Page 59 of A Small Town Spring

I groan at the idea of doing something complicated with Toby.“Yeah, touch me.”I’ve never wanted anything as much in my entire life as I want Toby’s hands on me.

He presses down with the palm of his hand, feeling out my cock, which is lying thick against my thigh.He smooths the shape of me through the thin fabric, then looks up.“You’re not circumcised?”

“No, never got around to it,” I joke, impressed at my ability to form a complete sentence while Toby’s touching my dick.

“I’m not, either,” he says.“Huh.”

He takes his hand away and I ask, “Can I see?”

He hesitates for a bare moment.“I did promise you could look.”

Looking at Toby is second only to touching him on my want-to-do list.“Please.”

“You, too,” he says.

I nod and then we both reach for our waistbands.Toby climbs off me to shove off his boxers, removing his shirt a second later.I’ve got my pajama pants halfway down my legs, but my coordination takes a hit as I absorb the sight of Toby completely naked for the first time.I’ve seen him shirtless before, in nothing but a towel.But this is different.His erection proudly stands away from his dark blond bush, nuts hanging behind.The head of his cock is the same pink as his nipples, his lips.His skin is flush with blood and I revel in the knowledge of his vitality.

“Gorgeous.”

He smiles, pleased, though his eyes are on my cock, not my face.“You’re—Kingston, I’m going to have to draw you.I hope that’s okay.”

“For public consumption?”

“No, at least, not at first.I’d like to keep you to myself for now.”

“In that case, you can do whatever you want.”

“Really?”His eyes are on mine now, and they burn with an intensity that makes me feel hot all over.

I finally kick off my pajamas, then hiss when Toby wraps his whole hand around my length and starts rubbing the sensitive skin at the crown.I let out a noise, urge him closer with my hand on his hip.“Come here.”

He wedges himself close and I wrap my hand around him.He’s hot to my touch, and I smear my thumb around the head, damp with pre-come.

It’s hard to concentrate on giving him a decent hand job when he’s working me like a pro, even dry.Speaking of—“Toby, honey, wait.Let me get some lube.”

“Uh.Yeah.Sure.Wait.”He takes his hand off me.“I’m actually, uh, super close.”

I lift my eyebrows.Already?On the other hand, it has been an inordinately long time for both of us.If I hadn’t masturbated that morning thinking about Toby in the shower, I’d probably be a lot closer myself.“You want me to stop?”I ask.

“No, keep going.Make me come.”

It’s a simple command, but one I take seriously.I work him with long, firm strokes, then switch to shallow rubs, concentrating around the crown and the nerves there that always make me squirm with the need to shoot.Toby responds as expected, groaning and clutching my shoulder while his cock disappears and reappears in the sheath of my hand.

He cups his own balls, and I make a mental note to play with them next time, because a couple of tugs later, his eyes are screwed shut and he’s moaning what sounds like my name.The first spurt coats my hand, but then he opens his eyes and twists his hips and the rest lands on my dick, wet, hot fluid that feels like him marking me.I’d normally take exception to the presumption, but with Toby, I only find it incredibly hot that he wants to get me messy.

He’s barely done, come still dribbling out of his slit, when he puts his hands back on me and I realize what he’s doing—jacking me off using his come for lube.I almost orgasm right then.I manage to hang on, enjoying the slip-slide of his hand on my length.It’s not as slippery as actual lube, and it starts to dry up faster, but it’s still fucking sexy.Toby’s look of concentration as he jacks me with a single-minded intensity has my orgasm suddenly sparking through me.My balls empty themselves in long pulses that drain me, body and brain both.

I relax into the mattress as Toby wipes his hand on his discarded shirt.He looks at the mixture of fluids on my skin and bites his lip.“You’re a mess.”

“You came on me,” I accuse without heat.“You made me a mess.”

“You want a shower?Or a flannel?”

“If you’re offering, I’ll take a washcloth.”

He goes into the bathroom, leaving the door open.He runs the water for a while.I presume he’s cleaning himself up, but when he returns with a wrung out cloth and starts wiping me down with it, I realize he let the water warm up before wetting the cloth.

“Thanks,” I say, taking over the cleaning job myself.

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