Page 25 of A Man To Remember
He's relentless. Working me with his mouth and tongue and throat like he's got a PhD in making me lose my fucking mind.
He knows exactly when to speed up. When to slow down. When to use his hands. When to focus on that spot just under the head that makes me forget how to breathe.
I'm making sounds I've never made before, desperately raw and completely unfiltered.
And every time I try to be quiet, Austin does something with his tongue that makes me cry out. It's like hewantsto hear me. Wants to know exactly what he's doing to me.
His hand wraps around the base while his mouth works the top half, a tight tunnel of heat and pressure that has me bucking up into him. When he hums around me, the vibration shoots up my spine like a rocket.
"I don't know what I'm doing," I admit between gasps, even though I don't really want to. It's like honesty became my default setting around Austin. And it's fucking scary.
He pulls off with a wet pop, stroking me with his fist while he speaks. "You don't have to do anything. Just let me take care of you."
And then his mouth is back on me, taking me so deep, so intensely I can feel every ridge of his tongue, every contraction of his throat, every pulse of suction that pulls at my cock like he's trying to draw my soul out through my dick.
My vocabulary shrinks. Austin's name.Fuck. Please. Don't stop.
That's it. That's all I've got.
And he doesn't stop.
The pressure builds slowly, then all at once, twisting tight in my balls and spreading outward until every nerve ending feels raw and exposed.
My orgasm approaches like a tidal wave.
Unstoppable. Overwhelming.
"Austin," I warn, trying to give him a chance to pull away, but he just takes me deeper and hums again.
"Fuck. I'm gonna come."
The words dissolve into a broken moan as he does something absolutely sinful with his tongue.
When I come, it's with a broken cry of his name. My whole body arches off the couch as pleasure tears through me like lightning. My cock pulses in his mouth, and he swallows everything I give him, throat working, lips sealed around me like he doesn't want to waste a drop.
The sight of it nearly makes me come again.
He doesn't pull away until I'm completely spent. Until my cock starts to soften in his mouth. When he finally releases me, I'm shaking with aftershocks, boneless and raw.
He moves back up my body. When he kisses me, I can taste myself on his lips, something that should be weird but isn't. Just another layer of intimacy in an experience that's rewriting everything I thought I knew about myself.
"Holy shit," I manage when I remember how to speak. "That was..."
"Good?" Austin asks. There's something almost shy in the question.
"That's like asking if breathing is good."
He laughs, the sound vibrating against my chest where he's resting his head.
"Jesus Christ. What—? How—?"
"Practice," he says, and I try not to think about all the other men who've benefited from said practice.
It doesn't matter now, I suppose. Because now he's with me, and all these other men are in the past, and I know better than to leave the past where it belongs.
I wrap my arms around him, close my eyes and breathe him in. My brain is still somewhere in orbit, trying to piece itself back together, and for a few precious moments I'm present. No unwanted thoughts swirling around, no past, no future, noout thereout there.
Onlythis—unlabeled, undefined, and, against all rhyme and reason, uncomplicated.
