Page 27 of A Man To Remember
"Jesus, Jesse." His voice is wrecked already, and I've barely started.
I bite down on a smirk and give him another small stroke, my ego ballooning with each passing second. "Just Jesse."
And with that, I start moving for real.
But fuck, I have no idea what I'm doing.
My technique feels clumsy, grip too tight, pace too fast. I'm in my head again. And when Austin winces just seconds later, my ego balloon pops and I freeze.
"Shit. Sorry. I don't— This is new for me."
"I know." His hand covers mine, guiding my grip. "Like this. Not so tight."
I adjust, following his lead, and he exhales sharply when I get the pressure right.
"Better?"
"Perfect. Now slower. Yeah, just like that."
His hand stays over mine for a few more strokes, teaching me the rhythm he likes, showing me where to twist my wrist, how to work the head with my thumb.
Should this feel awkward? This guided tour of his preferences? Because it doesn't. It just feels… right.
When he finally lets go, I keep the rhythm he taught me, watching his face for cues. His eyes are now closed, lips parted, and every few strokes he makes these soft sounds that threaten to bring my spent cock back to life.
"Fuck, that's good," he pants.
I tighten my grip slightly, and his hips buck up into my fist. Pre-cum leaks from the slit, making my strokes slicker, easier. The wet sounds of skin sliding against skin fill the room, obscene and perfect.
"Tell me what you like," I say, because somewhere along the way I forgot to be shy.
"Tighter now. Yeah, like that. Fuck, Jesse."
I experiment with different pressures, different speeds. When I focus on the head, swirling my thumb around the crown, Austin's whole body jerks like he's been electrocuted.
"Fuck. Do that again."
I do, and he curses, long and creatively, his hips starting to move in counterpoint to my strokes. He's fucking my fist now, chasing the friction, and watching him lose control is the hottest thing I've ever seen.
"Is this okay? Am I doing it right?"
The questions tumble out, my inexperience shining brighter than Skin on Skin's neon sign.
Austin's eyes snap open, finding mine. "You're perfect. Don't stop."
Perfect.
The word hits me right in the chest, spreading warmth through my ribs.
I've never been perfect at anything sexual, really. Adequate, sure, sometimes good. But never perfect.
My confidence grows with every sound he makes, every buck of his hips, every drop of pre-cum that leaks from his slit. I vary my technique, learning what makes him gasp, what makes him curse, what makes his breath catch in his throat.
When I twist my wrist on the upstroke, he nearly comes off the couch.
"Fuck, fuck, fuck. Where did you learnthat?"
"Just now," I admit, then do it again.
