Page 46 of A Man To Remember
I bite down on a yelp, willing my body not to move, not to shake too much as Austin leans down, torso hovering above my back and all but growls, directly into my ear. "So now, I'm going to explore. And learn." He shifts his body, letting the still-wet head of his cock brush against my crack, and I can no longer suppress the full-body shudder that travels down my spine. "But Jesse? The second it no longer feels good, the second you want me to stop, you tell me and I'll stop."
I want to answer, but words are suddenly a foreign concept.
Austin seems to know that. "Nod if you understand."
And so I'm nodding, my sheets scratching my cheek, and for the next few moments, I stop breathing.
Satisfied with my non-answer, he places a series of kisses on the back of my neck, then down my spine, one after another, and the lower he goes, the stiffer my muscles grow.
For a second I find myself feeling out of place. It's almost as if I'm experiencing this twisted kind of sexual imposter syndrome, something that nags at me and lets me know that maybe, if I'd done some research, watched some porn, read a fucking manual, I wouldn't be overanalyzing exactly which muscle is appropriate to move right now.
But the thought evaporates as quickly as it comes, because no amount of research could have ever prepared me for the raw panic that consumes me when Austin maneuvers his knees between my calves, urging me to spread my legs, wider and wider, as wide as my physique allows me, exposing the parts of me no one has ever really seen before.
"Relax for me," he says, reading me like a book, while making it impossible at the same time.
Because it's impossible to relax when he puts both hands on my ass cheeks.
Impossible when he kneads them.
Impossible when he spreads them apart.
And finally, whatever word comes after impossible when he leans down and uses the tip of his tongue to lick his way from my taint all the way to my hole.
I hiss at the first contact, my eyes squeezing shut, palms fisting the sheets above my head.
It takes great effort not to ask him to stop. Not because Iwant himto stop, but because a part of me is petrified he'll wake up from whatever spell he's under and realize I'm not worth doing what he's about to do.
But he doesn't wake up. Instead, there's the tip of his tongue again, drawing small, wet circles all around my rim, tasting me, and taking his time to do so.
"You okay?" he asks and I can feel the words against my wet skin.
I hum in response, not even trying to find words to answer a question so simple, yet so complicated.
I do my best to split my attention between trying to breathe and trying to loosen up my clenched muscles, failing at both. My breaths come ragged, clipped in half and unfinished, while my hole clenches involuntarily around the tongue that attempts to make its way in.
Inside me.
He alternates between trying to push in and giving me slow, long licks every time my body doesn't allow it. My entire body goes into overdrive, making me too hot, then too cold, then too hot again. And somehow, somewhere between the sweat and the shivers, it finds a way to relax, long enough for the tip of Austin's tongue to push past the ring of muscle.
I press my mouth against the mattress and moan as he flicks his tongue in and out, nerve endings I didn't know I had suddenly firing up, making my cock leak against the sheets. And what had been pure torture mere minutes ago, slowly morphs into a sweet type of torture, before the torture part subsides completely, something brand new taking its place—a maddening, mind-bending pleasure that has my hips jerking up, seeking more of what I've been so afraid of.
Austin hums behind me and I swear I can feel the barely there vibration on my skin as if it were a jackhammer.
"How are you doing this?" I moan out, words mingling together into a single sound.
I vaguely register my hips are moving now, grinding up and down against the mattress, seeking some friction on my cock, the familiar type of pleasure intensifying the new. And just when I think it's done, just when I'm sure the next push of Austin's tongue inside me is going to be the end of me, his tongue is gone, and so is the warmth of his breath, replaced by the tip of his finger before my brain catches up to what's happening.
I suck in a sharp breath and hold it, bracing myself for new sensations, new adjustments, new lessons my body's about to learn.
But there's nothing left to learn, my body cooperating fully, my hole loose enough, slick enough to take Austin's finger, all the way until—
"Fuck," I practically yell when the tip presses against yet another nerve ending I didn't know existed, this time inside me.
"Mmhmm," Austin hums and does it again, pressing against that one spot with deliberate, calculated precision.
The rest is a blur. It's almost as if my body can't handle the pleasure, like it doesn't know which part to focus on, catching mere bits and pieces.
Austin's finger pushing in and out now, slow, then fast, then slow again.
