6. Chapter 6 #3
“Then touch yourself,” I demand through gritted teeth.
I can’t have him not getting any pleasure out of this.
That kind of defeats the purpose, doesn’t it?
I mean, I am taking his mind off of whatever was bothering him, which was the actual reason I started this, but that’s just semantics.
I need him to walk away from this so satisfied that it melts his fucking brain.
Instead of pulling his dick out, he reaches inside his pants and starts stroking himself.
I don’t know what his reasoning for that is, but I file it away to figure out later.
Even though I can’t see exactly what he’s doing, I know he’s pleasuring himself, and it’s hot as fuck.
I have Lance desperate and needy, and that’s giving me a high unlike anything I’ve ever felt before.
Every sense is on high alert, and the sensations in my body are seconds away from causing me to overload.
I can’t fucking stand how bad I want him.
“So desperate for some dick that you came to me. That’s pretty fucking sad, Lance.
” I say as I shove myself all the way to the back of his throat.
I stay there, cutting off his oxygen, as I make short, quick thrusts.
My orgasm is building really fucking fast, and it’s at a point that there’s nothing I can do to stop it now.
“Pretend that’s my hand, pretty boy. Pretend that I’m the one milking that orgasm out of you.”
His hips lift of the floor again as I pull back to let him take a breath. His free hand clings to me, pulling me back into his throat. His movements start to get sloppy, and he moans around my dick, so I know that he’s right there at the edge with me.
“Fuck… that’s perfect,“ I groan as my orgasm crashes into me. “Don’t waste a drop, Lance.”
It’s not like he could because I’m so far down his throat that he doesn’t have the option to decline. He doesn’t try to fight it though. He sits there like the good little boy he is, staring up at me with watery eyes, until my body is completely drained.
As soon as my dick is out of his mouth, he slumps against the wall, gasping for air.
I tuck my dick back into my pants while I give him a few seconds to gather himself.
When he finally glances back up at me, I don’t really know how I feel about the look in his eyes.
They’re a mixture of vulnerability and appreciation, but that’s not what this is between us.
This wasn’t some emotional bonding exercise.
He made it clear that I’m not good enough for him, and there’s no way in fuck that I’m gonna fall for this. For him.
Not. Fucking. Happening.
I take a step back, putting some space between us before I do something stupid like pulling him to the couch to cuddle. I point toward my bedroom. “You can use the spare bathroom.”
He doesn’t even look up to see where I’m directing him, just nods to acknowledge what I’ve said.
I’m kind of at a loss for what’s going through his head right now.
Instead of standing, he slumps further down, running his clean hand through his hair.
His other hand is still tucked in his pants, and he doesn’t even bother pulling it out.
He can’t stay like this though, so I reach down and grab him underneath his arms, pulling him to his feet.
I wrap his arm around my shoulder and practically drag him to the bathroom.
I flip the shower on, and while the water is warming up, I go grab a towel and a pair of clean boxers.
I leave them on the counter before turning around and closing the door behind me.
I’m not his fucking babysitter. He can figure out the rest.
I spend the next twenty minutes restlessly pacing around my living room, my brain in utter chaos over what just happened.
I try to calm myself by going to the kitchen and starting the coffee maker before plopping down in my computer chair.
He eventually slinks out of the bedroom, quietly closing the door behind him.
He clears his throat to get my attention, so I turn around in my chair.
He stands there, empty handed, staring at me like a lost puppy dog.
I guess he tucked his underwear in his pocket so he wouldn’t have to walk around with them in his hand.
His face is still flushed from the shower, and water slowly drips from his hair to the floor.
His shirt is sprinkled with little wet spots that make it look like dark stars splattered across the night sky.
It irks me how attracted to him I am. How fucking bad I want to touch him.
How right being with him feels, because if there’s anything I’ve learned in my lifetime, it’s that nothing ever goes right for me.
This is going to be another thing that I get a taste of just long enough so that I hate myself when it eventually disappears.
I never should’ve let him in. My apartment.
My life. My head. Any of it. I never should’ve touched him either.
I should’ve stayed in my safe little bubble where I could watch from a distance, because now…
Now, I don’t know if I’ll ever get enough of him.
Way to fucking go, Roman.
Way. To. Go.