19. Bailey
nineteen
Bailey
Before I realize I’ve done it, I’ve got his hand in mine, pulling him away from the front door and into the living room. I send up a quick thank you to whoever is listening, grateful I remembered to put my laundry away earlier. Nothing screams sex like a basket of dirty underwear.
I lead him to the old oak table beside the couch and drop his hand so I can give a proper introduction.
“Oliver, meet Master Beto,” I say, beaming. “Beto, this is Oliver.”
He laughs, eyes bright. Something in my chest shifts. My cheeks heat.
“Beto, I need you to keep an eye on this one,” he says teasingly. “I didn’t expect to meet the family after our first date, but I’m open-minded.” He turns to me, a question in his eyes.
“Do you want to, uh, watch something?” I stammer.
“Sounds good,” he says with a smile.
“Careful, if you miss the cushion you won’t be able to sit down for days,” I warn. “Can I get you a drink?” I should have asked sooner but I’ve been distracted. Like, very fucking distracted.
“I’m good, thanks,” he says as he lowers himself carefully.
Smart man.
I grab the remote and drop into the middle of the couch. I can’t be rude and sit at the opposite end but I sure as shit am not about to sit down and have my family jewels kicked into next week.
What the fuck do I put on? What does he like? What would a normal person do in this situation?
“What do you like to watch?” I manage, trying not to sound like I’m on the verge of combusting. Nerves making my stomach flip and hands shake.
“Mostly movies, I haven’t really followed a show in years,” he says. “What about you?” He produces a sucker out of thin air and pops it into his mouth with a grin.
“Movies,” I say, then add, “and video games.”
He smiles, and my heart lurches in my chest.
What the hell was that about?
“Okay, green eyes. Tell me a few of your favorite movies. Don’t think about it, just spit them out off the top of your head,” he says.
“Boondock Saints.” I start.
Keep going, Bailey.
Don’t think.
“Step Brothers,” I say as I look down at my feet. “Face Off, Gummo, Scream, Casper.”
The words come out too quickly. My cheeks heat as my brain catches up with my mouth.
I’ve said too much.
“No way.”
I risk a glance at him.
He’s smiling, a look of surprise and amusement on his face.
“You’ve seen Gummo?” He laughs, eyes dancing.
“Wait—you know what Gummo is?” I narrow my eyes. “Are you fucking with me?”
He leans forward, resting an elbow on his knee, “Life is beautiful. Really, it is. Full of beauty and illusions. Life is great. Without it, you’d be dead.”
Holy. Shit.
“No fucking way,” I whisper.
“Way.”
“Holy shit.” My mind is blown, jaw practically resting on my chest.
“No one knows what I’m talking about when I bring up Gummo,” I say in disbelief. “Ever.” I shake my head, smiling. Unbelievable.
“Yeah, Jay loves Harmony Korine. I’ve seen all of his films.” He laughs, “Kids was the most fucked up, but still brilliantly executed. It’s wild what he can do with almost no budget.”
I open my mouth, then close it again. I’ve got nothing. This guy has seen Gummo. This guy had his tongue down my throat earlier—thrice—and he's seen Gummo.
I’m in danger.
A laugh bubbles out of me, my face sore from smiling.
“Wait,” he says, placing his hand on my thigh. “Did you seriously say Casper?”
I freeze.
“The one from the ‘90s? With Christina Ricci?”
“Wh—what? No,” I say innocently. “What’s Casper? Never heard of it.”
“Liar.”
“Whatever,” I huff.
He shifts closer, turning toward me. One hand grips each of my thighs as he leans in, his face inches from mine.
“Can I keep you?” He whispers against my mouth.
My breath hitches. Oh, great—he’s seen Casper too. Where the hell did he come from?
God, he smells good. Leather and sugar wrapped in bergamot.
I inhale, pulling him into my lungs. My eyes slip closed. When I realize my mistake, I force them open.
He’s still there, watching. Waiting.
I lick my lips, nervously, and his gaze flickers down for a second before snapping back to mine.
Kiss me. Please.
I’m silently pleading with him. Begging. My dick now on board, awake entirely too soon after having just come.
“I can’t believe you’ve seen both—”
His mouth crashes into mine before I can finish and relief floods through me.
Thank fuck.
His lips taste like bubblegum and sin.
I lean into him, realising he’s on his knees in front of me now. Goddamn. What a sight to see.
“You like me on my knees for you, green eyes?” He asks as he trails his lips along my neck, peppering soft kisses across my jawline.
“God, yes.”
I fucking mean it. Seeing this beautiful man kneeling before me is unlike anything I’ve ever witnessed.
Vulnerable.
Sexy.
Intoxicating.
I exhale shakily as he finds my mouth again. The skin on my neck still aflame from his kisses. My god, he feels so good.
How can he be real?
This moment.
His touch.
It feels so right that fear threatens to pull me from him but I push it down.
And instead, I give in, letting go of everything I thought I knew. Making room for him.
He leaves my mouth to look at me. Grabbing my chin with one hand, he runs his thumb over my lips.
“You’re beautiful,” he whispers.
I shiver. No one’s ever called me beautiful. No one’s ever looked at me the way he’s looking at me. Like I’m something to be treasured—but also a fucking snack to be devoured.
He drags his eyes away from my lips again. “Green eyes,” he says, voice deep with desire, “I need to taste you.”
“P-please,” I get out through panting breaths.
His smile widens as he pulls my shirt off, then his mouth is on my neck. Lingering, hot kisses along my skin have my mind melting.
He takes my nipple in his mouth and I whimper.
“Fuck.”
He laughs as he swirls his tongue around its peak before moving to the other. His teeth scrape in a painful fury before he soothes it with warm kisses before letting the cool air hit.
“Shit,” I hiss.
I feel him smile against my flesh as he moves further down, working my jeans open.
My cock springs free and he sits back on his heels, taking me in. His gaze leaves a hot trail on my skin as it roams over all of me.
“Fuck,” he groans as he takes my length in his hand, watching me as he brings those perfect lips to my head.
He licks a bead of precum and moans.
My eyes roll back, “Oh, fuck, Oliver”
He grins up at me, then cautiously lifts himself onto the couch. He brings a knee on either side of my hips, straddling me. I love the loss of control. Giving it to him is freeing.
He kisses me, a trace of salt on his tongue hits mine and I moan. It tastes forbidden. Sacred.
Oh, god, I’m going to blow my load in five seconds flat if I don’t get my shit together.
He hums, lashes fluttering as he sucks my tongue into his mouth, hands traveling all over my quaking body until they make their way down. He takes my cock in one hand, squeezing the base before running his thumb over my slit. Leisurely strokes that have fuck-near made me unable to kiss him back.
Goddamn. I’m a dead man.
“Oliver,” I groan. It’s all I can do. Nothing matters but him. His mouth on mine. His hands on me.
My skin hums, a fire burning beneath it. I feel restless. My hand finds its way to his jeans and I’m unbuttoning them before I realize what’s happening.
“Damn, green eyes. Eager, are we?” He smiles and winks at me.
Fucking tease.
“Yes,” I admit.
Yes the fuck I am.
His length is perfect in my hand. Silken, smooth, hard as fuck. I groan at the contact. The overwhelming pleasure from his hand stroking my shaft makes my head spin. His kiss, his tongue, his cock in my hand and mine in his. This is different. This is different from a one-sided handjob.
This shit is toxic in the best way. Potent.
Dangerous
Knowing I’m doing to him exactly what he’s doing to me makes me feel powerful. It’s new and it’s wrong but it’s so fucking right. How can this not be right?
“Oliver, I—”
I can’t finish my sentence. His hand is fucking heaven and my dick just took the elevator up. Penthouse suite. Best view.
I’m getting close. My breaths come in ragged pants against his mouth, our hands moving in tandem as I ride a wave of pleasure. So fucking freeing and yet so damn terrifying.
I panic, try to pull away but his other hand grips my hip, holding me in place.
Right where he wants me.
Right where I want me.
Heat pools low in my belly, a searing warmth at the base of my spine builds, and my balls tighten.
His hand moves with perfect pressure, the way he wrings my pleasure as I become lost to his rhythm is mind-bending.
My orgasm hits and I see fucking stars. “Fuck, Oliver,” I manage, looking down in time to see jets of cum erupt from my cock, spilling onto both of us. I look at his length in my hand and am reminded to start moving again. I take my cum and coat his thick cock, vision hazy from my release.
“God, yes,” he growls. “That’s perfect. Don’t stop.”
I moan, reveling in his praise as I quicken my pace, fucking him with my hand the same way I like it. Dragging my thumb over his slit on the upstroke.
I can’t look away. I want him to come. Need his pleasure to match my own.
A rumble comes from somewhere deep in his chest. A primal sound that has my dick swelling again.
His eyes close for a second and it takes my breath away. He’s beautiful like this. Coming apart in my hands.
He’s close. I increase my pace and grab his balls, massaging them the same way he did mine.
A groan escapes his beautiful lips as his eyes roll back. His cock pulsates in my hand and I don’t stop until I’ve emptied him completely.
I’m exhausted, my head collapsing back against the couch, eyes closing.
I am everywhere and nowhere.
I am someone and no one.
I’m jostled by weight on either side of me but don’t open my eyes.
Can’t.
I feel his hand gently angle my face up, and I open my eyes to find him watching me, a soft smile on his lips.
He dips his hand between us, two fingers dragging through a mixture of our cum before he brings them to his lips.
God. Damn.
I kiss him. I kiss him and hope he understands what I can’t say. The taste of our cum on his tongue is filthy and I fucking love it. I let my tongue take every last molecule back from his mouth.
We break apart, both panting, my heart rate finally slowing as I watch him in wonder. He’s so fucking beautiful.
He’s everything I’m not.
Confident, charismatic, free. He’s perfect.
I can’t allow myself to think about it too long.
“That was incredible,” I whisper.
“Agreed,” he says with a grin.
“Do you, um—” I struggle to find the right words. Do you need water? Do you want to take a shower? Should I get a wet rag? I manage to think but can’t form the words to say.
“I’m fine, green eyes,” he says, eyes sparkling with mischief.
He can’t be serious.
“I promise.”
“Pinky promise?” I have no idea why I just said that but here we are.
“Pinky promise,” he laughs, holding his hand up ready to pinky shake on it.