You’re not kissing me,” I tell him as honestly as I can, my voice ragged. “Forget paybacks for now. I think… I need you with me this time.”
I don’t know why, I only know that it’s true. Whatever we’re doing here, we need to do it together. I need him with me.
He doesn’t argue, propelling himself up my body and covering my mouth with his.
I taste myself on his tongue and make a noise that comes perilously close to a whimper.
This . This is what I need. I take his palm and lick it before dragging it down between us and wrapping his fist around both our cocks in silent demand. He moans in approval against my mouth.
And this. Like this. Together.
The first fumbling stroke has us both groaning low and long. The dueling sensations of his rough grip and the hard velvet stroke of his cock make me shudder. He finds a rhythm that neither one of us can hold out against for long, and our kisses take on a savage edge. Yes. So close.
I cry out when his hand suddenly stops and grips us both so tightly it steals my breath.
“Not yet,” he rasps, tightening his fingers as if he can sense my release threatening to erupt. “Not this fast, damn it.”
Why the hell not?
“Fast is okay,” I pant, desperate to convince him. “I’m a big fan of fast. Go, Team Fast!”
He grinds his forehead into mine. “Two months, Win. Two months of imagining you moaning my name. Imagining the way you’d feel beneath me.
I’ve had a lot of time to think, and there are a thousand different things I want with you that I haven’t done yet.
And those all come before I get inside and take you in every position, on every surface imaginable, until you beg for release. ”
“I’m already begging, Michael. And I never do that, so you should feel really good about your skills right now.”
I’m trying to tease, but he’s not willing to be distracted.
“You said it was different with me?” he grits out. “Well, until you, I didn’t think about my cock every other minute. I’m thirty-eight years old—I shouldn’t have to worry about my dick getting hard in public every time you cross my mind. Shouldn’t be ready to come the second I touch you.”
I want to tell him I understand, but he starts stroking me again, faster now. Yes. Like that . “Michael.”
“I shouldn’t want to see my fingerprints on your smooth skin because we got carried away and I fucked you too hard,” he continues as he jacks us off, punctuating the confession with an open-mouthed kiss.
“Shouldn’t imagine spanking you and spooning you and bending you in half to pound into you so deep you’ll never get rid of me. ”
“Oh God. Oh, shit, Michael .” I’m seconds away from coming. His touch, his words are sending jolts of lightning down my thighs, my balls pulling up tight and hot.
He claims my mouth in another short, hard kiss. “Tell me it won’t be just this once,” he demands.
I shake my head frantically, the climax reaching for me in his tightening grip. “It won’t. All night. You said we’ll be here all night. Please.”
“I found you,” he pants as he stares deep into my eyes and gives us what we’re both dying for. “Found my siren in the woods and brought you home. Come for me, Win.”
“Michael!”
Our dueling shouts ring in my ears and my back arches off the bed with the force of my climax. I’m coming so hard it hurts, and he’s right there with me. He gasps my name over and over into my neck as his release coats my chest and slicks up his hand.
Long minutes later, he hasn’t moved and I’m still shaking. Not just from the climax or its aftershocks, but from the emotions that I’m not used to coming along for the ride.
Something just happened between us. Not that. I mean, of course that happened. But this something is new and tender and achingly fragile. I want to share it, and maybe I would if I understood it, but instead I bite my tongue as he rolls away and reaches for his shirt to wipe us both down.
I close my eyes as the soft cloth strokes my oversensitive skin, breathing deeply and listening to the wind howling outside.
I can feel him watching me. Is he waiting for me to speak?
To tell him I’ve never come that hard before or felt that connected to anyone?
That I want him to pull me close and make promises that I’ll actually believe? That I hope the storm never ends?
It’s all true, but there’s no way I’m willing to say it first. Or ever.
Falling for the dream of Michael is one thing.
Falling for the man himself? The real one, who could get tired of me and leave me?
I can’t. It would never work out. We’re like that fish-and-bird love story.
Or maybe the prince and the pauper, if that were a gay romance instead of Freaky Friday meets The Parent Trap .
Semi-interesting celebrity fact. Lindsay Lohan was in the modern remakes of both of those classics.
Yes, I just made that reference. That’s how much I don’t want to talk about how I’m feeling about Michael Demir right now. At least I didn’t mention another president’s penis.
“Awfully quiet, Win.”
My eyes pop open in time to see him smile devilishly and lick a bit of my cum off his fingers.
I shiver, unable to look away, but something inside me relaxes.
He’s obviously not thinking about relationship conversations or tossing out emotional confessions if he’s doing something like that, right?
I can handle this. Playful sex. Casual sex. Just sex.
I’m not even disappointed.
“I’m waiting patiently for a presidential anecdote about kinky activities in the Lincoln bedroom, but you’re oddly silent on the subject. What’s stopping you?”
What the hell? Is he a mind reader now? “Actually,” I start hesitantly, “there have been rumors that Lincoln spent a few years sleeping in the same bed as his?—”
“Wait, stop. There’s really an anecdote? I was joking,” he laughs, and it’s like the sun comes out again. I hardly notice when he stretches out on the mattress beside me and drags me up against his chest. And then I can’t stop noticing, because this is cuddling.
We’re cuddling now. We’re hanging out in Cuddle Town after the best sex I’ve ever had while joking about Lincoln’s gay lover. What a time to be alive after nearly freezing to death.
I let myself relax against him, enjoying the feel of his fingers pushing the hair off my sweat-dampened forehead.
“Thank you for that.”
“The orgasm or the trivia?” I quip before a jaw-popping yawn takes over my face. “Sorry.”
His hold on me tightens. “Do you need anything to drink? Are you comfortable? You do remember there’s a bigger bed upstairs.”
“If I’m thirsty I can take care of it. And I don’t think either of us wants to sleep in that room. It’s already bad enough that we have to walk through it to get to the shower.” I moan. “Oh, a shower sounds so good right now. But it might have to wait until I take a tiny nap.”
“You don’t like letting other people take care of you, do you, Win?”
I pat his chest, my fingers lingering to play with the hair there.
I’m surprised at how simultaneously soothing and arousing that is.
He’s a tactile adventure and I love everything about it.
But he’s not wrong about my issues. Still, I think today has been more than most people with even a shred of pride could take without a little grumbling.
“You dressed me like a doll. Carried me around the cabin and cooked me dinner before giving me a penis massage. Consider your hosting obligations fulfilled.”
Huffing with laughter, he kisses my temple. “I’ve got your number now. I can’t believe I thought you were a pampered performer when we met.”
“I’m not even in a band. Not really.”
“I don’t get that either. Your voice is incredible.”
I like his praise more than I should. Part of me leans into it, looking for more strokes. “I know. But I have a servant’s heart and a special way of irritating people that’s insured I haven’t had my own band since the traumatic freshman-year breakup of A Mighty Win.”
“A Mighty Who?”
I give his chest a playful flick. “They had the same problem with that name. We had one gig before getting into a fight over it, since no one got that it was a play on a Eugene Levy/Catherine O’Hara movie instead of me being a diva.
” I snicker. “Not that I wasn’t a total diva back then, because I was, and I used way too much guyliner, but I wasn’t lying about the name.
” I nuzzle against him sleepily. “Unfortunately, since I never learned to play an instrument, that was the extent of my musical career. Unless you’re counting karaoke and those Rock Band video games, because I am a legend at both. And before you ask, I have no regrets.”
“So instead of the spotlight, you spend your days either taking care of your friends and students or thinking about taking care of your friends and students. Is that right? I doubt you stop long enough to give anyone a chance to return the favor.”
I lift my head to stare at him suspiciously. “You got all that from The Great Macaron Interrogation?”
“You’re not as difficult to read as you think you are.”
“I don’t know if that’s a complement or a kill shot. I’m incredibly difficult and very complicated, thank you very much. You have no idea. And you should be glad. That’s how difficult I am.”
“I’m not seeing it.” I can hear the smile in his voice. “What I do see is that you’re a hard worker, a natural caretaker and a great friend.”
“You’re the caretaker,” I murmur sleepily against his chest, loving the smell of him.
“You cook meals meant for families, not tables for one. You take care of the M&M sisters and go above and beyond for random strangers who get lost through no fault of their own. I see right through you. You’re the king of caretakers, wrapped up in overly attractive, dragon-assassin packaging. ”
“You keep mentioning my package. Even when you’re falling asleep.”
It’s one of the last things I hear him say, and it makes me smile. Who can blame me? It’s one hell of a package.