Page 37 of Nailed (Dad Bod Contracting 3)
And then, once again, I ask myself why I’m holding back, what am I resisting? Why draw it out? Why hold back from what I want? I want to taste him, I want to feel him in my mouth and in my hands—I want to make him feel good, wake him up by making him feel better than he’s ever felt.
I ask myself why.
The answer? I want to erase everything that’s gone before. I want to be all he can think of, all he remembers. I want to make him feel better than he’s ever felt—for a lot of reasons. To know that I’m capable of that, that I can be that for a man. That he doesn’t need me in the way that Paul needed me, but that he wants me and wants how I make him feel so badly that he can’t live without the way I make him feel. I want to know what it’s like to be desired just for who I am—and I get that from Ryder. He makes me feel beautiful. Wanted. Needed. Appreciated.
Which in turn makes me want to do things for him—make him feel wanted and appreciated and desired and needed.
During my whole relationship with Paul, sex was about him—keeping him sated, keeping him happy, keeping him sane. It was about keeping up with his demands in a desperate attempt to establish some kind of equilibrium, and I had this stupid idea that if I kept up with his sexual needs while he was in that needy, low-swing state, that maybe he’d think more about me and be more approachable and reasonable when he was in the upswing. Only, it never worked that way. And the sex was never…mutual. I worked hard to make sure I felt some kind of release from it, but it was never about me.
Ryder makes it about me.
Even when I showed him that my desire was for him, that I wanted something that would make him feel good, he turned it back on me, brought it back to me. Made me come more than I’ve ever come in my life in a single night—more in terms of both volume and intensity. He kissed me through it all. Looked me in the eye and never shied away or acted afraid of how intense it was. He demanded I keep eye contact as we came together, and I think he knew damn well the effect that would have on both of us, emotionally.
I think he knew going into this weekend what would happen.
Is that why I have his erection in my hand, contemplating crawling under the covers and taking him in my mouth?
Is it for him? Or for me?
Both.
I want to know how I can make him feel by doing this. And I want him to know I want to make him feel that way.
I look at his handsome face, younger-looking and vulnerable in repose. There are care lines at the corners of his mouth and eyes. A slackness to his mouth, which can utter such sweet, funny, and sexy things. His beard is messy, tangled.
He stirs, shifting, pushing his hips upward, the tense strain of his erection making him seek relief, even unconsciously. I slide my fist down his length, and he makes a sound in his throat, a soft, boyish murmur. I remain quiet; keeping my touch light and soft, I stroke him slowly. He huffs, sighs, and his hips flex upward.
I’m aroused and amused by how reflexive and expressive he is in his need, even asleep. I lift the blanket and slide down his body, ducking under the blankets and leaving them over my head. It’s stuffy under here, though, so I lift the covers near his feet to create a little ventilation hole. Why don’t I just toss back the blankets? Because I have this dumb idea that it’s sexier if he wakes up and I’m under the blankets, sucking him off.
I go with it. The ventilation hole I made lets enough fresh air in that I’m not going to suffocate.
I caress his erection with both hands, and he moans, shifting his hips. I hum in satisfied approval. He’s going to wake up and not even know what hit him.
I run my tongue up the side of him, tasting him, feeling the ridges of vein and ripples of skin. I lick him again, and hear his breath catch, pause, and release as I slide the flat of my tongue up his erection again and again. His hips move, flex, and shift as I lick him, making sure to pay equal attention to the front, the side, the back, cupping his balls in one hand and stroking him with the other. He’s stirring now, starting to respond, but he’s still mostly asleep.
Time to wake him up…
Ryder flops onto his back with a gusting sigh and a disbelieving laugh. “How the hell does it get better every single time?”
