Chapter 8
Idon’t know what makes me do it. His tone. The way he said my name. Him lying on my bed, naked and unashamed, looking at me like no one ever has. My fingers find the knot on the belt. It comes loose easily. I shrug and the terrycloth slides off, pooling at my feet.
I’m naked. In front of him. The desk lamp catches every pale, exposed inch of me. The thin, wiry muscle of my arms and legs. The jutting angles of my hips and collarbones. My cock is fully, embarrassingly hard, pointing right at him. But I fight the urge to cover myself.
Trey’s eyes move over me. Slow. A long sweep that lights my skin on fire.
“See?” he says. “That wasn’t so hard.”
I don’t know what to do with my hands. They hang at my sides, fists clenching and unclenching. My heart is hammering so loud I’m sure he can hear it. His gaze drops to my cock, then climbs back to my face.
“Well. That’s not true, is it?” A grin. “Part of you is very hard.”
My face burns. I don’t have a comeback. I don’t have anything. Just the roaring in my ears and the desperate, aching need that’s been building for days, finally boiling over.
“I’m—”
“Don’t. Don’t you dare say sorry.” He sits up straighter, adjusting himself. “Look what you’re doing to me.”
That’s when I see it. The gradual thickening. The heavy weight of him starting to lift off his thigh. He’s getting hard too. That big cock of his getting even bigger. The sight of it empties my brain like a pulled plug.
“Yeah,” he says, seeing my reaction. “You’re not the only one.” He wraps a hand around himself, one slow stroke from base to tip. A bead of fluid glistens at the slit. “This is what you do to me.”
I can’t believe this is real. The guy I was terrified of bumping into in the hallway. The one I listened to through the wall, sketched until my fingers cramped. He’s stroking himself to full hardness. Because of me.
“So you’re…” I swallow. “This isn’t just... you’re actually into guys?”
His brow creases. “Does it matter? I’m into you.”
That makes it somehow even more absurd. How could a guy like him, someone who looks like that, with that kind of confidence, be interested in me? I’m an awkward art student who hides in his room. But the look he’s giving me, that dark heat in his eyes, makes it hard to argue.
“I’ve never…” The words die in my throat.
“Never what?” His thumb circles the head of his cock, smearing the wetness. “And relax. I can see you vibrating from over here.”
“I’ve never... done this. With a guy.”
“What are we doing? We’re just hanging out.”
“I mean?—”
“I know what you mean.” He stops stroking but keeps his hand where it is, wrapped around the thick shaft. “But you still haven’t told me what you want. You gotta use your words, Nico.”
I take a shaky breath. How do I say it? My thoughts are filthy, but saying them out loud is a different skill.
“So you never had a cock in that pretty mouth,” he says when I don’t answer.
I shake my head.
“Wanna try?”
My throat is tight. All I can do is nod.
“Then come here.”
I cross the distance between us on legs that don’t feel like mine.
He’s sitting on the edge of the bed now, feet on the floor, knees apart.
His cock stands straight up, curving just slightly toward his stomach.
It’s beautiful. A perfect, intimidating column of flesh.
Darker than the rest of him, with thick veins running the length of the shaft.
I sink to my knees on the cold linoleum. It bites into my kneecaps, but I barely feel it. There are other things on my mind. Like the musky scent of him, clean and aroused. The heat coming off his body. The sight of that rigid cock inches from my face.
“Go on,” he says softly. “Touch it.”
My hand trembles as I reach for him. His skin is hotter than I expected. Velvet over steel. I can feel the pulse hammering through the vein on the underside. He’s so much bigger than me. Longer and thicker and heavy in my grip. I run my thumb over the slick head, and he lets out a low groan.
“Yeah. Just like that.”
Holding someone else’s cock is nothing like holding your own. The weight, the texture, how he twitches when my thumb circles the ridge below the head. It feels like I’m holding a living thing. Which I guess I am. Wild and powerful, and I have no idea how to handle it.
Trey’s hands come to my shoulders, guiding me forward. “Get it wet.”
My heart is in my throat. This is it. This is actually happening.
I lean in and press the flat of my tongue to the base of his shaft.
He sucks in a sharp breath. The taste is clean and mineral, a little salty.
I drag my tongue up to the tip, tracing the prominent vein.
I have no idea what the hell I’m doing, but his fingers tighten on my shoulders, so I must be doing something right.
I open my mouth and take the head inside. My jaw stretches wide to fit him. The smooth, spongy skin presses against my tongue. I close my lips around the ridge and suck, gentle at first, then harder, swallowing the fluid that leaks from him.
“Fuck,” he groans, one hand moving to the back of my head, fingers tangling in my hair. “You taste that? That’s all you.”
A thrill shoots through me. Me. I’m the reason he’s so hard, the reason he’s leaking all over my tongue. I slide my lips down, taking as much of him as I can, which isn’t much before he hits the back of my throat. I gag and pull back, coughing, tears welling in my eyes.
“Easy.” His thumb strokes my temple. “Relax your throat. Breathe through your nose.”
I try again. Slower. I focus on breathing, on the feel of him in my mouth. I take him a little deeper, my hand wrapped around the base where my mouth can’t reach. My jaw aches, but it’s a good ache. I like the fullness, the stretch of my lips. The grunts and sighs he makes.
I find a rhythm. Bobbing my head, tongue swirling around the tip.
Every time I slide down, I try to take a little more.
My spit slicks him up, and the sounds are wet and messy and obscene.
I get a little further each time, but barely.
There’s still so much of him I can’t reach.
And he’s getting even harder, thicker, swelling in my mouth.
How does he keep growing? How much bigger can he get?
“Yeah, that’s it. Just like that.” His voice is strained. “Look at me, Nico.”
I look up at him without pulling off and find him watching me, pupils blown, lips parted. His chest rises and falls fast. The muscles in his stomach are clenched tight.
“You like that? Like that big cock in your pretty mouth?”
Fuck. He’s so much better at talking dirty than me. I answer with a moan, and that spurs him on.
“It looks good too. So fucking hot with your lips stretched around me. My neighbor.” A low laugh. “The quiet little artist. Not so quiet now though, are you? Not with your mouth full. Slurping and gagging and drooling all over my dick. So desperate for it.”
The heat that floods me is so intense it feels like a fever.
He’s right. I am desperate. I love this.
I love being on my knees for him, serving him, making him feel good with my mouth.
My free hand grips his thigh and I can feel the tension coiled in the muscle.
He’s holding back. Keeping his hips still.
Letting me set the pace when every part of him wants to take over.
I take a breath and push down, forcing myself deeper. My throat spasms, tears stinging my eyes, but I push through it. When I try to swallow around him, he curses under his breath.
“You trying to deep-throat me?” A note of disbelief.
Yeah, that was overly ambitious. He’s too big. My throat locks up and my stomach lurches. For a second I think I’m going to throw up. I pull back, dragging in air, strings of spit connecting my lips to the head of his cock. My chin is all wet and sticky.
Trey cups my face in his hands. His thumbs wipe at the mess. “Hey. Slow down. You don’t have to prove anything.”
“But I want to.”
“What you’re doing is already great. Trust me.” He leans down, his forehead touching mine. I can see flecks of gold in his dark eyes. “You’re making me feel so good, Nico.”
The way he says my name. Like it’s something precious. My chest aches with it. He’s been so straight with me, so unapologetic, and I owe him the same. I want to be honest with him. Completely and brutally honest, in a way I’ve never been with anyone.
“I listened to you,” I blurt out. “Through the wall. That night after I came over.”
He pulls back, eyebrows furrowed. “Listened to me? What do you mean?”
“You woke me up. The moaning. The bed hitting the wall. And I…”
Understanding crosses his face, followed by a dangerous smile. “You listened to me jack off?”
My face is on fire. “I couldn’t help it.”
“I thought you said the walls weren’t that thin.” He’s enjoying this. I can see it in the glint in his eyes. Did he know I was lying? Did he do it on purpose?
“They are. I hear everything, Trey. Every single sound. I’m sorry.”
“Everything?” His hands move back to my head, fingers threading through my hair. “So you heard me say your name?”
My heart stops, then starts again, pounding double-time. “What?”
“That night. I couldn’t get you out of my head. Those big eyes. That cute little ass. How you got all flustered when you saw me in my underwear. You had me so worked up, Nico.” He grinds against my palm. “Had to take care of it. And when I came, your name was on my lips.”
I don’t think. I lunge forward and press my mouth against his. His stubble scrapes my chin, his tongue finds mine, and for the first time in my life, I understand. I understand what makes people crazy. What makes them write poetry and start wars and burn cities to the ground.
It’s this. The softness of his lips. The scrape of his teeth on my bottom lip.
How he pulls me in, one hand gripping my head, the other grabbing my ass and squeezing hard.
It’s better than any fantasy. Fumbling with girls, the half-hearted attempt with Gemma, none of it prepared me for this.
This voracious, all-consuming hunger. This feeling of wanting to climb inside someone and live there.
I pour everything into it. Every mumbled apology, every shy glance, every hour spent bent over my sketchbook trying to capture a fraction of what he’s making me feel right now.
And he’s kissing me back just as hard, breath mingling, spit slicking our lips, teeth clicking together.
It’s nothing like the movies. It’s messy and desperate and urgent, like this is our last night on earth.
And for all I care, it could be. I’d die happy like this. In Trey’s arms, his cock hard against my stomach, his tongue in my mouth.
“Knew you’d be a good kisser,” he murmurs against my lips. “So eager.”
I don’t want to stop, but he pulls back, panting. His lips are swollen and slick.
“Get up,” he says.
“But I?—”
“Get up.”
I scramble to my feet, knees protesting. I’m wobbly, a little dizzy from the intensity of it. Trey rises with me, his body pressing close, heat radiating off his skin. He turns me around and guides me forward until I’m standing in front of the easel with the rough outline of his portrait.
“Keep drawing,” he says, hands on my waist, holding me in place.
“You... what?”
“Draw me. While I do this.” He drops to his knees behind me. I don’t have time to process it before his hands are on my ass, spreading me open.
Then his tongue is there.
A warm, wet stripe over my hole.