Page 87 of I Think They Love You

“S-same… d-diff—”

Denz gives up after Braylon’s teeth pinch the valley of his hipbone. Dizziness overtakes him. More kisses smooth along the sensitive skin on the inside of his thighs. He can’t breathe. Then, Braylon’s mouth dips into the dark hair surrounding Denz’s cock.

“I love watching your toes curl when I—”

Instead of finishing, Braylon swallows half of his erection in one go.

Denz dissolves into nonsensical words and noises.

In college, Braylon was clumsy and self-conscious about sex. Denz was his firsteverything. But each time brought out an eager, more determined Braylon. A renewed need to find ways to leave Denz speechless.

Now… he’s deliberate and thorough. Fucking godlike. Denz doesn’t want to think about where he learned any of this.Whohe’s practiced on. To stop himself from screaming, he says, “I hate tea.”

Braylon sinks lower.

“I hate vinegar on fries.”

Soft kisses tickle from the base of his cock to the tip.

“Union Jacks.” Denz fights the compulsion to grab the back of Braylon’s head. To keep him in one place. “Stupid Big Ben. The 1975. Wembley. Buckingham fucking Palace—”

Braylon’s mouth slides off. The noise his throat makes is somewhere between a groan and growl.

“Are you quite finished?”

Almost,Denz thinks. He makes the mistake of looking down. Staring into wide, blown-out eyes. A slick pink mouth hovering above his shiny cock. Braylon’s left hand is braced against the front of his own joggers, palming his hard-on like he’s on the edge too.

It’s enough to undo Denz.

“Um, yes?”

“Good.”

With zero hesitation, Braylon takes him fully. He doesn’t choke. There’s no pause for adjusting. Only a throat swallowing. Warmth and velvety softness andholy shit.

Denz can’t watch anymore. He can still hear it. The slurping. Braylon’s hand moving faster along his own erection. The tiny, eager noises he makes around Denz’s dick.

Like he can’t get enough.

It’s an overstimulating hurricane that leaves Denz shivering. Against every shred of will he has left, Denz’s toes curl. He hisses a “fuck the monarchy” before going boneless on the countertop.

He barely has the energy to lower his eyes again.

The sight sets another wave of trembles through him:

Joggers pooled around Braylon’s thighs. A tight fist around his flushed, wet cock. Tremoring shoulders. Swollen lips letting out hot, choppy breaths as he comes. His expression is as blissed out as Denz feels.

Maybe Braylon hasn’t changed that much after all.

-13-

“Don’t panic.”

Denz has whispered those words ad nauseam for the last five minutes. Exhaling, he grips the sink. His legs are still shaky. There’s a dull ache in his lower back from arching so hard. Shiny beads of cold water drip down his cheeks to his jaw as he stares at his reflection in Braylon’s bathroom mirror.

He’s fine.

So what if his ex-now-fake-boyfriend just gave him the best orgasm he’s had in years.

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