Page 111 of Employing Patience

The promise of smelling like him for a little while longer makes me melt into his chest. My lips follow the path down to his soft belly, to the patch of hair running into his briefs. I curl my fingers under the elastic and pull down slowly, slowly, until the mushroom tip pokes out.

It still makes me nervous and excited, wanting to do good, and being faced with the evidence of how much I turn him on sends lust surging through me.

I wrap my lips around the head of his cock, circling it with my tongue.

Art’s hand finds my hair. “God, I love being able to hold on like this.”

I love the way he does it too. It’s steadying. Powerful. Makes my cock absolutely ache at the way he takes charge.

I hum around him, lowering his briefs, revealing more of his steely hard shaft. His precum leaks onto my tongue, and I sink into the taste.

No one has ever made me feel the way he does. Sexually, yes, it’s a huge side of our relationship, but the feeling goes deeper than that. Consumes more. Of being wanted, craved, physically and emotionally. No matter how many people I’ve been with before him and how many people come after, I can’t imagine anything coming close to this. This rightness.

Soul mates are bullshit, but here I am, tonsils-deep on his cock and more sure than ever that he’s it.

Me and Art?

We’re meant to be.

I sink down onto him deeper, suck harder, loving the way he reacts to everything I do. His breathing, his movements, his hold on my hair. When Art likes something, he lets me know, and I’ve never realized what an amazing thing that is during sex. It gives me room to play and try out new things, and if he doesn’t like something I do, he’s happy to speak up. Instead of being offended by it, all it does is make me work harder next time.

I trust him to be selfish in what he wants, like I trust him to give me everything I need.

Sex has never been so freeing and fun.

I pull off him with a pop and lean in to circle his balls with my tongue. Art spreads his legs, kicking his briefs off the side of his bed and reaching down to stroke himself. Seeing his big, powerful hand making himself feel good is a complete turn-on.

I push up onto my knees and move between his thighs, then spit into my hand and stroke myself slowly.

“I want you to come on me,” Art says. “Then, you’re going to finish the blow job you started and swallow every drop I have for you.”

I’m only one horny step away from giving him a “yes, sir,” but I keep myself under control. Well, as under control as I can be while strangling my cock, desperate for release. The whole time I jerk off, Art’s hands explore. My sides and my chest, my thighs, my arms. He pinches my nipples, reaches down to tug on my balls, and even pulls me up to straddle his hips so he can rub his cock over my ass cheeks.

Having his blunt head skimming my taint and passing so close to my hole is making me crave him. I want to reposition his dick, press it to my entrance, slowly press myself down onto him until I’m fully stretched and impaled.

With no prep, I’m not going to risk hurting myself, but it’s good to know Art brings that need out in me.

His thumb sneaks into the furrow between my thigh and my balls, and it sends a spark of lust through me.

“Hot damn, that feels good.”

His wicked smirk. Another brush over the sensitive skin. My balls draw up tighter.

“Seriously, Art, that’s gonna set me off.”

“You think I care? I want you to come. As fast as possible. I’ll take any trick that will get you there as soon as I can.”

I’m close to sobbing over how good it feels and hating that he so easily found a weakness of mine. If Art’s good at anything though, it’s reading people, and being in the bedroom is no exception.

My orgasm is building, and the incessant pressure growing under my skin, making it feel too tight, making me want to fucking explode right out of it, is almost too much. My cock swells in my hand, red and angry and ready to blow.

I’m close. So close there’s no stopping it. So close I wouldn’t want to.

My gaze rakes over Art’s gorgeous face, his thick chest, his mouthwatering arms, and heat builds in my gut. Burns south. Singes and sparks along my spine while I jerk off like I’m racing to the finish line.

“Hurry up,” Art says. “I want your mouth on me when I blow, and we’re running out of time here.”

“You close?”

---