Page 30 of The Truth of Our Past

“You are so sexy until you open your mouth,” he says.

Instead of flipping around, Alec drags his chest over my body, settling between my legs, making it impossible for me to get my mouth on him. His hair sticks out in every direction from my fingers, and he maintains eye contact as he swipes his tongue over my head, lapping up the pre-cum. If gay men had an icon for debauchery, it would be this version of Alec.

“When your cock can’t get hard for anyone else, you’ll see my face.” His expression is so sinful I can’t deny his words, and he swallows me whole.

I whimper in response. It’s been too long. I burn for this.

A babble of Swedish leaves my mouth.

Alec’s eyes dance with laughter as he pops off me. “You took the words right out of my mouth.”

I can’t respond. I’m single-mindedly focused on holding off until I can get my mouth on him.

“You’re terrible at following your own directions,” he huffs without heat.

My eyes widen, and I reach for him, eager to taste him. Refraining from arguing that his actions stopped me from doing what we both want.

“So needy for this.” Alec rises to his knees and strokes himself. “Aren’t you?”

“You are so sexy until you open your mouth,” I repeat his words back to him, and his joyous laugher rewards me.

“Shut up and put your mouth where it belongs.” Alec brushes my hair back with both of his hands.

He scoots backward off the end of the bed and pulls my legs, dragging me until my head is in the center. I am only slightly obsessed with the way he can manhandle my six-foot frame. Only slightly. Lying to myself: the best course of action.

The way he licks his lips while staring at my dick is obscene.

I’m stretched out on my side as Alec climbs back onto the bed, facing away from me. Before he can position himself, I wrap my arms around his thighs, nuzzle into his balls, and inhale. He smells of happiness, sunshine, and man. If I could breathe enough of him in, I might get a fraction of his warmth.

But I hunger to taste him, so I swallow him whole. I moan around him, satisfied just by being stuffed full of him.

Alec gasps and lets out a stream of noises trying to form words but can’t. I’m too full of his dick to enjoy the satisfaction of rendering him speechless.

While I’m testing the limits of my gag reflex, Alec licks my head like a lollipop. He explores my foreskin with precision, but I thrust into his mouth for more. Groaning, he cups my balls, so I widen my legs to give him better access. I’m surprised when he does the same.

Alec’s thumb rims my hole and I’m gone. My balls draw up and I gurgle around his dick before fireworks explode in my brain. Alec suctions his mouth and hums with pleasure, taking my release.

He tries to lift off me, but I thirst to be full of his cum. And seconds later, I get it. There is so much at once that it’s hard to handle, but it's still not enough, and I try to coax more out of his slit with my tongue.

“Viking, you gotta stop. It’s too much.” Alec rolls away from me and I let him go. We come back down to earth in comfortable silence until Alec asks, “So was this your plan when you stripped in front of me? Distract me with sex, so I forget everything else?”

I chuckle at the ceiling and slap his ass. Alec flips around and we kiss while maneuvering up to the pillows.

His mouth tastes even better with remnants of me on his tongue. We devour each other and I drown in his kisses. He doesn’t break away until our lips are swollen.

He’s breathtaking. “Beautiful,” I whisper to myself, but he hears me.

Alec’s dimples are on full display and they don’t give me a choice—I’m forced to lick them. He spears his hand into my hair, sifting through until it’s fanning over the pillow.

“I love your fucking goddamn hair when it’s wild all for me.” He removes my hands from his hips and binds my wrists over my head. “Fuck,” he breathes, “what are you doing to me?”

I say, “Stay” at the same time Alec says, “I should go.”

“You’re staying.” I sound confident while my heartbeats staccato. I sweat, trying to ignore how much I enjoy him being here.

“I don’t do sleepovers.” He hesitates, sitting up.

“You do now.” I watch as he weighs the pros and cons. “It’s late. You have stayed before, and”—I pause, waiting for him to make eye contact—“I do not want anything to happen to that pretty face of yours in this big city if you’re out there alone.” My tone is playful and slightly mocking.

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