Page 72 of By the Pint

“Spit,” I said, lifting my hand up to his lips. Without question, he spat in my palm, and I did the one-handed-lube-spread onto my fingers. “Bring your legs forward a little. Good boy.”

Casey scooted closer on the seat so that his ass was just perched on the edge. I rubbed the wetness from his mouth against his perfect tight ring, and listened to the hiss of his breath as I breached a finger inside him, curling it, massaging that exact spot.

His grip against the leather of the sofa was almost forceful enough to rip the fabric. I mentally pulled down his cock to where I wanted it and took him into my mouth once again.

A muffled sob escaped Casey’s throat as he used his own muscular forearm as a gag. I started stroking myself in time with the rhythm of my sucks.

After what seemed like only seconds, Casey was gasping, grappling at the leather.I’m gonna come, he said into my mind, apparently unable to form the words out loud. I released him from my ministrations and withdrew my fingers. He cried out, half-frustration, half-pleasurable agony.

I edged him a further three times. Us both, since I was right on the cusp with him. Each time, he became more frantic, more frenzied, more sweary. He no longer needed to tell me he was close. I knew from his groans, the erratic bucking of his hips.

“Fuck, Dima. Please, just let me come. You’re killing me.”

The fifth time I tried to edge him, I knew I had taken it one beat too far.

“Oh, gods,” he yelled, batting my face out of the way, and taking his cock in his fist, pumping furiously.

Still massaging his prostate with two fingers, I got to my feet. I didn’t want to miss a second of him. His head hit the back of the cushion, his eyes squeezed tight, his mouth open to expel his cry, and his orgasm erupted over his bare, heaving chest.

“That’s it, Moonflower. You put on such a good show for me.” I removed my fingers, leaned over him, and braced myselfon the arm of the sofa. I pumped my fist on my cock and brought my lips to his. The kiss didn’t last long. My orgasm tore through me, rendering it impossible to keep up the contact.

Casey pulled my forehead to his, and I cried out my release into the inch of space between our mouths.

“Fuck, Dima. Sweet fucking mercy,” he whispered as my climax hit him on the chest. The exact place where his had landed.

He held my forehead against his until the final aftershock had subsided. I slumped down onto the couch next to him, and I simply watched his chest rise and fall. Watched our cocktail of ecstasy trickle down over his undulating abdominals.

Casey turned his head to me, and gave a laugh that was half-coy, and half-so-fucking-adorable-it-made-me-want-to-cry. He pulled his ruined shirt from between us and wiped our mess off his chest. Then, he balled it up, and with exact precision, fired it across the suite into the wastepaper bin.

“You’re so good at sportsing,” I said, giving him my most sloppy, lovedrunk smile yet.

Casey threaded his fingers into mine and, without lifting his head from the sofa cushion, turned to look at the TV. “Oh, look at that. Rockets won. They’ll probably be in the finals now. Hey, do you want to come watch them with me?”

“I …” I faltered. A date? Was Casey Freckleman asking me out on a date? Or would we be going as fuck buddies? Would my heart be able to handle going on a date with Casey Freckleman, and then giving him up so soon afterwards? Maybe it wasn’t even a date. Maybe I was blowing it way out of proportion.

But even if it weren’t, I would do it.

Anything, literally anything, to make him happy.

“Sure, sounds fun.”

24.

Casey

There was a rock, and a hard place, and I was between both. The rock was my dick, and wanting to drop to my knees and crawl to this vampire. Beg him to take everything, have his wicked way with me, fuck the mortality right out of me. And the hard place was, for the first time in my life, wanting to put someone else’s feelings before my own.

Or maybe it was the other way around. Maybe my dick was the hard place, and the rock was, well, yeah …

Every time Dima and I were intimate, we risked developing more feelings for each other. Not that it mattered ifIdeveloped feelings. I wouldn’t remember any of them in a few months. But it wasn’t fair of me to let that happen to Dima. He was too good, and pure, and wonderful, and I couldn’t bear to be the one to tear his heart in two.

I would become immortal, and I would lose my memories, and everything we had would become somethingonly he knew about. Something that existed only in Dima’s mind. A fever dream of a past that only happened for one of us.

And I never expected that I would care about hurting someone’s feelings, but there we were. I cared about Dima. I wanted him to be happy.

I wanted him to recover from his time with me faster than I would recover from the turning process. I wanted not to rip his heart up so thoroughly it’d never mend itself. I wanted him to one day find someone that deserved him. Not someone that would take him into their life and, a few weeks later, take a big fat eraser and scrub him clean.

He deserved love. Someone he could both worship and tame. And that person would not be me.

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