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?
God this is so hot! Please, please don't stop here but write a part 3 too?!
ReplyDeleteRebel xox
I love you gorgeous phrases and thoughtful insights. A pleasure to read.
ReplyDelete