Page 72 of Bad at Love

Gabriel shifts his feet, widening them to get a better stance, his fingers grasping my soaked hair. He’s tugging on it, digging his finger into my scalp, and it takes me a moment to realize he’s trying to guide me. This, too, is tentative and unsure. It’s equal amounts sexy and sweet. That pretty much sums up Gabriel Dane—sweet and sexy.

“I’m going to come,” he pants just before he releases down my throat with a sharp cry. I drink every last drop of him, then get right back to my feet and kiss him. I’m a little disappointed to not be on my knees for him longer, but making him come so quickly is a compliment.

I expect him to push me away, to freak out over tasting his own cum on my tongue, but he kisses me back, more eager than earlier. His hands are on my neck, holding me firmly in place, and mine are on his hips. Gabe has never been so aggressive before, never been so into this. Maybe it’s the island, maybe it’s him being upset, or maybe it’s just himenjoyinghimself for once in his life. Giving in to something that feels good.

“I think I want to suck your dick now,” he says against my mouth.

I pull back, looking into his eyes and raising a brow. He nods slowly.

“Go for it,” I say.

Tiny droplets of water are stuck to his dark lashes. His eyes are like stormy grey clouds and granite. It’s fitting to his personality. Rigid but beautiful. I hate that they’re lost behind his glasses, but at the same time, those glasses are sexy as hell on him.

Gabriel gets to his knees, carefully taking my dick in his hand. Looking up at me he says, “What if I gag?”

“Won’t bother me. Just go slow.”

He nods, licking his lips before leaning forward. His lips touch the crown of my dick and I shiver. Wish I knew this was a kink of mine sooner, because goddamn, I love how innocent he is.

Parting his lips, he moves his head forward, taking my cock head into his mouth and wrapping his lips around it. I groan, putting my hand on his head but not pushing him or forcing him. He needs to go on his own time. No matter what he does right now, I’ll come. I’m so fucking close I may come if he stays just like this. But then he starts to suck on it like you would a lollipop or a popsicle.

“That feels so good,” I tell him, petting his head. His body relaxes, free hand going to my thigh. Normally, I’d tell him to do to me what feels good for him, like I’ve told other guys who’ve never sucked a dick, but Gabriel is still learning how to pleasure himself. Maybe seeing what I like will help him realize what he likes too. “You’re doing such a good job sucking my cock, baby.”

I swear I hear a small whimper, but maybe I’m hearing things. Maybe it’s wishful thinking.

My head falls back on my shoulders and I focus on how warm his mouth is, how soft his tongue is. His tongue moves around me as he explores every inch he can reach. It feels like he’s holding back, but that’s okay. What he’s doing is perfect. And if he isn’t stopping, then I can only assume he’s enjoying himself.

“Are you going to let me cum in your mouth?” I ask as I glance down at him.

His eyes are closed, and he seems so focused. He shrugs,fucking shrugs, and keeps doing what he’s doing.

“I’m close, so you should probably figure it out.”

There isn’t a response. He just keeps sucking me off. Making love to my dick. I don’t know how else to explain it. He’s enjoying it like he would his favorite dessert, slowly savoring it. Licking and sucking and stroking. It’s all slow, like he’s afraid if he goes too fast it’ll end. Or maybe he’s worried about gagging, I don’t know. He looks like he’s doing this more for him than me, and that only makes it that much hotter. I hate that it’s going to end soon.

“Have you figured it out yet, Gabriel? Because I’m going to come any second now,” I grit out.

His breathing grows louder, sharp pants through his nose. Eyes still closed, he removes his hand from the base of my dick and puts it on my other thigh, and instead of pulling away like I think he’s going to, he goes deeper, causing himself to gag around my cock. The way his throat contracts sends me over the edge, and I explode.

“Fuck!” I grip his hair, so badly wanting to shove him further on my dick but I refrain, not wanting him to panic and bite down. He tries to swallow, but ends up gagging again—and coughing. He pulls back, his hand going to my dick to jerk me off. Hey, at least he’s thoughtful and doesn’t want to ruin my orgasm. He’s trying to catch his breath as another rope of cum shoots out, landing right over his mouth. I cover his hand with mine and make him stroke me through the orgasm that has my knees shaking. He looks up at me, raising his hand to wipe his mouth, but I lean down and snatch his wrist to pull him up. I lick up the mess I made on his face, then go in to kiss him.

He groans into my mouth, hands gripping and tugging my hair. When I pull away, he looks disappointed. His lips are swollen, a little red, and his eyes are teary.

“Who knew cum could be so hot?” he whispers.

I can’t help but laugh.

“You’re telling me. Good thing we have plenty of it,” I say, guiding him under the water. “Let’s wash up before we’re late for lunch.”

Chapter Twenty-Nine

Gabriel

My mind is buzzing with what happened in the shower with Storm. So much so that I’m now even worried about meeting his friends. Meeting new people isn’t something I enjoy, or typically do, especially when I’m in an unfamiliar place. I am unexpectedly grateful for obsessing over what we did.

Every time Storm and I have partaken in something sexual, I lament on it for hours. I wish I knew why. No matter how much I think about it, dissect every little thing that happened, I can’t figure out why it bothers me. Especially because it isn’t enough to stop me from doing it again. I can’t pinpoint any particular emotion that I feel toward all of it, other than excitement and the need to do it again. Is it just enjoyment I’m feeling? Is liking it enough to make me obsess over it? Perhaps I should just accept the fact that I like thinking about it, and that’s all there is to it. Ienjoy other things and don’t think about it all hours of the day. But maybe it isn’t just that, but instead that this is new and… unexpected?

I know I enjoy lunch with Marta. I know dinner with my parents is stressful. I know how long the drive to work will take me. I know what days to wash my sheets. I know the setting to put my washer on and the temperature to cook eggs just the way I like. How often to get an oil change on my car is never a question, and neither is when my cell phone bill is due. But this stuff with Storm? It’s all so unpredictable. Though I don’t hate it, there’s just something about it that has me… well, feeling something I can’t put a name to.

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