Thursday 10 May 2018

Courage Part Two

Hello, Wicked Wednesday friends. 


Thought I would continue where I left off last week. If you haven't read part one of this little story, you can find it here.

Stumbling down the hall behind him, I hope he is blind to everything except his own need. The scent of him is stronger in the bedroom and as he sheds his trainers and socks I concentrate on breaking it down. Deodorant or something equally artificial over warm body. Faint traces of those base notes we all share, sweat and work and sex. Enough to know this is real. Dusty construction smells from his work clothes. He strips in the pool of light from the hallway, spotlit against the darkness of his room. His jeans come down and his body is revealed and everything else retreats to the backdrop.

I want. Want. My hands on hot skin rough with hair. His breath in my mouth. And I take it. Because I can. Because…

I push him back on the bed and stand over him. Silly, cartoon dominance, but I have to be sure. He strokes his cock slowly, looking up at me, blue grey eyes wide with want. Wanting me to want him. I wait. He stills, hand falling to lie against his thigh.
“Back up.” He scuttles back towards the pillows and I kneel between his feet. Lean over him. Let him absorb where we are. Who he is. His pale gaze is watchful. Waiting.
Lips meet. Press. Part reluctantly, skin clinging where we are not. Breathe each other’s air.
We meet each other slowly, equal parts wary and hungry. The way the half light catches the whites of our eyes I can see him watching me but not with any nuance of expression. He can see me watching him but I remain equally hidden. Neither of us reaches for the light and we keep our secrets safe.

I trail my hands lightly over the topography of his body, tracing clean cut lines of collar bone and rib. Stomach sucked tight in response to trailing fingers and a gasp of breath. Ticklish then. Dips of hips and thick muscles of thigh, raking my fingers through his coarse pelt till it thickens at the base of his cock.
Dragging one finger down his length from weeping tip to hairy sac raises another sound, more groan than gasp and his body undulates to curl in on itself and then thrust blindly into the air.

“What sounds will you make as I suck you off?”

“Jac. God. Please.”

I like the way he cries my name.  Love the stretch and slide as I explore his junk, dragging his skin over the hardness beneath, following his length back beneath his balls to the private seams and furrows. The soft hairless patches, the wrinkles, the delicate movement of it all beneath my fingers that makes it seem like a separate living entity from the straining man holding himself against the bed.

Lips close enough to feel his warmth, his scent a mouthwatering flavour, I take soft skin between my teeth and test its substance, test his substance with nips and kisses and grazing bites. Slip his head into my mouth and press my tongue into his weeping eye. He cries wordless pleas and tries to force himself deeper and I can taste his honesty, bitter, salty tears that coat my mouth.

I shed my shirt, toeing off my trainers and unbuckling my belt. I want that rough hair, those sinuous limbs and strong, bony fingers against skin more than I hate bearing my body. Jeans gone, I press myself against his heat and I kiss him again, lips wet from his cock. He bucks against me this time in fear or distaste but settles as I stoke my tongue against his and the flavour disperses. I let the kiss settle, before sitting back, straddling his thigh.

“You don’t like your taste?”

“I don’t… I haven’t… I…”

“But you want me to?”

“Jac. Please.”

I scoot my hand under my shorts and wet my fingers. Paint my lips and kiss him again. No complaints this time. My hand finds his cock, heavy and full against his stomach and I let my fingers capture his slick. Licking their tips, I ask him to open for me. He doesn’t at first, flinching away for a second or two, lips clamped shut before he finally opens his mouth and lets my fingers in, cleans them with his tongue.

A smile curves his lips as we move together for a kiss.
“Some kinky shite alright,” he murmurs against my mouth.

“’bout to get more kinky,” I smile back and slide my hand purposefully over his cock and down between his thighs. “You got lube?”

“God. Yeah. Here…somewhere.” I reach for the drawer, just out of his reach. Pinned beneath me he writhes, but neither of us really want his freedom. Blindly fumbling, I find a familiarly shaped pump bottle and bring it to the bed. A sickly fruity smell follows.

“Not that shite. Not if you don’t mind… I think…” I wonder who needed the fakery to blow him. Who told him he tastes bad? With the drawer pulled open he manages some feat of contortionism and brings back another little bottle. Even in the low light from hallway, it was clear this was a more specialised product.

“Been thinking about this? Just a little?” I tease. Enough to get supplies in.

“Yeah. Well. Bit of a boy scout you remember?” His voice is huskier now. Quieter.

“You good?”

“Mmm.” Not enough of a yes for me to just plough on, but enough to keep pressing forward.

I used to hate my height, my build. When the growth spurt hit at puberty it put me a foot taller than anyone I fancied and they didn’t catch up for years. Some of them never did. Now, with his matching body beneath me everything made sense. These moments, few and far between, when suddenly I fit in my skin, are just something else. Something to cling to.

His hair caught between my fingers, I steer our kisses and wait for him to relax. Hands curl around my waist, rubbing lightly against my sides, the motions slow and gentle and with each pass he settles further into the slide of our lips. Lubing my other hand, thank fuck for pump action bottles, I slide two fingers into the tight crease of his backside, seeking and finding my goal.

“Open up for me.” He murmurs something and tried to reach back into the kiss. I pull back on his hair, pull my hand free of his arse and slap his thigh. “Open up. Bring you knee higher and…” I stop with the instructions and move him where I want him. He doesn’t resist. Watches me with night black eyes and panting breaths.

“You still want this?” Want me?


  1. God this is so hot! Please, please don't stop here but write a part 3 too?!

    Rebel xox

  2. I love you gorgeous phrases and thoughtful insights. A pleasure to read.