Page 83 of Worthy

Looks to be about six foot two, solid as a brick wall, with an angular jaw and hair that brushes the collar of his hoodie which has the Darby U logo on it. That could work in my favor. His body language and the way he holds himself definitely says athlete, and I’m already dying for a taste of him.

The guy looks around, a little nervous if I had to guess. He’s standing on the balls of his feet, rubbing his hands together, and his eyes are a bit wide.

I’m not trying to hide that I’m staring, so when his eyes meet mine, he smirks and heads toward the bar. He gives me some distance but watches me with interest. Okay, I can work with that.

My time on a football field, reading players, gives me an advantage. I can read people, anticipate their next move, especially athletes. If he’s at Darby, he’s not a football player or I would know him. No, I’m betting hockey with that build. I desperately want to lift that hoodie and see what’s under it. Taste his skin, watch him squirm.

The man gets a beer and turns his back to the bar, looking out at the dance floor before his eyes flit back to mine. With a little head tilt and a lifted eyebrow, he asks if I want to join him among the throng of people. I lift my chin and stand from my stool. He falls into step next to me and we move into the group of mostly dancing men.

We’re forced closer together by the crowd, and at his hesitation, I reach for his arm to hook around my neck, then grip his hips, entangling our legs so our pelvises are flush. He gasps at the contact and squeezes the back of my neck.

His reaction catches me off guard, it’s soinnocent.

Leaning in so I can speak into his ear over the music, I ask, “First time?”

“No,” he says quickly, but it’s obvious to me he doesn’t have much experience here. It wasn’t what I was looking for, but I find myself wanting this anyway.

Our bodies sway, grinding, chasing pleasure to the beat of the music. In the semi-darkness of the room, where we can get lost in the crowd, I let him get used to me. He has another beer and a shot of something. The alcohol is loosening him up, but he’s still in his right mind.

I’m hard in my jeans, my hands under his shirt when he kisses me. Hard, demanding lips crash into mine, and I instantly open for him. I want his taste on my tongue, his moans in my lungs.

This stranger controls my mouth while I control his body, it’s a heady combination of control and submission that I’ve never experienced before. I didn’t expect this from him, but I like it.

He cups my face in both hands, groaning into my mouth when I grab his ass and thrust against him. I need to come. Holy fuck, do I need to come. If he doesn’t stop fucking my mouth with his tongue, I’m going to embarrass myself right here on the damn dance floor.

“Fuck, wait,” I manage to get out, and he leans his forehead against mine.

“Don’t stop,” he pants. His eyes are squeezed tightly shut like he’s in the sweetest kind of pain.

“I’ll take care of you, come on.” I kiss him quickly and grab his hand, pulling him from the dance floor and into one of the semi-private booths in the back. There’s no light back here so you can’t get a clear image of what’s happening, but you can tell there are people back here.

I shove him in the booth and pull the little curtain closed. It’s only half of a curtain so the waitstaff can see if there are people in here, but it’s better than nothing. He’s sitting sideways on the booth seat with his back against the wall and one foot on the floor, his legs spread for me. Luckily there’s no table to get in the way of what I want to do.

“Open those pants, pretty boy,” I demand, breathing hard as I tamp down my need to bend him over and fuck him senseless. No, I want his dick in my mouth. He pops the button and groans as his zipper comes down, giving his impressive cock room. Kneeling on the floor, I settle between his thighs and grip him tight as I look up at his hooded gaze.

“I’m on PReP, you?” Since the creation of that medication, condoms are not the norm for most gay men. It’s fucking amazing how freeing it is.

“Yeah, I’m good.” He nods, and I swallow his uncut cock. In one go, he’s in the back of my throat, and he shouts. His hips buck off the plastic of the bench. “Holy fuck.”

His cheeks are red, and he grips my hair but doesn’t pull as I bob on him a few times. Saliva is already dripping down his shaft, and I want more. I let him go with a pop and pull on his pants so I can get to his hole. He adjusts to give me better access, and I suck him back into my mouth as my fingers find his hole.

My fingers freeze and my eyes snap to his when I find it wet and sloppy.

The knowing grin this guy sends me damn near has my balls seizing. He’s a surprise at every turn.

“I was already fucked once tonight but couldn’t come. Wanna help me out?” His breathing is ragged as I press two fingers in. He’s slick with cum and I groan around his dick. How did I misread him so badly? Was he uncertain because of his need to get off? Does he have some kind of performance anxiety or was he afraid of being slut shamed?

“If I make you come, I’m fucking you afterward,” I tell him in no uncertain terms.

He smirks at me and bites his lip. “Fair is fair. Earn it and you can use me.”

Jesus. Fucking. Christ.

It takes me a minute to find it, but when I drag my fingers over his prostate, he whimpers and arches into me. I smile around his dick and keep a steady rhythm on that magic spot until he can’t keep still. His hips roll and his fists clench as he rides the power of pleasure. He’s almost past the point of no return, and for a split second, I contemplate pulling away and letting him suffer for a minute longer. But my own need to be buried deep inside of him is too fucking strong.

The salty tang of his cum hits the back of my tongue, and I swallow around him. My throat milks every drop out of his balls while he buries his face in his arms and moans like the little whore he is tonight. Used and abused and sexy as fuck.

He’s limp and his breathing is ragged as I let him fall from between my lips and slip my fingers from him.

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