Page 47 of Gotta Have Mistletoe
“You’re mighty nice there,” I say.
That ain’t no lie.
“Well...” He shifts his legs.
“You are,” I say firmly, because he is.
Then I lie next to him and pull him into my arms, so he’s lying on my chest. I like having him on top of me. I like feeling him against me. I like all of this. I like him.
I let him explore my face with his hands and mouth. My heart leaps happily.
My cock hardens further against his, pre-cum seeping out, and the masculine scent fills the air. Erik’s face is flushed pink, and his locks stick against his forehead. Reckon this is what he would look like in Nevada when it’s hot.
“You can do anything,” I assure him. “Or tell me to do anything.”
“I want to feel you.”
His eyes turn glazed again, and he explores my body, running his fingers over each muscle, running his fingers through the hair that trails down to my cock.
It’s his first time with a man, and I wonder if he thinks he’ll get another chance with one. He sucks my skin, then eyes my cock.
“You don’t need to—”
He nods, but in the moment after, he’s put me in his mouth. A hot wet mouth is over me. His tongue moves. His lips move. And when his hands reach my balls, I grasp onto the sheet, as pleasure moves over me.
ERIK
Glen is in my bed.
I thought this would never happen. And it has. It is.
I suckle on his cock, exploring his tight balls with my hands.
He’s moaning beneath me, and I’m making him moan.
I can barely get the head in my mouth, and my movements are clumsy and desperate, but Glen’s eyes are soft wheneverI catch them, and he ruffles my head with something like reverence.
Maybe we have all night, maybe multiple nights if I’m lucky. But he’s going to leave soon. We might be telling everyone that we’re engaged, but we’re not. It’s false.
For some reason, it doesn’t feel like pretend.
My cock is hard, and I rut against Glen’s leg. He pulls me up and kisses me some more.
“My turn.” And then he’s swallowing my length, and running his hands over my bottom, and squeezing.
My eyes go wide, and I forget to breathe, because the way he sucks... the way he touches me... well, it’s remarkable.
He presses the pad of his thumb against my hole, and I moan. He withdraws his mouth from me and grins at me. His curly hair is tousled and wild, slick with sweat, and he grins. “You liked that?”
I nod frantically.
“Turn around.”
My eyes widen.
“Don’t worry,” he says. “I won’t penetrate. Not...”
His voice trails off, and I wonder if he was going to say ‘yet.’
