Page 27 of Merry & Bright

“You smell so good,” he murmured, mouthing at my prick.

I choked out a cry. “I’m going to come in my pants if you don’t watch out.”

He looked up, grinning. “That would be hot,” he said. “But let’s save it for another time. I want this bad boy in my mouth.”

“Oh, Jesus.”

He slid his thumbs into the waistband of my trunks and drew them down, careful to ease the waistband over my hard shaft. My cock sprang free with an exuberant bounce that made us both laugh, and when Rob looked up at me, grin wide, warm eyes dancing with amusement, I felt the weirdest bolt of—God, I don’t know. It was lust and fondness together. Laughter and desire, a heady mix of different pleasures that somehow connected all the different parts of me, my cock and my brain and my heart.

Fuck, what was I thinking?

What indeed? Suddenly Icouldn’tthink—because Rob had lowered his head again and his hand was gripping me as he readied himself to taste me.

I gasped when his tongue finally touched me, lapping a warm circle over the blunt head of my cock, once, twice, three times before his mouth engulfed me and he took me in fully. His fist prevented him going too deep at first, but I couldn’t stop a whimper. Could only stand there, legs barely able to hold me up as I watched him work.

After a while, he opened his fist, loosening his grip on me somewhat, but still cradling my shaft with the side of his hand, revealing my flushed length to his hungry gaze. Then, canting his head to the side, he began licking stripes up and down my cock, driving more whimpers from my throat and prompting me to reach for him, my hand clutching at his shoulder. His tongue moved in wet, lavish worship, snaking down lower to slide over my balls. I shuddered at the first slither of wetness on my scrotum, then groaned when he dipped his head to press a few wet, sucking kisses there.

“Fucking hell,” I managed to get out. “I’m really close.”

Rob hadn’t even put my whole cock in his mouth yet and I was ready to blow like a geyser. I wasn’t sure why I’d got so turned on so quickly, perhaps it was something about the pleasure Rob was taking from this himself. Sometimes sex felt like taking turns—you get me off, then it’s my turn. This wasn’t anything like that. Rob was giving me everything, but from the noises he was making he was getting off on it as much as I was, and that was so fucking hot.

He was licking his way up my shaft again now, rising higher on his knees. Distantly, I was aware that I was whimpering and groaning, muttering swear words and pleas, one hand clutching at his shoulder, the other drifting into his thick hair. And then—oh fuck!—then his mouth drove down over my throbbing dick and I was plunging into heat and warmth and suction. I yelled out, my fingers tightening in his silky hair.

I surrendered myself to the pleasure, to the heat, to the clasping muscles in his cheeks and his tongue swirling on me, and the light graze of his teeth as he worked me hard. And now I really was going to come, I could feel it, deep inside me, roiling like magma.

I leaned back a little, loosening my grip on him, wanting to see him when I blew. He looked up at me. So stupidly handsome. Deep brown eyes, extravagant lashes, and that gorgeous mouth sucking me. Our eyes met. His were filled with heat and desire and something fierce that sucker-punched me, but I couldn’t think about what that was, or what it meant because my orgasm was happening now.

“I’m coming,” I choked out and he closed his eyes again, giving himself over to these last moments. I came long, hard and hot and Rob stayed with me the whole way, hands on me, mouth on me, letting me see his pleasure as he tasted me and devoured me and finished me off altogether.

I was dazed when it was finally done, my legs wobbly. I stumbled my way down to the floor beside him, still blinking confusedly, my legs a tangle of jeans and Calvin Kleins. Rob rearranged me so I was lying on my back and settled his big body over me. I offered him my mouth to kiss and he took it with a groan, tongue plunging inside.

After a few moments, he drew back, breathing hard, and muttered, “Jesus, Quin, you’re so fucking hot and I’ve wanted you for so long.”

“Yeah?” I smiled at him foolishly and reached for his fly.

“God, yeah.” He arched his back to give me room to unfasten his zip, then reached down to shove his loosened jeans down, baring himself. His cock thrust against me, hot and rude and demanding.

I laughed and tried to wriggle up on to my elbows, “Jesus Christ, that feels like a monster! Let me see it.”

He pushed me gently back, his gaze anguished. “Later, just let me—” He broke off without finishing his plea and began to rock against me, his cock finding then following the groove between groin and hip.

I could feel how close he was, how desperate, could sense too that he wanted to preserve the intimacy that had built between us as he sucked me off. So I didn’t argue, just relaxed beneath him and raised my mouth to kiss him again, threading the fingers of one hand into his hair as I plunged my tongue deep.

The noise he made in his throat at my surrender—desperate, grateful—gave me more pleasure than I’d have thought possible. How could it feel this good to give, rather than take? But it did. It felt as amazing to witness and share in his pleasure as it had to experience my own a few moments before. And when his hips began piston faster and his rhythm faltered, when he finally began to come in desperate pulses against me, pleasure flooded me. Not sexual pleasure, but something else.

It was, I realised with a start, happiness.