Page 70 of Catcher's Lock
“Nope.”
Relief courses through me, complicated by doubt. Despite my expectations, he didn’t even flinch at the Fourth Base scene, and a part of me wondered if it was because he’d been experimenting with other guys. But if he hasn’t…
“How do you know you’re going to like it?” I ask.
“Because I’ve been fantasizing about having your cock in my mouth ever since you let that little twink get there first.” He steps between my thighs and plucks at the neck of my T-shirt. “Now take off your clothes.”
I’m not nearly as graceful about it as he was, but I tell myselfit’s because he insists on helping—tugging impatiently at my jeans while I’m still navigating my sleeves, and laughing when he lands on his ass with a liberated boot in his lap.
Something thornier than lust stirs in my chest at the sound of his carefree laughter, throwing me back to dandelion wishes and smothered secrets as he tosses my jeans and briefs carelessly aside.
“Gem—” I cut off with a gasp when his hand comes up to circle my cock, my amorphous doubts scattering back into the past. “Oh.”
Gripping my hip with his other hand, he surges up on his knees to press his forehead to mine and proceeds to flawlessly take me apart. It takes him all of ten seconds to figure out how to navigate my foreskin, sliding it up to gather the precum pulsing from my slit before gliding back down, his thumb applying perfect pressure along my dorsal vein.
How is he a fucking hand job savant?
If I weren’t currently reaping the benefits and being driven to distraction by the fact that it’shishand sending these shockwaves of pleasure through me, I’d be jealous of his confidence.
His own cock leaks neglected against his abdomen, painting his tattooed monsters with a saltwater sheen. Releasing my death grip on the bedclothes, I reach out and trace my fingers down the straining length.
“Fuck,” he curses, and his rhythm stutters as I swipe my thumb over his crown. “Christ, that feels good.”
Bolstered by the praise, I take him in my grip and wrap my other hand around his neck, matching him stroke for stroke, until our ragged breathing weaves a carnal harmony. His fingernails digging into my hip aren’t enough to stop me from thrusting off the bed, chasing the bright edge of ecstasy.
“Ungh. Shit. I’m gonna come if we keep this up,” I warn.
“Already?” Hiseyes twinkle as he flicks his gaze to mine. “I didn’t even use my tongue.”
Memory blazes between us, tugging a smile to my lips.
“It’s not too late.” My toes curl when he gives me another lazy stroke. At this point, I’m not even moving my own hand, only hanging on to his dick for dear life. “Yet.”
When he sits back on his heels, I release him, searching his face for second thoughts. Biting his lip, he eyes my swollen cock.
“You don’t have to,” I say.
“It’s not that.” A huffed laugh escapes him. “Shit. I can’t remember the last time I was nervous about sex. This”—another stroke, casual and devastating—“is at least familiar territory. I’ve never been flexible enough to suck my own dick.”
“If it helps, the bar is practically nonexistent.”
“Meaning I’m gonna blow that fucker Benji out of the water?”
Ignoring the terrible pun, I cup his jaw and smear my thumb over his bottom lip. “Meaning you already have.”
“Damn, Rocket. You say the prettiest things.”
“Prettier than telling you to choke on my cock?”
The blue of his eyes blows to midnight.
“Nope,” he rasps. “That’s hot as fuck. I’m ready to go for it now.”
My chuckle dissolves into a shuddering whimper when he sticks out his tongue and drags it up the length of my cock, his piercing leaving a line of fire in its wake.
“Do that again,” he says, peering up at me through midnight lashes.
“I think that’s my line,” I gasp.
