Chapter 14 – Pookie #2
He shot upwards, cradling my head in his lap, his fingers dancing through my hair.
He erratically thrusted, fucking into my mouth and taking control.
And I didn't mind at all. I was used to it, and there's something absolutely fucking euphoric about being used like that.
This feral, animalistic nature unleashed.
The crown of his cock tested the limits of my gag reflex, pounding against the back of my throat.
Sometimes it'd hit it. Other times, it'd fall just shy of reaching the back.
I widened my mouth, accepting the face-fucking he was so eager to give—a birthday present like no other. His fingers wound tighter, gripping me by the back of my head and holding me still as he launched upward. Gasping and moaning into the night air as he barreled toward release.
He thrust again and a hot explosion landed against the back of my throat, coating the inside of my mouth with salty straight boy cum. When he was done, he pushed my head down on his cock until my mouth melted against his groin and my lower lip slurped up the cum that pooled at his hairless balls.
Slowly, as he came back down to earth, he loosened his grip on my head.
I mouthed over his sensitive cock, feeling every shudder of his body as I cleaned him.
I wanted—needed—to savor every drop of his release.
And then finally, when he'd had enough, when another pass over his cock would've broken him completely, he pried my mouth from his dick.
I inhaled sharply and caught my breath for the first time.
And in the breathless quiet between us, where neither of us could muster the energy to form words, I caught a look in his eyes that stunned me into a soft retreat. He was still hungry.
He pushed his hands against my chest, knocking me onto my back, and crawled between my legs. He pawed at my hip, pulling my leg around his side as his lips brushed over mine. Not quite kissing. Not quite yet. Hot breath landed like an earthquake on my lips.
And then, uncertainty in his eyes and a silent echo in my heart.
This was the part where everything changed.
I knew this was a bad idea.
He arched his ass backward, just enough to reach a hand between us. He slipped his hand beneath my slacks, palming my rock-hard erection held in place by my tight briefs.
"You..." I moaned, and why the fuck was I even about to say this? "You don't have to do that."
He swallowed a rough gulp and nodded. As he pulled his hand free from my pants, I tried to conceal my disappointment, but I'm sure he saw right through me.
Still, it wasn't enough for the straight boy to cross that particular gay line.
He hovered above me, a continued bout of silence that threatened to undo me.
He was really about to run.
And in the silence, he did the unexpected.
He couldn't stroke me, suck me, or fuck me.
But he could kiss me.
He'd done it before, three times to be exact. Now, four.
This time, though, he grabbed me by the back of my head and pulled me deeper into his kiss. There was a newfound hunger. Biting, chewing. Ravenous.
Was it because he liked kissing me? Or was it that he loved the taste of his own cum?
And that's how I got these stains in my new suit, the evidence of Braxton's jizz on my trousers and jacket.
He guides me down the stretch of the hallway as I clumsily stumble backward, stripping my jacket from my shoulders and disposing of it on the floor. He does the same, ripping his clothes from his body, and by the time we're in my bedroom, we're both wearing nothing but our matching pants.
He spins me in a quick circle, strong hands taking hold of my hips. His mouth falls to my neck, teeth dragging over the sensitive skin. He sucks hard enough to leave marks as one hand fumbles with my belt buckle. I can't imagine he's always like this, fumbling around like a nervous virgin.
He rips my pants down my legs and allows me to step out of them, leaving me standing in nothing but my briefs that hold my cheeks in place. I wonder what he thinks about the view, but I don't have enough time to ponder before he's ripping them down too, leaving me exposed.
"Are you sure this is okay?" he growl-whispers into my ear before lapping his tongue over my jaw. He grinds his body against mine, the hardness of his cock threatening to tear through the fabric of his trousers. "That I fuck you, I mean."
"I know what you meant," I groan, because dirty talk has never been my thing.
But that's all he needs to hear. I feel the commotion of his hands behind me, clawing at his belt buckle, the clanking of the metal ticking towards the inevitable.
He grabs both sides of my briefs and pulls them down my thighs, down my legs, and finally tears them from my feet.
With a quick shove, he pushes my exposed body onto the bed.
I crawl forward, dig through the nightstand, find the bottle of lube, and pass it to him.
I take a glance over my shoulder and go slack-jawed at the sight of him as he pushes his pants and boxers down his muscular thighs, his perfect cock springing free. It's swollen again, the crown purple, like it hasn't been touched for weeks. I always knew he was a horny bastard, but Jesus Christ.
He doesn't bother fully undressing as he scrambles towards the bed, his movements restricted by the underwear around his thighs.
He makes quick work popping the cap and pouring a generous amount of lube into his hand.
I watch as he slicks his cock in a hurry, giving it a few pumps before tossing the bottle onto the floor.
He comes to a stop at the edge of the bed and I take in the sight of him working himself over, pumping slowly.
His gaze meets mine and it stays there, and I'm not sure who's more nervous.
The straight boy who is about to fuck a guy for the first time or the total bottom who hasn't been fucked in a month.
In any other scenario, Braxton wouldn't be the nervous one.
Here, though... he's different. Restrained, cautious, excited but hesitant. His chest heaves in tandem with an exaggerated inhale, working to steady his breathing, I wager. He cocks his head to the side first and then flips his gaze to the ceiling. Breathes a little bit harder.
"We don't have to do this," I say quietly, offering him a final way out but saying a silent prayer he doesn't take me up on the offer.
His gaze shoots straight back to me, a sparkle in his ocean eyes. "I'm not a quitter." His admission stirs something inside me, bringing about a smirk on my face. He smirks back, his lips hitching at the corner. "Happy birthday, Pookie."
My head is a hurricane of hormones and emotions, and I can't discern if this whole fucking thing is his very special way of celebrating my birthday or if it's all a charade to mask that he really wants this for himself.
He would most certainly say the former, but his slick cock tells me it's the latter.
I direct my attention to the wall in front of me, wrap my hands around the extra-large pillow, and brace for impact as I feel the mattress shift behind me, the weight of his body compressing the springs.
He nudges my thighs apart with his knees, crawls over me, and nudges his slick cock between my cheeks.
"Happy birthday to you," he sing-whispers into my ear with a playful giggle. "Happy birthday to you."
I mouth a laugh into the pillow.