Page 44 of The Night Of
His lips stretched around my cock as I thrust into his mouth. My cockhead hit the back of his throat once, twice, a third time. His tongue lapped at my shaft, spit and saliva collecting on his lips. I thrust again, harder, and the resistance at the back of his throat melted away. I slid all the way in, until his nose was buried in my crotch.
He shuddered, and even though he couldn’t speak, couldn’t make any noise, his lips closed tight around me as he pulled me deeper, held my cock down his throat. I grabbed his hands from my waist and yanked them over his head, pressed them to the mattress. That put me on my hands and knees, my cock still in his throat and in the perfect position to fuck his mouth.
I pulled back only enough for him to gasp, and then I thrust in again, and again, and again, harder each time. Jonathan’s bedroom filled with the slick sound of his throat taking my cock and his delirious, lust-drunk moans. I stared down at him. He tipped his head back and met my gaze. He was so fucking gorgeous in that moment: drool and spit leaking from his mouth, lips stretched wide around the root of my cock, his pupils blown, cheeks flushed, chest rising and falling rapidly. And he felt so fucking good, his throat clenching around my cock, his lips suctioned to me like a fucking vacuum, his cheeks hollow.
I yanked out of his perfect, sinful mouth before I came. He had commanded troops with that mouth, had addressed the nation with the same lips that were just wrapped around me. I had to kiss him, had to taste myself on his tongue and steal his breath again. He was putty in my hands, warm and eager for me to touch his body.
I stood and pulled him to the edge of his bed, held him there until I could slide his suit pants and briefs and socks off his legs, and then pinned his thighs back against his chest, exposing his hole. “Hold your legs back.”
He grabbed his knees. His whole body trembled.
“Do you want my mouth on you?”
Jonathan moaned.
“Do you want my tongue on you?”
“Sean, my God…”
“Beg for my tongue, Jonathan.”
He panted. Stared into my eyes. I hadn’t thought I could get harder, but this, now, watching him try to hold himself together was testing the fuck out of me. I was so fucking hard it hurt. Taking Jonathan to the brink and keeping him there, watching for all the ways he was coming undone, from the goose bumps that rose on his legs and over his ribs to the shivering of his belly to the way his toes curled and uncurled. The pounding of the pulse in his neck. I’d made a doctorate out of studying this man, two long years of watching his every move, and now, here, in the darkness, I could tell each different inflection of his inhales, the shifting notes of his desire as he quaked beneath me. Ordering him to beg had unleashed a new, deeper rumble of lust from within him.
But still, he resisted. I fucking loved it. “Beg me, if you want me to eventually allow you to come.”
“Please,” he groaned. “Please, Sean. Please. Put your mouth on me.”
I kneeled, pushing my shoulders against the spread V of his thighs. My breath ghosted over his hole. “Like this?”
“Sean!”
My tongue drove into his hole. I sucked and lapped at it like he had the elixir of life inside him. He howled, arched his back, tried to buck into me and away from me at the same time. He pulled his knees tighter against his chest, exposing himself even more. My name fell from his lips like a prayer. “Sean, Sean, Sean.”
I could eat Jonathan’s ass all night, feast on him until he came from my tongue alone. I fucked into him with my mouth. I sucked his hole, then pulled back and danced my tongue around the edge, then plunged back in, fucking him with hard, wet thrusts. I wanted everything of him. I wanted to take him apart and then put him back together, fall into him and let him fall into me.
He groaned again when I pulled back, blinking as he tried to come back to himself, trying to remember the planet he was on and his name, and trying to understand why my tongue wasn’t inside his ass anymore.
I grabbed his tie, still knotted around the neck of his open shirt, and yanked it free. “Put your hands together.” His arms shook when he obeyed, holding them out to me as if in prayer.
I looped his tie in figure eights around and between his wrists before tying it off. I yanked my borrowed boxers down my legs and surged against him, pressing our bodies together from toes to lips, and ran my hands through his hair as our cocks ground together. His hands were captured between us, his fingers curling into my chest, nails biting my skin.
“Where’s your lube?” I whispered, then kissed him again, not giving him a chance to answer. A minute passed, and then another, and I felt his shivers build with every moment I didn’t let him respond. Finally, I pulled away. Grinned. “Well?”
His eyes rolled upward, looking at the nightstand on the other side of the bed. Of course, far away. I crawled, dragging my chest, my hips, my hard cock, over him. Jonathan lunged for my cock and wrapped his lips around it. He moaned as he sucked, hollowing his cheeks and trying to draw me into another throat fuck.
I snatched the lube out of the drawer and thrust into his mouth, grabbing his hair and giving him what he wanted for one, two, three thrusts. Then I tore myself free and scooted back down the bed. “Mr. President,” I said, as he backed to the middle of the bed. “I didn’t say you could do that.”
He wiped his wet, ruby-red lips with the back of his tied hands and grinned.
I popped the top of the lube. “Spread your legs, Mr. President. Spread them for me like you did in the Oval Office.”
A flush bloomed on his chest and rose up his neck and across his cheeks. His nostrils flared, and the pulse at his neck leaped. I poured lube onto my fingers, making sure he could see.
There was too much crashing through me, too many emotions tangling inside my heart. I’d wanted him, of course, and I’d imagined stripping him, blowing him, him blowing me—but I’d never dreamed we’d spark off each other like this, be this frantically, desperately hot. Nuclear-meltdown hot. It scared me, how fucking good this was, and how I was racing toward some white-hot center of my soul that felt and tasted and sounded like Jonathan.
I slicked Jonathan slowly, drawing the moment out for him. I ran my other hand up and over his chest, tracing teasing patterns over his flushed skin. One of his ankles wrapped behind my back, trying to urge me forward. Trying to hurry me. I went slower. He cursed.
Finally, I tossed the lube by the pillow and lay atop him, pressing our bodies together. His tied wrists were trapped between us, his fingers splayed against my pecs. He wiggled, trying to get my cock where he wanted it. I dragged my head over his slick hole, not entering him.
