Page 122 of Not Dating Material

“You’re okay,” he whispers before clipping the other side to the bed.

He pushes up onto his knees, gaze greedily running over me.

I flex my muscles, wanting to turn him on, wanting him to like everything he sees. There’s still that small discomfort swimming under my skin, but all I need to do is look at Molly, and it eases up. He’d never take advantage. All Molly cares about is making me happy, and I feel the same way about him.

He starts off slow, hands lightly trailing my body as he plays with my collarbones, my nipples, and my abs. He lightly skims over my cock, running one finger over my leaking slit and then trailing it down over my piercings.

“These feel so good,” he rasps. “Inside me. It makes everything so much more sensitive.”

“Good.”

“Maybe one day, we could do this without the condom. Just you and me and these incredible piercings lighting up my hole.”

“No maybe about it,” I growl. “Definitely. I want that.” My cock is aching thinking about pressing inside his tight little hole, feeling his skin and his heat wrapped completely around me.

He leans in and presses a kiss to my tip, eyes gleaming as he grabs his phone. “Now, where do we start?”

Ah, crud. Him getting me to list all the places wasn’t what I had in mind. “Where do you want to start?”

“You’re the one in control. I’m just being a good boy and doing what you tell me to.”

Mmphf. Okay. “The handcuffs.”

Molly straddles my chest and leans in close enough that I can suck his cock into my mouth. The camera clicks at the same time as Molly lets out a moan, and then he slides back down my body, and his dick disappears.

“No fair.”

He grins. “You’re in control here.”

“Okay,” I say, catching on. “I want a photo of my mouth. With your dick in it.”

“Yesss …” He hisses, scrambling back up my body. He grips his shaft and presses his cock to my tongue as he sinks in halfway, and then I suck and lick him through the sounds of Molly taking photos, cock getting impossibly harder at the thought of looking at these when we’re done.

He takes every photo I tell him to, moving down my body and over his. When he gets to my dick, he wraps one hand around it, then lifts the camera and lowers his mouth to it. I have a clear view of the screen as he takes photo after photo of his tongue on my shaft, lips wrapped over the tip, big eyes open and directed at the camera the whole time.

“I don’t think you could take enough photos of you doing that,” I rasp.

“Maybe I should do this, then.” Molly switches over to video and then goes to town on the sloppiest, sexiest blow job I’ve ever witnessed. I want to take over the camera, let him use both hands, or grip his head or something, but my arms are tensed above my head, white-knuckling my headboard, hips rocking up to meet his mouth, seeking more.

Molly pulls off with a husky laugh, then runs his tongue from my balls to my tip, and when he batts those lashes at me, my heart stops.

“Urg. Sit on my cock. Sit on it now.”

He stops filming and sets the phone down, pouting up at me. “Oh, but I’m not even stretched yet.”

“Molly …”

“What?” I don’t buy into the innocence in his tone for one minute.

“You’re planning something.”

“Don’t know what you mean.” He pushes up onto his knees, my cock left cold, wet, and neglected, and I watch in agony as he runs a hand over his hip and back to his ass where I can’t see it. “Like I thought, nothing’s getting in there.” He reaches for the lube and pours a generous amount over his fingers. “Since you’re all tied up, I guess I’ll have to do it myself.”

“Turn around. I want to see.”

He pretends to think it over. “Like … this?” He turns and throws a leg over my waist, perfect bubble butt right there, giving me a direct view of his fingers running over his hole.

“Closer,” I grunt.

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