Page 11 of Light Me Up

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

"Fuck. I'm coming—" I struggle to keep my eyes open so I can watch him slurp down my cum like he's drinking it from a straw. 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, seeming intrigued by 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 make sure to 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," I admit, because 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 his eyebrow incredulously. "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 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. But 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.

CHAPTER 7

HENRY

By the time I 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 never 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.

I make sure to stretch, standing out on the back deck like I normally do. I find myself staring at the hot tub, replaying the better parts of the night before I lost my damn mind. It reminds me to call my friend Robert Langdon, the owner of Lakeside Bistro. He's more than happy to make sure Mike has the best table and a bottle of chilled wine waiting. I chat with him whileI grab the pool chemicals to shock the hot tub, and I continue staring at the water for too long after I hang up.

I can't believe I did that. Any of it.

My short stint of exhibitionism I can safely blame on the weed. And maybe it did up the horniness level, because I certainly can't remember the last time I came back to back like that. But if I'm being honest with myself, the rest of it was all me. I used the cover of being high to give in a little, and once I did, I fell straight into the deep end.

I replay every moment, cringing at the things I let him do to me. I'm embarrassed, but at the same time, I have to admit that it felt good. Really good.Toogood.

My internal war with myself drowns out the music in my ears as I start my slow jog. I try telling myself that it's simply been too long since anyone but myself has touched my dick. A mouth is a mouth, it could have been anyone.

But I know I'm full of shit. Because it wasn't just anyone's mouth on my cock. It was Ian's mouth. My son's best friend. A man half my age. And Lord, that mouth…

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