Total pages in book: 32
Estimated words: 30889 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 154(@200wpm)___ 124(@250wpm)___ 103(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 30889 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 154(@200wpm)___ 124(@250wpm)___ 103(@300wpm)
“I can do that for you,” I offer, panting, because he’s clearly as desperate as I am. Since he keeps palming himself as he sucks me.
My hips move on their own. I’m forming an apology for thrusting too deep when he pulls off to mutter, “Do that again.” His voice already sounds ragged, hot, the way he’s hot on his knees, lips red, hair a mess, looking at me like he’s been thinking about this all night. Simple, in a way things haven’t been in a long time.
Eventually, he pulls off, a flourish and a pop, a wipe of his hand across his mouth. His shirt’s still on, more or less, open to reveal the top of his chest, the artwork of his tattoos. Somehow that’s sexier than if he was completely naked. I grab myself, a move he eyes with some amusement, then rocks back on his heels. “Impatient?” he asks.
It’d be rude to tell him to get back to it, even if it seems like he wants me to. Possibly for me to beg. “You’re good at that,” I say.
I’m rewarded with the slow spread of his smile. But no other reaction.
“Could you…?” I ask.
Another smirk. “Could I what?” His question is too innocent. He wants me to ask for it.
I can feel myself flush, which is stupid. I’ve spent most of my adult life in clubhouses, for fuck’s sake. I’ve heard a lot worse. Hell, in the right mood, I’ve said a lot worse. But he seems very into getting to debauch Adam Chason, certified nice guy, so if that’s what he’s after, I can at least provide that. “Um”—I put a little uncertainty in my voice—“get back to it?”
“Just wanted to hear you say suck me off,” Derek says then laughs at me, not entirely nicely.
Fine. I’ll play his game. I want the same thing. “Suck me off,” I whisper, sounding needy, feeling needier.
“Ah, I knew nice wasn’t your style,” he says with an appreciative groan. Then takes me back in his mouth. This time, there’s no messing around. My cock nudges the back of his throat. He swallows convulsively, enough for me to feel it, and that’s it, I’m tipping over the edge, hand in his hair to keep him still as I come.
After, he coughs a few times. “You could warn a guy, Chason.”
“It’s, uh, Chason.” I pronounce it phonetically. “You kinda have to say the h in your throat.”
“Oh, sorry. I had something else in my throat.”
“Which you already swallowed,” I say drily.
His blue eyes say well played. “You sure got a lot of opinions about my throat.”
“It’s a good throat,” I say, and he laughs.
Derek is still on his knees. I offer him a hand up. For a second, we stand there, Derek’s mouth a tempting red. I want to kiss him, so I do, a slower kiss than the ones that led us in here, a kiss that doesn’t feel like a one-night stand even if that’s all this is. Because he’s clearly not looking for anything serious. Even if he was, I’m not ready for it. But I’m not going to admit that to a dude I hung out with for the first time tonight, even one whose mouth I just came in.
Talking doesn’t seem to be on the agenda for him either. We kiss as we move to his bed, Derek lying back and pulling me down on top of him. His shirt’s still on, buttons digging into my chest, and he sits up enough to let me push it off his shoulders. His pants go next, kicked off, leaving him in boxer briefs, giving me a full view of the ink across his chest—a sunburst, dark against his tanned skin. Below that, another tattoo, a constellation of stars descends below the waistband of his briefs.
“You’re really hot,” I say. Smooth, Chason. Very deeply smooth.
At least Derek laughs. We make out for a while, his cock nudging my hip through the fabric of his briefs, even though he doesn’t seem like he’s in a hurry now. I peel down his last layer of clothes, pausing as he lifts his hips, and reach for his cock, rewarded with a moan against my lips that extends as I stroke him.
We’re pressed close, chest to chest, and it feels closer than we should be if this is a one-time thing. If this is nothing more than two guys blowing, pun intended, off some steam together. He kisses my neck, teeth catching like he might leave marks, and that’ll be something—walking into the clubhouse with those as a souvenir.
His breathing picks up, especially when I spit in my hand and reapply myself, thumb teasing the edge of his foreskin. “I’m close,” he breathes.
“Appreciate the warning.”
“Just trying to be polite.” He laughs slightly, then groans, deeply, and comes all over my hand.