Page 109 of The Good Boys Club

I experimented. Learned the shape of him through my lips and tongue. Licking and kissing. Listening to his jagged breaths and gorgeous little whimpers. Eventually taking him into my mouth and sucking, swallowing him farther, all the way down.

His hands were in my hair, on the deck, back in my hair. He whined and bucked his hips upwards to meet my mouth. My jaw ached, right at the back where my lower teeth connected to my skull, and I kept having to pause and spit on his cock to make it wet again, but I wasn’t ready to bust out the finishing move. I wanted to freeze this moment and live in it forever.

The muscles in his stomach were taught with his restraint, the tendons in his neck flexed, his hair was drying at odd angles, his face ruddied and so fucking beautiful. He watched me, andthough I couldn’t look back without breaking my rhythm, I knew he was picture perfect. His knot grew underneath my palm, his breaths became more ragged by the second.

“Mash, Mash, I’m right there . . . Mash, fuck, I’m gonna come . . . Mash, slow down. Where do you want me to come?”

I couldn’t answer him, wouldn’t take my lips off him. My tail swished wildly behind me.

“Fuck, Mash, I’m gonna come . . . Oh, gods . . . Mash? In your mouth?”

I nodded, or at least I thought I nodded. The next second, Cian dropped all the way to the deck, tilted his head up, and cried out. I didn’t know how he liked things to end, so I did what I enjoyed. I slowed right down and softly sucked him until every last drop of his cum was on my tongue, then I extricated myself and swallowed his release.

“That was . . . fucking unreal,” Cian said, eventually lifting himself back onto his elbows.

Finally, I could let my thirsty eyes travel over him, laid out on the deck boards, spent and sated and softening. He looked happy and broken. I did that. I made my best friend fall to pieces. I also just swallowed another man’s cum, and it didn’t taste disgusting. Not great, but not disgusting. We had another six weeks of this. I didn’t try to stop the maniacal grin slipping over my face.

I wanted to carry him—like a swamp monster carrying his bride—back to the house and feed him soup and wash the lake from his hair. But that would give the game away. He’d know how I really felt.You’re holding me back.

“Turns out, I’m great at BJs,” I said instead, lying beside him and pillowing my head under my hands. “I’m the BJ maestro.”

Overhead, the promise of another scorching September day painted the sky with pinks and oranges.

“I knew you would be,” he replied. Abruptly, he sat up. “Your turn?”

“Yes, sir! Where do you want me?” I asked.

“Just here, where I was.”

I crawled into the same place he’d been, the wooden slats still warm from his body heat.

“I’m not going to touch your cock. You’re going to do that, okay?” he said. Damn, why was that so hot? “This might not be the best time to admit this, but I’ve spent hours fantasising about watching you fuck your own fist.”

“Gods, you’re a pervert,” I replied, but immediately wrapped my hand around my cock, stroking upwards and groaning.

“I guess I am,” he said, smiling. He settled himself on his knees between my thighs, not beside me like I’d been with him. “Have you done much butt stuff?”

I groaned again. Tried to say, “No, not really,” but couldn’t work the words out. I shook my head instead.

His smile grew wider, and he bit his lip. “I’m glad I get to be amongst your firsts. Okay, bring your knees up.”

I did as I was told, and Cian slipped into the gap between my thighs. He stroked his fingertips down the length of my inseam, then he wrapped his hand around my opposite ankle and rested it on his shoulder. He did the same for the other ankle.

“Oh my gods,” I whined, as he slid his body almost underneath mine. My upper back and arms now the only things left on the deck surface.

He shimmied and wriggled under me until my balls were practically touching his nose and my heels were no longer by his ears but bouncing against his shoulder blades. My tail rubbed down the length of his front.

And then softness and wet warmth caressed over my hole. I couldn’t see what he was doing, what part of his mouth he was using—his tongue or his lips, or a combo of both—I only knewit was like nothing I’d ever experienced. Hot and tender and agonisingly sweet, and I never wanted it to end.

Cian circled my entrance with his tongue and dipped it inside. I wasn’t in control of the noises I made.

Eventually he extracted himself and lowered me back onto the deck. He stayed between my thighs and positioned my legs so that my knees were bent and pointing to the sky. And his finger replaced his tongue, at first drawing soft little rings against my hole.

“I’m going to fuck you with my fingers now. Is that okay?” he said.

I choked on my “yes” in my haste to get it out.

“It’s better with lube, but I’ll take it steady, and let me know if it hurts or you don’t like it.”

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