Page 7 of The Liar's Reckoning

My breath goes shallow when he makes a bolder move and strokes my scrotum, tugging lightly at it between his thumb and forefinger. My cock twitches, lengthens, and lifts an inch off my sac.

“Tell me if I do something wrong,” he whispers.

“You’re fine,” I assure him, though I’d like to take him by the hand and help him get it around my cock. The idea of that is surprisingly appealing. This is starting to remind me of my own first time with a guy. Summer camp—age fourteen. What happens in the cabin stays in the cabin…immature groping and sloppy kisses, sticky sheets and my first taste of cum. Fuck, that was a good two weeks.

It’s never been difficult for me to be gay. Living in New York helps. I’ve never felt alone. My mom was relieved when I came out that summer to her. She said it meant no woman would ever steal me away from her. My cousin Ricardo taught me some self-defense moves I’ve never had to use and hooked me up with a gym membership so I could bulk up. I’ve never felt anything less than supported, but I know I’ve been lucky, and not everyone has it so easy.

“Are you afraid you might not like it?” I ask Graham as his fingertips slide down my thigh.

He glances up at me, and I see the yes written in his green gaze.

“You can always stop if you don’t,” I urge him gently, still wanting that hand on me. This is getting hot.

Once again, using his knuckles to test the waters, he grazes the underside of my shaft, which has lifted even higher with my rising erection.

A shaky sigh escapes him, but I bite back my own. “You’re bigger than me,” he says randomly.

My cock isn’t a monster, but it gets plenty of compliments, though I’m not sure that was one. “Maybe we can compare later,” I say.

Our gazes clash again, and his mouth twitches—almost a smile. “I’ll know for sure once I wrap my hand around it,” he tells me.

“Whenever you’re ready,” I say, failing to keep the strain from my voice.

His brows lift. “You want that?”

“For you to fist my cock? Yeah. I do.”

His face gets red again, but I don’t equivocate or take it back. He can handle it.

Before he does anything else, he uses his other hand to unbuckle his belt and open his pants. Shoving his hand inside, he releases a soft grunt. I watch through the fabric as he squeezes along his own length. When he takes hold of my cock, I gasp. Not because he does it wrong, but because I got distracted.

“Okay?” he asks.

“Yeah,” I breathe, more turned on than I should be. “Fuck yeah.”

His hand is dry, but the way he squeezes and pulls me feels good. He’s slow, though—way too slow. It’s maddening. I get the feeling he’s mapping me out. Matching what he’s doing to himself with the reaction it gets out of me.

It isn’t ten seconds before he shudders and breathes—“I’m gonna come. Fuck…”

Letting go of me, he bends over himself, jerking his release with rapid pulls safe behind the fabric of his pants. When he finally throws his head back, his eyes are glazed, and his lips look bitten raw. His chest heaves, and he slumps to lean back against my bent leg.

I’ve taken to stroking myself as I watch him quiver through his release. He might be about to realize six hours is a very long time.

“I’m gonna assume that means you like it,” I say.

He huffs a breath of a laugh, closing his eyes. “I guess so.”

“You good?”

“What do you mean?” he asks.

“I mean…was there anything else you needed from me?”

He looks at his watch then at me. “That was only the third card.”

“What does the fourth one say?” I ask.

He closes his eyes, and bites his lower lip. “Blow him.”

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