Page 63 of Protecting the Nerd

Finally, finally, Quillon had enough of the teasing. Or maybe it was the constant stream of my plaintive whimpering and mewling, each more intense and all sounds I had never made before. He grabbed the base of my cock with his left hand in a firm grip, licked along the entire length, and suckled on the tip.

I moaned so loudly I half expected the two FBI agents to storm in, suspecting I was being tortured. And that was before Quillon took my entire dick into his mouth and sucked it down. Jesus, I was seeing stars. A whole galaxy of them.

My hands tightened on his scalp, but he didn’t seem to mind, or if he did, he didn’t say anything. I needed something to hold on to in this storm of sensations, or I would be swept away, drowned in the intensity of it. I’d had blowjobs before, but never like this. They’d always been hurried and focused on getting me off as quickly as possible, which I had approved of at the time. But no one had ever taken the time Quillon did, the care with which he pleasured me, the intense look in his eyes like I was the center of his universe.

My muscles twitched as he kept sucking me, pumping me with his left hand. “Quillon… I’m close.”

His response was a happy hum around my dick, and I was gone. My back arched off the bed as I came, spurting my load into his mouth. He took it all, greedily sucking me until he’d milked every last drop out of me. And when I was done and sagged back onto the bed bonelessly, he raised his head and licked his lips. “Yummy.”

He was the sexiest sight I’d ever laid eyes on. “Thank you,” I whispered. What was I thanking him for? More than just the blowjob that much I knew.

“My pleasure, nerdy.”

“Can you stay?”

He frowned, but the understanding dawned. “In your bed?”

“Yeah. I want to sleep next to you.”

A brief hesitation. Then, “I’d love to.”

My evening routine was different, with him watching me and doing the same things himself. Brushing teeth, peeing, washing my hands. All these normal actions I’d done thousands of times, yet they felt different. A thousand times more intimate.

When we slipped under the sheets, he held out his arm, and I snuggled close. I found the perfect position with my head on his shoulder, his arm around me, my arm flung across his waist, and my leg on top of his like a little octopus. I let out a deep sigh and instantly fell asleep.

20

QUILLON

As always, I woke at five-thirty in the morning. I’d always been a morning person, and my time in the Marines had left me unable to sleep in. On the other hand, I could also lie down anywhere and sleep if I needed it. I’d slept on the floor of airports, C-17s, dirty shacks, you name it. Hell, one time, I’d been so sleep-deprived that I’d fallen asleep, relieved from watch for a few hours, while a battle raged around me. Funny how even war could become background noise.

But waking up with York in my arms was new, and I took a few minutes to appreciate the intimacy of it. He was wrapped around me like he’d been all night. Not that I had minded. Hell, if he’d kept me awake all night, I still wouldn’t have complained. Just being with him was a reward in itself. My nerdy.

I kissed his forehead, then carefully untangled myself from his grip. My clothes were still in the guest bedroom, so I popped in there to do my morning business and get dressed.

I wanted to get my workout in first. Normally, I preferred to do this later in the day, but I needed to blow off some steam and get some tension out of my body. Tomás had a treadmill in his gym room, bless him, and I started by pounding away a 10k run, programming the machine so it would add some steep hills. Halfway in, my mind cleared, and I reached that blissful runner’s high, where my body produced all those happy endorphins. York would probably be able to explain that chemical process to me in detail, and I smiled at the thought.

I loved his sharp mind as much as I loved every other part of him. I’d never met a man who had such broad interests. He read everything he could get his hands on, from science and sociology to psychology and literature. Not history, though, which he’d told me he disliked since it had already happened. He preferred the present and the future, which made total sense. He was a Renaissance man. That was the term for it, wasn’t it? A modern Leonardo da Vinci.

And I wasn’t lying when I told him I was interested in him sharing his knowledge. Was I able to understand all of it? Hell no. A few days prior, he’d treated me to a discourse on the science behind electric cars and why he thought they weren’t much better than gas-powered cars, but I’d lost him after a few sentences. But I’d loved listening to him and watching him getting excited about it.

He was curious, as Ted Lasso would say, always approaching everything with an open, investigative mind. If only more people would do that. The world would be a better place.

The treadmill slowed into cool-down mode, and I guzzled half a bottle of water and wiped my face with a towel. After a half hour of resistance training, I called it a day and headed upstairs again.

York was a heavy sleeper, and when I opened his bedroom to check in on him, he never stirred. He lay on his stomach, which seemed his preferred sleeping position when he wasn’t clinging to me like a koala bear to an eucalyptus tree. The sheets had slipped low, revealing the lines of his back and the luscious swell of his ass. Sadly, only the top of his crack was visible.

My cock stirred, but I ignored it. Patience was a virtue, and I wasn’t rushing my relationship with York. Yes, I wanted to fuck him, and, hell yes, I wanted him to be inside me, but I could wait. I wanted to wait. It wasn’t about the destination or the goal of sex. This one was all about the journey, about enjoying everything with him for the first time. And for him, experiencing it for the first time with a man.

After taking a shower in the guest bathroom—I wasn’t risking waking York up by showering in his bathroom—I wolfed down scrambled eggs with toasted Dutch bread. Best. Thing. Ever. I had no idea what the difference was and why the bread was so much lighter and airier, but it had to have something to do with preservatives or the lack thereof. Dutch bread went stale quickly, but when it was fresh, it tasted so much better than American bread.

After unloading the dishwasher and putting everything away, then reloading it with dirty dishes, it was time to face the music.

“Quillon,” Remington said. “What’s the verdict?”

I took a deep breath. “The verdict is that the threat level has increased, and the FBI doesn’t want to take me off the job right now. It’ll take time for them to do a thorough background check on someone else, plus I’m the best man to guard York.”

“So you’ll suspend your relationship until this is over? Could be a while.”

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