Page 45 of A Man To Remember
I focus on what my hands are doing as I help Austin out of his shoes and jeans and boxers, while he takes off his shirt, taking my time, because I know what awaits the moment I look up.
It's not until he's fully naked that I finally lift my gaze to where his cock practically points at my face. The voice tries to speak up again, but I'm faster, bringing my face closer without a second thought, as I stick out my tongue and flick the tip along his slit, shutting it up once and for all.
He tastes like freedom and sounds like music, a clipped groan falling from his lips at the first contact.
And although I'm so out of my depth I have no idea what I'm doing, one thing's for sure—right now, there's no place I'd rather be.
My gaze lifts and I fix it on Austin’s face as I open my mouth and take the head of his cock in and push forward, taking him as deep as my rookie mouth allows. His eyes are squeezed shut, jaw clenched, nostrils flaring as he breathes, deep and audibly.
And what a fucking sight it is.
I focus on studying him, and let my body do the work I couldn't intellectualize if I tried. My head tilts to the side of its own accord as I back up, lips sliding along his length, slicking it with saliva, before it tilts the other way on its way back.
If I had any doubts whether my first attempt would be sufficient, they're gone now, obliterated by the way Austin sucks in a sharp breath. By the way both his hands land on my shoulders, gripping tight as if he needs my body to keep himself upright.
The backs of my fingers graze his skin, again on autopilot, from his ankle all the way back to the inside of his thigh. Then, with delicate precision, I move to cup his balls, full and heavy, wiggling my fingers and massaging gently as my head bobs back and forth, slowly. Diligently.
It's as though complicated computations are happening deep within me, outside my conscious awareness, letting my body know exactly what to do, what pace to keep, how much pressure to apply.
Like it was made for this.
For him.
I grab the base of his cock with my free hand, keeping it at the right angle, and every time I take him in, my throat relaxes a little more, allowing me to take more of him in, one millimeter at a time.
My own dick throbs so hard I can practically feel it pulsing, leaking steadily, begging for attention. But it won't get any, the rest of my body occupied with Austin, with giving him every last bit of pleasure I can.
I'm moving faster now, following a rhythm my body established, hollowing my cheeks as I suck him, massaging the part of his cock my mouth doesn't know how to handle. Yet.
When I come up for air, letting his dick out of my mouth completely, I stick out my tongue, licking off the fresh bead of pre-cum at the tip. Austin lets out a curse, and when his eyessnap open I have to close mine, the intensity of his gaze suddenly too much to handle.
Freshly oxygenated, I open my mouth again, ready to take him in, ready—desperate—to finish the job, to taste him, to break him apart and piece him back together, but the second my lips connect with the tender, slick skin on the head of his cock, Austin tightens his grip on my shoulders, fingernails biting into my flesh.
"Wait," he pants out above me. "Stop."
I stop moving, but don't let go, forcing my eyelids to lift, and the pleasured grimace on his face nearly makes me come on the spot.
"Why?" I ask, lips brushing against his head as I do. "I want to taste you."
His parted lips curl up into a soft smile. "Trust me."
The gentle tap on my shoulder urges me to rise up, but my body doesn't want to move, not yet. And so I lean down again, giving his cock one more ceremonial lick, earning a fresh moan before I reluctantly get to my feet, my knees protesting as I do.
Once we're face to face and I can feel his hot breath on my face, I repeat, "Why?" whining like a brat whose playtime got cut short.
"Because," Austin says, but before he gives me what ought to be an entirely insufficient reason, he pushes off the wall, places one hand on the small of my back and grabs both our cocks with his other hand, flesh pressed against flesh, barely fitting in his large hand.
"Because," he repeats and I yelp as he squeezes, jerking us both, somehow finding myself walking backward until the backof my knees hit the edge of my mattress. "I want to learn what else you like, and I don't want to be useless when I do it."
"But—"
He swirls his palm over our connected cockheads, shutting me up. "Don't worry. I'm the expert, remember?"
He lets both of us go then and pushes on my sternum, firmly enough to make me lose my balance and topple over until my back lands safely on my mattress. As I fall, my mind races. Because I have questions.
One question, to be exact—what else is there to learn?
I never ask it out loud, but it's answered immediately when Austin follows me onto my bed, knees on either side of my body, and then flips me around like I'm a weightless pancake so that I'm sprawled out, on my stomach, in the middle of my mattress, about to lose what's left of my sanity.
