Page 54 of Mitch

The moment the words left my mouth, I felt lighter, but there was still the overwhelming desire that made it hard to breathe.

I’d never felt for anyone what I felt for Mitchell.

It was truly like I’d been going through the motions, doing what I wassupposedto be doing, living blindly.

But kissing Mitchell, touching him, feeling his warmth, hearing hispraise, I knew everything, and everyone beforehim had been alie.

I’d been living a lie.

In the span of only a few hours, I’d gone on a date, made out with, and watched my hot date blow his load fromwatching me.

If there was any question or any sliver of a chance that I was straight, it had been blown to smithereens now.

Because no one had ever kissed me, flirted with me, or touched me like Mitchell.

No one ever felt this right.

A thousand things came to mind when he asked me what I wanted. I wasn’t sure about anything. None of my ex-girlfriends ever really asked what I wanted, and the one night stands didn’t really focus on my needs.

I wasn’t the type to keep asking either. If my partner didn’t want to suck my dick, I wasn’t going to push her about it.

My mind was a blur as I tried to process for the first time what it was I wanted, and the decision was as overwhelming as the reality of my throbbing cock pulsing in my hands, the wetness forming at my head, spreadingagainst my boxers.

I just knew I needed to come before I went blind with ecstasy.

“Permission to touch?” Mitch’s voice asked, bringing me back down to earth, down to reality.

“Fuck, yes! Please, just make it?—”

Theneedto feel his warm palms heating me through my shirt, to feel his fingertips graze over my sensitive skin, was something I’d never experienced with anyone before.

But I wanted more of it. I wanted more ofhim.

The warmth of his hand around mine was like water after a drought.

His hand brushed over my sensitive, strained cock, before gently, swiftly sliding up to unbutton my pants.

Somewhere in my brain, I knew this was it.

Once I let him touch my cock, I knew it would be over.

There was no going back from that.

Almost as if he could sense my turmoil, he spoke.

“If you want me to stop, just say stop, okay?” he breathed, his voice shaking as his hand hovered over my zipper,warming my cock where he had stopped.

My cockachedbeneath the heat from his palm, separated by metal and denim.

I couldn’t help but submit to the desire to thrust myself against his touch, seeking the friction.

Seeking release.

“I don’t want you to stop,” I breathed, knowing this was my death.

But it was also a sort of rebirth too.

Because I knew at that moment, I washis.

---