Page 11 of The Cartographer

“Because I like you, Hart. I think what you’d really enjoy is to run your tongue up and down my dick and hollow your cheeks until I blow my load in your mouth.” I shrug in the face of his bugging eyes and tendons straining in his neck. “What can I say? I’m a giver.”

I’m playing with fire. I don’t know what’s gotten into me. Except that’s a lie. I totally know. I want Hart on his knees for me so badly I’d do unspeakable things for the privilege. That’s what it would be to have this massive and fetching man grinding the knees of his jeans into the pavement while he takes me in his mouth. I hope he knows I think so.

Before I can open my mouth to try to coax him into it, my back’s meeting the wall with a thud and there are fingers digging into my shoulder in a way most people would find painful. I was so wrong about being able to make a run for it.

I try to keep my breath even in the face of a possible ass-kicking. Poor Matthew will be upset if I have to call him from the ER. He frets about me so. But instead of Hart’s meaty fist meeting my face, there’s a yanking at my belt, and with some fumbling, it comes loose.Fuck, yes.

Then Hart’s bulk is sliding down my body as he digs in my pants and pulls out my cock, stroking the semi I’ve got and turning it oh-so-quickly into a full hard-on. The man’s got amazing hands. Big and work-roughened, but gentle. Before I can say anything, the slick heat of his mouth is surrounding me. Fuck all is that good.

I let my head drop back against the brick as he works me over. The way he moves makes me think he wasn’t lying about never having sucked cock before. Not that it’s bad—most men have a pretty decent idea of what feels good to them and it’s not so hard to try to mimic that—but it’s…inexperienced. I kind of love the sloppiness of it, knowing I’m his first.

He’s tentative at the beginning, experimenting, and I lay a hand on the side of his neck for reassurance. What I’d like to do is grip his head on both sides and fuck his face, but there’s no way he’s ready for that and I don’t know him well enough to say if he’d enjoy it. If I’d find his dick swelled with desire, maybe moisture beading at the tip. It makes me happy he doesn’t flinch away from my touch or bat my fingers away. Perhaps he’s forgotten how angry he was at me.

Having gotten his bearings, he’s now going at me like he’s driving a horse to the finish. It’s not unpleasant per se, but… “This isn’t a race, Hart. Take your time. Enjoy.”

Sure, we’re in an alley and could technically be discovered at any moment and I suppose we shouldn’t make a meal of it, but I find myself wishing Hart’s first time were something more…elegant. Or, at least, not quite so hurried. But maybe he likes the illicitness, the fear of getting caught driving him higher. It frustrates the hell out of me that I don’t know.

His fervent strokes slow as he does what I asked and takes his time. He explores more, running his tongue around the crown and down the shaft of my cock, grazing his teeth ever-so-gently over the delicate skin, and the feeling sends shivers up my spine. Tantalizing and provocative at once, it takes all I have to keep my hips pinned against the wall. I told him to relax and enjoy, and that’s what he’s doing.

After minutes that feel like hours because I’m bracing myself against the crazy amount of pleasure he’s providing between his actual movements, his sweetly graceless enthusiasm, and yes, of course, his obedience, I’m ready to come and his jaw must be getting sore. He’s unpracticed, and blowjobs take a certain group of muscles most people haven’t worked much. Save brass players, god love them.

“I’m close,” I tell him, wondering if he’ll pull away. He doesn’t. So I stroke his neck and warn him one more time because no one ever accused me of not being thorough. “If you don’t stop, I’m going to spill in your mouth.”

He does stop then, and I try to ignore the itch of disappointment. That’s fine. Sucking cock for the first time is kind of a big deal, and I wouldn’t blame him for being gun-shy of a throatful of come. Instead of retreating fully, he wraps a hand around the base of my erection and looks up at me, dark eyes almost black in the low light.

“I want to…taste you.”

The back of my head thunks against the wall as I drop it back and close my eyes. “Please do.”

His mouth is on me again a split-second later, and between that and the tender but firm grip he’s got on the part of me he can’t reach with the hot wetness of his mouth, I’m ready. I tighten my fingers on his neck, and he swallows me deeper.

Some guys are quite proud of their enormous cocks, and sure, if that’s all you’ve got going for you, that’s fine. But I prefer to provide pleasure other ways. I’m perfectly average in this department, and in some ways, that makes my life easier. No one ever pales when they see my dick. And Allie’s doing a damn fine job surrounding me. So damn fine I can’t hold out a second longer, and frankly I don’t want to.

Though he’s said he wants to taste me, I still have manners and I also don’t want him to bite down in surprise when my release floods his mouth. “I’m coming, Hart.”

I do, my orgasm gripping me in its throes and making me weak in the knees, my breath come in pants. His sucking gentles but doesn’t stop, like he wants to draw every last bit of my climax out of me and into him. As though it’s a gift he wants to savor.

When he’s gleaned every last drop, I stroke his cheek with my thumb. He pulls away, sitting back on his heels. I can see the thick line of his own hardness through his jeans. So he did enjoy himself. Not that I didn’t gather that from his keenness, but it’s nice to have confirmation.

“Nicely done, Hart. I haven’t come like that in weeks.”

Which is true. Matthew is certainly adroit at giving head and he knows which of my buttons to press, but there’s something about a new partner and an artless one at that. His answering smile is bright and delighted, like sucking me off was exhilarating. God, I hope so.

I tuck my softening cock back inside my pants and zip up, enjoying the fact Hart hasn’t seen fit to get off his knees.

Withdrawing my wallet—and giving him a warning glance when he looks to protest—I pull out a card. All it has are my initials and my phone number. “I’d love to find out if that was beginner’s luck. Call me and we’ll do it again.”

He takes the card and stares at it before realizing his knees are still grinding into the dirty pavement and comes fluidly to his feet, his hard-on glaringly obvious against his zipper even in the darkness. “You’re leaving?”

“Yes.”

It’s not that I don’t want to return the favor. I do. I’d love to take him in my mouth or my hand, feel and watch him come under my ministrations because I suspect he wouldn’t know what hit him, but if this is to be more than a one-off, I’d like to know he’ll be up for the games I like to play. Delayed gratification is one of them.

I raise an eyebrow at his darkening expression. “I guarantee if you call me and we set up something more…proper, I will make the wait well worth your while. I’d very much like to, in fact.”

That’s enough. I’d like to beg him to call me, but I won’t. Also, I’m guessing he will. So I cross my mental fingers I’ll hear his voice on the other end of my cell. Soon.

Chapter Five

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