Page 22 of Glitter

He didn’t. Not at this moment. But he did ask, “Pretty, right? I did promise I’d put on something pretty for you if you gave me enough of a head start.”

My head nodded jerkily, like a broken bobblehead doll, as a garbled “Y-yes. Pretty. S-so pretty” fell from my lips.

It was the reassurance I thought he’d wanted—frankly saying anything else would’ve been a lie—but my words caused his authentic smile to drift off his face, swiftly replaced by the sassy, half-smile, quirked corner of his mouth that he normally aimed my way.

He didn’t look upset. Far from it, actually—his posture was relaxed and loose, one hip popped coquettishly, casting fuck-me glances at me through flirtatiously batting eyelashes. And his lips were curved in a smile. Not his fault that I suddenly wondered if this smile was only a pretty illusion.

Opening his door wider, my angel invited me to come in, saying, “Well, don’t just stand there on my front step all night, boo. It might be dark out, and while I don’t have a shy bone in my body, I still don’t want to risk the wrath of my landlords and neighbors by blowing you out here. Not when I have a perfectly good couch, bed, shower—basically any surface you can think of—waiting for us, only steps away, on the other side of this door.”

Taking my agreement for the sure thing it was, my angel turned and strutted his way inside his cottage, confidently expecting me to follow.

And…fuuuck. The back of his robe was just as sheer as the front.

A long fall of wispy, gauzy fabric, the dark color obscured the tone of his skin, but that’s all it did. It allowed me to see each elegant line of his body, the sweetly subtle curve of his hips, and the fluid way they all flexed and shifted as he moved.

There was the faintest shadow that hinted he might have underwear on beneath his robe, but that could’ve as easily been a trick of the light. But if he did have anything on under his robe, whatever it was left the firm globes of his ass completely bare.

They were like two perfect celestial orbs screened by a curtain of hazy, midnight clouds.

As we’d both known I would—like there was another choice—I stepped through the doorway my angel had left open for me.

The interior of his cottage was mostly one, large open space. There was a small kitchen area to one side, and by small I meant there was a flat-top, two-burner stove on top of one cabinet, a sink built into the top of a second cabinet, open shelves above both to hold a handful of boxes and cans, and the daintiest—not quite full-size—refrigerator I’ve ever seen in my life next to the cabinet with the sink. That was it. That was the entire kitchen.

Well, I supposed the small table a few feet in front of the cabinetry could’ve been considered part of the kitchen. Except there weren’t any chairs, and the surface of the table was mounded high with magazines, random papers, some half-folded laundry, and other random stuff, including one lone, discarded shoe. So, there was nowhere to sit in his kitchen and no place to eat off of in it either.

The remainder of the main space of the cottage was divided roughly in half—the front part was set up as a cozy, if messy, living room, that held a two-person loveseat, a deep, cushy-looking, club chair and a tv mounted to the wall over a low, two-drawered dresser that was serving as an entertainment console. Almost every surface had some sort of pillow, or throw blanket, or article of clothing, or stuffed animal, or…or…something on it.

Meanwhile, the back portion of the room was devoted to his bedroom. I could see the foot of his bed, buried under a mound of rumpled blankets and more laundry—unfolded, this time—sticking out from behind two, fabric, accordion-style, privacy screens, butted up next to each other, which formed a sort of make-shift wall between his living and sleeping areas.

The far wall of the cottage contained two doors, both open. The one closer to the kitchen side of the house led to a small, fully appointed, and luxuriously decorated bathroom, while the other revealed a narrow closet, overflowing with all sorts of clothing, shoes, scarves, hats, and other pretty baubles and doodads.

All of this clutter and messy chaos had the part of me that enjoyed order and neatness itching to go around picking everything up and putting it all in its proper place.

But the rest of me—which had the clear majority—was screamingScrew the mess, because my angel had draped himself over the loveseat and, sprawled out as he was, delectable body barely concealed by that black robe, he was temptation incarnate.

Automatically closing and locking the door behind me, I slowly approached the gorgeous embodiment of my every fantasy, past, present, and future.

“I’d ask if you were coming, boo,” he purred, “Except that you’d better not be. Not yet. Not until I get the chance to get my mouth on you.” He ran a hand up the length of his thigh, flicking the gauzy, black material covering him aside to show the lacy band topping his stocking. “You wouldn’t deny me that, would you, boo? Getting to slide your thick cock in my mouth so I can taste you. Please say you won’t take that opportunity away from me. Not now. Not when I have you here all to myself, boo.”

I swallowed thickly. Fuck, the words coming out of his mouth, they were almost too good to be real. Hell,hewas almost too good to be real.

“What… I mean, uh, where…where do you want me? Here or…” My gaze flicked toward his bed, mostly hidden behind the fabric screens.

“I think here will do for now,” he answered. “Come here, boo. Bring that thick, thick cock of yours closer.”

My dick was achingly hard, already throbbing within the confines of my jeans. And it almost seemed as though it, and not my feet, propelled me over the distance required to reach the couch. The entire short trek over there, and even once I was standing in front of him and his hands were making easy work of the fastenings on my pants, I kept expecting him to change his mind. To take back his offer of a blow job.

But he didn’t. In what seemed like no time at all, he had my pants open and pulled down far enough that he could see, not only the rigid outline of my erection, but the dark wet spot my precum had made on my green briefs. Then, before my mind was able to latch on to the excitement that this was actually happening, he dipped a hand inside my underwear, pulled my cock free from its fabric confinement, and enveloped the head of my dick with his silky, hot, wet mouth.

Oh, fuck. It felt so good. So…so…perfect.

I don’t know if it was because sitting on the loveseat put him at just the right height to get the best angle, if it was a byproduct of me not having had a blowjob in a while, the particular technique this pretty, stunning angel was using, or if it was just…him. Maybe everything we did to, and with each other, felt so good, and so right, because…it was him.

His lips stretched wide around me, slowly sliding down my shaft. His tongue…Ungh, his tongue, rubbing and caressing the underside of my cock, getting it all wet.

Having his mouth around my cock made me feel all dizzy. Dizzy and lightheaded and…short of breath. Which…

Fuck. I wasn’t breathing.

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