Page 81 of Man On

"Why do you smell so fucking good?" I mumble against him as my hand slides onto his thigh. He inhales sharply as my palm runs up the length of his erection. I groan in his neck. "Please tell me this is for me, little brother."

"Noah—"

"Park in the back corner, near the trees," I instruct him, ignoring whatever else he was about to say. It's grown dark enough that no one is likely to see inside the windows, and the streetlights don't reach this corner of the parking lot. He obeys, like the submissive little slut he is. Fuck, it does things to me. I want to climb in his lap and ride him like a bull. While he maneuvers the car, I quickly adjust myself so I can move around.

The moment he parks, I'm already out of my seatbelt and reaching over him. My mouth passes close enough to his that I can feel his breath against my lips, but he pulls his face back. Smirking as if I don't desperately want to kiss him, I grab the lever to drop the seat back a little. Lane makes a little "oh!" of surprise that makes me chuckle, and then I'm wasting zero time unfastening his belt and pulling the zipper down.

"Uh-um..."

Keeping my hands exactly where they are, I freeze and turn my head to look at Lane. His eyes are closed, his brows pulled in, like he might be actually unsure about this.

"Do you want me to stop?" I ask.

Lane bites his lip, and fuck, it's not fair. I'm so distracted by it that I don't have any concept of how long it takes him to answer.

"N-no."

My eyes jerk back up to his, and I pin him with a glare. "Say it, then."

"I don't want you to stop."

"What do you want me to do?"

His eyes are almost pleading with me. "Noah?—"

"Tell me you want me to suck your cock."

He chokes, "W-what?"

"You heard me. I want to hear you say the words," I say, leaning into him. The closer my face gets to his, the wider his eyes get with panic. My jaw touches his, just barely skimming the stubble of my cheek against his smooth-shaven skin, and my mouth touches his ear. "I want to hear that pretty church boy mouth say all the dirty, nasty, naughty things you want me to do to you."

His voice is barely more than a whisper, the low tenor of his voice sending chills up and down my spine. "And wh-what if I want to do those things t-to you?"

Fuck.

A pained groan escapes me. "Don't fucking tease me Lane, unless you want me to whip it out and fuck you in the face right here, right now."

His face transforms, fluctuating through an array of colors from pink to deep purple, eyes wide, pupils blown. He opens his mouth to say something, but gapes silently. I think he might have stopped breathing.

Oh holy fuck. "You want that?" I think I'm in shock. There’s no possible way that?—

He closes his mouth, and his gaze drops to my crotch. I'm in an awkward position, one knee in my seat, the other pressing painfully into the center console. Neither of us is small enough to be fucking around in a car like this.

Lane's shoulder shifts, and his hand touches the inside of the knee closest to him. I keep my eyes firmly locked on his as it trails, ever so slowly, upwards, until he's cupping my balls and the bottom of the erection I had to pull up against my stomach. His hand squeezes as he runs his palm up, up, up until his fingers are dipping beneath the waistband and skimming the wet head of my cock.

He pulls his hand back, staring at his fingers. Not able to stand it anymore, I take hold of his hand and guide him to put his fingers in his mouth. He makes a little moaning sound.

"Want some more?" I ask, my whispers and our body heat fogging up the windows already.

Eyes on mine, he nods, biting his bottom lip. He has that shark look again, and I know he's all mine right now. He's zeroed in on me, and we're the only two people in the world. Nothing is going to pull him away from this frenzy.

I pull his lip away from his teeth with my thumb, rubbing against it and pushing into his wet mouth.

"Are you going to give me this pretty mouth, Lane?"

His mouth closes around my thumb when he swallows. Then, with my thumb trapped, he swirls his tongue around it and sucks gently.

"Fuck, Lane," I whisper, and use my free hand to undo the fly on my jeans. Lane helps me tug my jeans and boxers down around my ass, while I wrap my hand around myself and stroke.

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