Chapter seven Gareth #2
It's the faintest of touches, light as a feather, but it has me biting down on my lip and fisting the sheets. I'm impossibly hard, a pool of precum leaking from my tip. I love Lindsey, and God bless her, but it was never like this with her. I've never been so hard; my cock has its own heartbeat.
This time he caresses my ass with more force, an undeniable presence.
I wonder how far we'll take it tonight. I could only afford a few hours with him, and I'm not sure how long we've been at this.
It could have been minutes or hours. I've dropped into some sort of mind-frame where I'm fully present in my own body, unaware of time or literally anything beyond where his hands are touching my skin.
"Color?"
I breathe out a shaky breath.
I'm here. I've paid for this experience - this time with him.
And I'm not uncomfortable. He's taken extra care to make sure I'm comfortable with this experience.
It's more than I deserve. But that's the kind of man Trey is.
Even in high school, he never fought back.
It made him an easy target. I don't know why he let me bully him so much, but he's forgiven me, so I have to forgive myself.
I nod. "Green."
Suddenly, his touch is gone, and I'm instantly chilled. I raise my head, scared he's backing out of this entire arrangement or that I unknowingly crossed a line for him, but he's simply stood to reach for a bottle I hadn't noticed on the nightstand.
When he turns his back to me, I see a massive tattoo covering his entire back.
It's black, on his bronze skin, and I can't quite make out what it's of.
It seems geometric with long interconnecting lines.
I'm not sure if it makes an image, but it suits him and is so gorgeous.
It makes him even more intimidating and mysterious.
What is it? Why did he get it? What does it mean for him?
He resumes his position next to me on the bed and flicks the cap of the bottle open, a tiny grin tugging at his lips.
He grips my cheek again as I rest my head back on the mattress, close my eyes, and focus on the here and now.
I flinch again, as cold liquid hits my crack, followed quickly by one of his fingers - his thumb, I think - massaging the liquid and warming it up.
"Take a deep breath for me and relax. I'm going to push in, alright?" His voice is so low, so intimate, so only for me, it makes goosebumps spread across my body.
I nod, but then remember the rules. "Green."
"Good." Good Lord, the way his voice acts like another caress.
I will my muscles to relax, even as I'm being torn apart by lust and vulnerability. He breaches my tight ring of muscles, and I whimper again, gripping the sheets so tightly my fingers ache.
The feeling is so strange, and so foreign, and so naughty feeling, that I can't help but squirm.
"Good?" he asks, flexing the digit and massaging my inner walls.
"Oh, God," I whimper again. "So good." I moan, mewl, whimper, and sigh as he keeps up his ministrations.
"Need to come?"
"God… yes… so… bad..." I pant out between sharp breaths, sawing in and out of my chest.
"Turn onto your back," he commands, and I flip over instantly, gripping my cock in a death grip as my balls pull tight.
He slides a digit back inside of me, and when I open my eyes to see him resting back on his legs, between mine, I explode with a loud moan, coming all over my chest and abs.
My back bows off of the mattress, but he doesn't let up.
He massages me through it, and I come so hard my vision blackens on the edges.
The most gorgeous man I've ever seen is between my legs, touching me, watching me with his calm demeanor as I lose myself in my first gay experience.
When I finally collapse, releasing my dick and breathing through the most intense orgasm of my life, he slides his finger out of me and just waits. God, he's a pro at this - at making people feel comfortable with him. Even wrung out, covered in sweat and cum.
I know I paid him, and he didn't get off, but I hope it was good for him.
When my heart starts to slow, I open my eyes to find him watching me silently. His face is completely devoid of any emotion, and the insecurity creeps back in. I drop my gaze to his pants, a sliver of satisfaction slicing through me, seeing it tented.
"Do you..." I ask, nodding to his waist, unable to ask outright what I mean.
His gaze drops to his watch. "We have half an hour left. Do you want to continue?" he asks, matter-of-factly, and something in my chest falls at the reminder that this is all transactional for him. I just had the most mind-blowing experience of my life, and this is just another job for him.
Do I want to continue? What do I want to do? Jack him off? Put my mouth on him? Yes. I want to see him. I want to know what he looks like when he comes. I want him to know I'm not a selfish lover. Even if we never become lovers in the future.
I nod. "Yes. I want to... I want to blow you." Honesty, remember?
He nods before positioning himself against the headboard again, undoing his belt, kicking off his shoes and socks, and shrugging out of his slacks and black boxer briefs. Good God, this man is incredible.
Thick thighs coated in dark, soft-looking hair.
Hard, dark cock, red and angry-looking. Something settles behind my sternum.
He's exuding a calm intensity, but he's clearly affected by me.
It beats back some of my insecurity. He's a professional at this and is still hard for me.
For me. He exudes such confidence, even completely naked, that I envy.
I crawl forward a little on my knees, my cock kicks, trying to make a rebound, seeing him in all his naked glory, but it's spent.
"Um... how should I... " I start, unsure of this entire process.
He sees my nerves and my uneasiness, and instead of teasing me about it, he's calm - commanding. "Do to me what you'd like done to you."
Oh, right. I like blow jobs. I crawl forward again, reaching out with a shaky hand to wrap it around his cock. The vein on the bottom is angry, thick, and I lick my lips in anticipation. I've never had a cock in my mouth, but I guess there's a first time for everything.
I bring it to my lips as I bend forward.
I'm at once hit by the masculine smell of him.
His body wash or deodorant, but warmed by his body heat and musky.
I swipe at the head with my tongue, tasting a man for the first time.
I never enjoyed going down on my wife, and would do the bare minimum to warm her up. Maybe that was my first red flag.
But I find I like the taste of him - the smell of him. I gather saliva in my mouth before lowering my head more, wrapping my lips around him, and taking him as far back as I can.
One of his large hands wraps around the back of my neck.
Not commanding or controlling. He doesn't push or pull me, but that added connection is something I didn't know I needed.
He's not using me. It's the touch of a lover - a grounding.
He could have not touched me at all, or grabbed the back of my head and shoved me down on him, but he didn't. He's simply touching me for the sake of touching me, and it causes a riot of goosebumps to break out over my entire body.
Somehow, it's almost as intimate as having a finger inside of me.
I work my mouth and hand in tandem, giving him the sloppiest blow job I can. Above me, his breathing goes ragged, and I change our angle so that I can look up at him. He's watching me with intensity, nostrils flaring as his breathing speeds up.
I flick my tongue on the underside of his cock, remembering how sensitive it is for me, and he grunts, his abs contracting and his hips flexing instinctively. So, I do it again, and again, watching as the gorgeous, stoic man in front of me loses his cool. For me.
"I'm going to cum," he grunts out, squeezing the back of my neck in warning. But I don't change a thing. Saliva's spilling from my mouth onto my hand, creating the best kind of warm, wet friction that I think he likes.
"Fuck," he shouts, throwing his head back as his hips flex and his cock swells on my tongue.
"Gareth," he whispers as the first burst of cum hits my tongue.
I've never tasted cum before, and I find I don't mind it.
It's salty and musky, but not at all unpleasant.
I slow my rhythm, slowly milking him of everything he has until he collapses beneath me.
I swallow his cum and release his cock, leaning back on my knees.
He releases my neck but lets that hand fall to my thigh, grounding us again.
He drags a hand down his face, groaning. "Just give me a second," he says as an apology.
Excitement, eagerness, and the need for validation ride me hard, and I can't help but blurt out, "Did I do good?" Christ, I sound like an eager puppy.
His thick lips tip up on one side. "Yeah, Brockman. You did good."
My return smile widens. When he called me by my last name before, it felt like a way to put distance between us - to keep things professional. Just now, though, it sounded a lot more like when my football friends and I would call each other by our last names. It sounded like a nickname only for us.