Page 13 of His First Time
The elevator stopped. Dinged.
“Ready for this?” Tyler asked. He arched his eyebrows.
I nodded, gulping down air as I tried to speak. “Yes,” I croaked. “Yeah, yes, I am.” My voice trembled.
Tyler stepped back, took my suitcase, and wheeled it out of the elevator and down the hotel hall.
I stared. The doors began to shut. I lunged for the gap, grabbing my dropped jacket and throwing myself through the opening before I was trapped inside and separated from Tyler.
He was already so far ahead of me. I tried to jog to catch up to him, but settled for fast walking. Ever run with a raging hard on? My cock hurt it was so hard, sticking straight out from my body, trapped in layers of boxers and wool suit pants. I tried to adjust as I walked. Even touching it made me moan.
Tyler waited at a door halfway down the hall. He’d already propped open his door. He beckoned me inside.
I hesitated.
If I walked in that door, that was it. I was going to have sex with Tyler. There wouldn’t be any turning back. I could run now, grab my suitcase and head back to the elevator, flush the memories of that kiss, of his cock sliding against mine.
Physical sensation does not equate to sexual attraction, I remembered from college. I could be stimulated from a hundred different things. That didn’t mean Iwanteda hundred things, or that I was attracted to everything that got me going me. Folding laundry and getting a hard on from bending to grab my socks from the dryer did not mean I had a fucking clothes fetish. Or, a clothes-fucking fetish. The same could be true here, right?
I could cling to my fragile, tattered heterosexuality.
I closed my eyes. Exhaled. I tried to think of the ethereal beauty who’d denied me a room at the hotel, the concierge at the Admirals Club. She was like an ice princess, a beauty molded from something not of this world.
Beside me, Tyler was heat and fire, molten sensuality, sex taking human form. Everything about him captivated me, from his physical perfection to his smoldering persona, the aura that pulsed off his body, a raw sexuality that clawed at my desire.
Had I ignored my own thoughts my whole life? Had I suppressed vague glances toward men, idle appreciation of other guys’ outfits and physiques as simple observations? What was it aboutTylerthat had propelled me, in the span of minutes, into his arms?
Did I want to cross this line?
Did I want him to fuck me?
Because there was no question, none at all, that he would fuck me.
There was a part of me thatwantedto submit to him, to follow his lead, to let him take me by the hand and guide me through everything, every decision, every action. And then further, into the hazy corners of my mind where fantasies hadn’t yet taken form or shape, but where a burning urge stoked a bonfire of need to drop to my knees and let himtake.
Take whatever he wanted.
What was this man doing to me?
To his credit, he waited, watching me breathe hard and struggle through my minutes-long identity crisis. Wrestling with myself while sporting the hardest wood of my life wasn’t a recipe for deep thought.
I craved. I hesitated. I craved again.
I stepped through the door.
Tyler followed, and I heard his hotel door click shut behind me. Heard my suitcase roll across the carpet, then the hard steel case bounce softly off the wall. The hotel catered to executives and business class travelers. The walls were done in silken wallpaper and wooden wainscoting. Arched wall sconces lit the room in gold and shadow.
A king-sized bed dominated the wall, acres of white sheets turned down and waiting. Piles of pillows waited to be flung around the room. I imagined biting one, shoving my face into the downy center with my ass up in the air. I shivered.
At the foot of the bed, a leather couch faced a TV mounted on the wall. Tyler passed me and sat on the couch, one leg crossing over the other. His eyes met mine.
“Strip.”
My cock jerked. One command, and I was about to cum.
I grabbed my tie and jerked it, loosening the knot. Buttons moved slowly as my hands trembled. I almost tore my cuff open when I couldn’t navigate the tiny clasps. But finally I had my white shirt open, was peeling it off my shoulders. Was reaching for my undershirt and tugging it out of my suit pants. The whole time, he stared, his dark eyes taking in each inch of naked skin I revealed.
My hands undid my belt. Unzipped my fly.
