Page 20 of The Secret Experimentation
Is he hinting at what I think he is? He pushes me back on my seat. I shift a bit. My back is at the door to get the best view possible. Mel unbuttons his fly and with his eyes on me, he exhales heavily. His hand slides down his stomach and onto his thigh. Drawing lazy circles on his skin for a moment till he reaches his cock straining against his briefs. The bulge looks shorter than mine and thinner, but fuck, the sight of it sets my body on fire. He inhales sharply when his hand grips and fondles the bump. His eyes flutter closed, then open again to gaze at me under heavy lids. He pulls his tank top up, exposing his torso. There’s no bandage on his side anymore, and the skin looks only slightly red. His ribs must still hurt and maybe he’ll be more comfortable inside on a bed. But all thoughts leave me when he pushes down the waistband of his pants, lifting his hips to let his hard pink cock slap against his belly.
Can a male body be beautiful? Because Mel’s is. His tanned skin, narrow chest, flushed cheeks, and lust-filled eyes…I have to stifle a growl. My eyes zero in on his—thicker than I thought—dick when his long fingers curl around it. They slide all the way down, then back up. His palm twists over the head, his thumb spreading the drop of precum from his slit all over the length on the way back down. His other hand is gently fondling his hairless balls, pulling on them. His cock is bare, I like it. I read about manscaping somewhere. Would he be disgusted by my very hairy nether region?
“Been dreaming about this,” his voice is low and breathy. “You watching me like this. With hunger filling your eyes.”
“You’re hot as fuck,” I groan. The words just flow out of my lips. My dick is leaking, dying to be touched. But I’m too taken by the lewd scene in front of me.
“Oh God. I’m still waiting for the alarm to wake me up.”
“Not a dream, Pixie.” I yield and tug at myself through the fabric of my jeans. His eyes fall there and a blazing fire fills the dark orbs.
Seeing him like this, with sweat and sex floating in the air, turns my dick even harder. How have I lived without knowing how much I’d like this? It’s fucking madness.
“Nrgh. I could come just listening to your sexy voice.”
Me? He is thesexyone, and daring. And he is giving me the hottest show ever. He licks his hand and then goes back down to work. He flicks his wrist on the upstroke again, smearing more precum down his shaft, and switches between fast strokes and sensual ones. Hand jobs I’ve experienced in the past have been fast and hard because they were only a means to get turned on and then to move to more advanced stuff. To the main dish so to speak. But Mel is showing me how wrong that thought is.
I’ve never felt this horny in my entire life and from just a kiss and an erotic show. He is sex personified. Writhing his tight body on the seat. His breathing is rough. He’s completely focused on his own pleasure.
My own breathing is ragged as well, and rumbles make my chest vibrate.
“Mel…fuck.” I can’t take it anymore. I push myself up and lean closer to him, my hands grabbing my knees tightly. I just want to…be fucking closer. The beads of precum glistening at the slit pushes my tongue out to stroke my lower lip. I can see the way the muscles in his neck strain, the sweat dampening his hairline, and the way his lips part when something feels particularly good.
“Russel,” Mel grits out.
Hearing my name on his lips. Knowing he’s thinking about me while getting off ignites a dirty possessive feeling inside me. Fuck. I know this feeling very well, but this time is triple the usual strength.
“Pixie, are you about to cum?” I ask, mouth dry. His chest is heaving and he’s pumping himself harder. He locks eyes with me, and then his mouth drops open, and he lets out the sexiest noise I’ve ever heard. I want to swallow it, to make it mine. And I do, crushing my mouth to his, almost able to taste his pleasure. When I pull back long, white ribbons are still falling on his chest and neck and over his fingers as his whole body shudders. His hand stops, and he sinks boneless into the seat with a contented smile on his face.Fuck that was. That was…
“Fucking wow,” he whispers.Exactly.
I enjoy the sight of a seated,post-orgasmic, glowing Mel for a minute or two. ThenI slide my hand in the door pocket and grab the pack of wet wipes I store there. Just before I start cleaning his chest, a weird impulse makes me hesitate. The urge to taste the cum off his skin is strong, but I push it away. I want to take Mel inside and let him wash himself. The feel of dry cum is really uncomfortable—hellish for me—and the AC in the car is expediting the process.
“Freaking out?” Mel’s eyes are on me. His cute smile has turned into a small pout. Fuck. When did everything about him turn alluring?
“No,” I grunt, pushing the heel of my hand on my pants. I’ve never been so fucking hard and it’s from watching another man jerk off.
“I can help you with that.” He licks his lips, letting me know exactly how he wants to help.Damn.
I quickly clean his chest and neck, instead, while he takes care of his soft dick.
“Would you like to come in?” I ask him, taking the used wipes and throwing them into my car trash.
He gives my trash a half-frown, half-smile, but nods, adjusting his clothes.
Trying to breathe normally—I don’t know why I feel so anxious all of a sudden—I get out of the car and unlock the front door, letting him go first.
I flick the locks on the door twice…just checking they work—every time. Mel stops at the entrance when he sees me taking off my shoes. And does the same without question. How can he keep surprising me and at the same time, make me feel at ease?
I walk inside the large living room, wash my hands at the kitchen sink and notice that Mel has taken just a few steps forward. He’s standing there, seemingly taking everything in.
My house is pristine and essential. White walls, light brown furniture, a big grey carpet. Everything is angular and square. Dustless. The only colors come from the wall window that frames the sandy cream beach, sapphire blue ocean, and small vegetation on the left of the house. I bought this house because of the modern, simplicity of the design. It inspires me with a calm and relaxed feeling. But now that I’ve seen Mel’s house I can’t stop myself from thinking that he must hate it. Because this is the polar opposite of his brilliant, vibrant Van-Gogh-like apartment.
That’s why the expression of awe clearly visible on his face, and the big smile full of wonder curling his lips puzzle me.
“This place isThe-Lake-Houseincredible. But with a beach,” he softly says. Even though I don’t understand his reference, the admiration in his voice hangs in those twenty feet separating us.
Mel hesitantly runs his fingers on the sideboard near the wall, walking toward the large, state-of-the-art, matte grey kitchen. He spends a few minutes studying it. His head keeps turning this way and that like he doesn’t want to miss anything.
