21. Blaze #2
I nod. “I like that.” I wriggle my boxers over my ass, kick them down the bed so I’m finally naked. He takes his hands away as soon as they’re exposed to the light, like a shy raccoon when the motion detector porch light comes on. “Hey, don’t stop.”
He wraps one hand around me again, his gaze glued to the sight.
He licks his lips. “Can I—” he stops, laughs.
“Right.” And then he ducks his head and seals his mouth around the tip of my cock.
And damn, I knew it would be good, but I have to physically reach out and clutch the 800 thread count sheets, barely hanging on to both them and my control.
“Fuck yes, holy damn Shawn.” There goes my filterless mouth again as he sinks farther down my shaft. He goes another few inches, until he gags and pulls off fast, face red.
“Shit, um, that was—”
“Perfect,” I interrupt him. “Just go a little slower. You don’t have to take it all.”
“I want to, though,” he says, a little petulantly, the competitive spirit that led him into the major leagues showing through.
“Try again,” I say, relaxing back into the mattress, letting him reposition himself above me, bent over my crotch.
It’s not the prettiest position—someday I’d love to see him on his knees between my legs, looking up at me with those liquid green eyes.
Next time, maybe. Or the time after that.
I don’t want to think about how many times we’re going to have before he has to go home.
I push away the melancholy thought and give in to the pure pleasure of hot, wet suction.
He doesn’t try to take the whole thing this time, sticking to the top half, but it works for me.
I can tell he’s not exactly getting off on it, more treating this as an experiment, but I’m not about to complain when my dick is the direct benefactor of his exploration.
And the inexperience makes me less afraid of blowing at the slightest touch.
Instead, I shudder and sigh and mutter nonsensical praise.
It feels fucking good; the first blow job I’ve had in I don’t know how long.
And Shawn, in this as in everything he does, learns fast. He pulls off, almost all the way, then sinks back down slow and firm.
His hands are on my thighs, his thumbs rubbing circles on my skin.
He hollows out his cheeks, accentuating his cheekbones.
His hair, not long, but longer than when he first arrived, falls messily over his forehead.
“Shawn, baby, I’m going to—” Baby? Where did that come from?
I’ve never called anyone baby in my life, but for some reason, that lack of filter thing, I guess, it just came out, along with all the fluids that have been building up in me since last night.
I come, first into Shawn’s mouth, then his mouth is no longer there, and I get a hand on myself to wring out the last drops.
My toes literally curl up as I let out a string of random curse words.
“Yeah?” He sounds proud of himself, and also strained, like maybe there’s a problem. I sit up immediately, heedless of the mess between my thighs.
“Are you okay?”
He lets out a strangled noise and my antennae perk up. “Shawn? What is it?”
“I’m hard as nails,” he grits out. “What—how—”
I was in the same boat last night, strung out after he’d come already.
“Come here,” I say, scooting up the bed and resting on the clean white pillows.
“Take that off.” I point to his underwear, and he complies, skimming off his skintight boxer briefs.
Seeing his dick and balls for the first time—holy shit.
He wasn’t lying—he’s so hard it looks painful.
His cut, engorged cock is almost purple, pointing straight up to his navel, set off by a nest of trimmed blond curls.
His sac is drawn up high and tight behind, as if he’s about to shoot off like a rocket.
I’m atypically indecisive. Do I want to use my hands?
My mouth? Do I want to watch him bring himself off, add him to the mix of jizz on my skin?
“Please, for the love of god do something,” he says, desperation in his voice.
“Of course, sure. I’ll take care of it,” I say, shifting into protective mode.
Shawn needs to come, and I need to be the one to make that happen.
I’m greedy for everything, but there’s time for it all later.
Right now, I push him gently against the nest of pillows and get my hand around him, kissing him to calm him down.
Then it’s one, two, three strokes and he’s done, groaning into my mouth and exploding into my palm.
There’s so much of it squelching between my knuckles, and god if that isn’t fucking dirty in the best possible way.
He groans into my mouth again, and I love that he hasn’t stopped kissing me.
In fact, he latches onto my tongue and sucks—hard.
It’s all my recently spent cock can do to stop itself from attempting back-to-back rounds.
I stroke him through it, more turned on by the kissing and the tongue sucking than I should have any right to considering my own powerful orgasm.
Finally, he lets my tongue go. “Holy shit fucking fuck,” I say.
He flops back on the pillows, his wet dick sliding out of my grasp. “Yeah.”
I lie back, too, feeling like I’ve earned it. “So, what’s the verdict?”
“On what?”
“On sucking cock.”
“Oh, that.” He laughs, giddy and breathless. “Five stars. Would recommend.”
“Glad to hear it,” I say, barely refraining from adding “baby.” We’re not there, and if he doesn’t mention it, I can pretend it didn’t happen.