Page 165 of Bad for Me

Henry's eyes harden, not in anger, but with determination. He cuts his eyes to my face before he leans forward and gently presses his lips to my crown. He rolls his lips, testing how I taste before tentatively licking the slit of my cock. It takes every ounce of self-control I have to stay perfectly still, but my heart is beating rapidly from the sheer effort of not coming all over his face from just that one light touch, I have to suck in a breath and hold it. His mouth lowers, and he pulls the head of my cock into his mouth, continuing to flick his tongue over the slit with zero idea of how much it's driving me wild. He lowers a little more, taking slow, tentative sucks. He takes about half of me in before pulling back to breathe.

"I don't think I can—you know, like you can."

"That's okay. You're doing amazing. In fact, I have to warn you, if you don't want me to cum in your mouth, you might not want to do that tongue thing anymore."

Henry looks surprised, and once again I'm melting into a puddle at how endearing this unsure version of him is. With a little more confidence, he takes me in his mouth again, sucking up and down, while stroking the base of my cock that he can't quite handle yet. And while it might not be the most finessed or even the best blow job I've ever gotten, watching him come out of his shell and experiment so easily makes it the mostenjoyableblow job I've ever gotten. And when he pulls back to flick his tongue over the slit again, I gasp and clench my abs.

"Are you sure?" My voice is pained, holding back my oncoming orgasm.

He doesn't stop, only flicks his eyes up to mine briefly, and as soon as our eyes meet, I'm a goner.

"Fuck. I'm coming—" I struggle to keep my eyes open, desperately wanting to watch him slurp down my cum. My mouth drops open as I watch his throat bob with each swallow. "Oh my god," I moan, probably too loudly.

I’m lost in a haze of disbelief that one of my real-life fantasies is playing out in real life while Henry continues to suck me until I start to soften. He’s intrigued, watching my cockhead retreat back into the foreskin. I tilt my head, waiting for him to say or do something.Anything.

"I didn't think it would be so… sweet? I don't know if that's the right word. Kind of metallic, but also sweet."

I grin, but school my face so he doesn't think I'm poking fun at him. "I eat a lot of fruit. But everyone tastes different. You taste salty, and just this side of bitter. I like it," I tell him, in case he needs reassurance. " A lot." It’s the truth, I'd gulp mouthfuls of him if he'd let me suck him every day.

We sit in silence for a while, and I can tell he's really tired.

"Are you still sore?"

"A bit," he admits.

"You don't go in till late tomorrow, right?" He nods, not meeting my eye. "Well, I suggest you take one more hit and then get some rest."

He raises a skeptical brow. "I'm not sure I need any more of that," he says, but chuckles. "The last thing I need is another all-night raging boner."

I perk up. "All night, huh?"

"Oh Jesus," he mumbles, rubbing his hands over his face. "What I meant to say is that shit apparently makes me horny as hell, and I don't think I'll be doing myself any favors to smoke more. I'll stick to ibuprofen, thanks."

He avoids looking at me while he fishes our shorts out of the hot tub and wrings his out.

"What I heard is that you were up all night last night with a raging boner, which, unless I missed something, had nothing to do with smoking weed."

"You heard wrong."

"Sure I did," I say, nodding my head enthusiastically. He glares, and I roll my lips in to keep from laughing.

Henry throws a towel at me, and we make our way through the house and up the stairs. We both pause at the top of the stairs, clearly hearing Mike's snores through his door. I let out a breath of relief, and Henry's shoulders relax. He walks to his room and closes the door behind him without another word.

I wash up and get ready for bed, overthinking about how Henry might be worried about what we did, out in the open where Mike could have witnessed. Henry's is the only bedroom that faces the backyard, and I like to think we would have noticed if Mike came back downstairs since he would have triggered the patio light. Still, it was risky. And I don't want Henry to pull back or stress over it all night. I liked the easy, humorous way we left things before reality hit. Hoping I can negate any negative feelings, I pull up Henry's phone number on my cell, and send him a text.

Ian

For the record, you weren't the only one suffering last night. And if it happens again, I'm just across the hall.

I push send and watch as the message marks itself delivered, and then read. Three little dots pop up, then disappear, then pop up again. A text never comes through, but I fall asleep with a smile on my face, nonetheless.

7

HENRY

By the timeI wake up, it's already well into the morning. I've usually gone for my run, had my coffee, and headed into work by now. But I forgot to set my alarm last night, and I had another restless night. I definitely got more sleep than the night before—once I finally stopped the hamster wheel of torment that my brain was stuck on. But even my usually meticulous internal clock didn't wake me at sunrise from the dead sleep I was in.

The house is quiet, which means the boys have headed into work. I sit on the edge of my bed and rub my right thigh. It's still sore from overdoing it yesterday. Taking a light jog is probably the best way to get over the stiffness. It usually works, and if anything else, it'll help me wake up and get my head right before I have to tackle the day ahead.

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