Page 20 of Grease & Grips
He’s too good. Too focused. Too damn much.
And then something snaps in me.
Fingers threaded through his hair I tighten my grip around the back of his head and I push down. Harder than I meant to. He chokes, sputters around me, and nods.
I groan and lift my hips, thrusting up into his mouth in hard, punishing strokes. His spit runs down my cock, soaking his chin and my balls. His eyes water. His jaw strains, but he stays there. Taking it.
When he finally pulls off with a wet gasp, his mouth is red and puffy and wet. His eyes are glassy, tears streaking down his face, and he’s smiling.
He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand breathless. “You like fucking my throat?”
“Yes,” I manage.
His brow lifts. “Yes what?”
I swallow, throat tight, heart racing. “Yes Sir.”
He stands and presses up against me, chest to chest, sweat-slick skin sticking to the patch of hair across my chest and belly. Close enough to feel his breath fan out across my lips. I don’t dare step away.
“You ever eaten ass before?” he whispers against my lips.
I shake my head.
He pats me twice on the cheek, more fond than teasing. “No time like the present.”
Then he steals a kiss before brushing past me. He climbs onto the couch and braces an elbow on the backrest. With the motion his spine curves into an arc and he’s full only display. Offered only to me.
The tight, corded muscles in his back shift with every breath, flexing deeper with the curve of his spine. His knees are spread wide and from where I stand I can see everything. His cock and balls hang heavy almost brushing the cushion. All of it draws my eye straight to the center, To the tight, puckered ring of muscle, just a shade darker than the rest of his golden skin.
He glances back at me eyes lidded trusting me to meet him there.
My hands move before the rest of me does, palms skimming down the slope of his back, over warm skin and taut muscle, until I reach the curve of him. He’s still watching me, still giving me that space to change my mind, to hesitate, but I don’t. Not when he’s laid out for me like this.
Not when he asked and meant it.
Dropping to my knees, my palms brace on either side of his hips. Breath skims across his skin as I lean in and hover over hishole. We both shiver and when I finally press my mouth to him I swear I feel something shift. Like a lock clicking open in both of us.
Andrés exhales something that sounds like my name and settles in deeper against the couch, and I keep going, careful but not shy, learning every reaction he gives me like it’s gospel.
If this is the lesson, then I’ll be the most willing student he’s ever had.
My tongue breaches his entrance and every one of my senses lights up with him. His scent, his taste, the sweat still clinging from a long day on the road. The edge of my beard brushes against the sensitive skin there, rough enough to make him groan low in his throat. He shifts back into me, chasing the contact, greedy for more.
“Okay, I can’t take it anymore,” he says, pushing off the couch. I end up on my heels, blinking up at him as he turns and stands tall in front of me. I lean in and give the head of his cock a slow lick, catching a bead of pre-cum on my tongue.
He shudders hard. “Nope. No more of that. You need to fuck me.”
“Okay,” I manage, voice hitching on the word.
He squints down at me. “Okay? That’s it? Where’s the enthusiasm?”
Climbing to my feet I shrug, wiping a hand on my thigh. “I’m kinda worried about the no lube thing.”
“I was thinking spit,” he says, wrapping a hand around me, giving me a few strokes before slapping my cock against his upturned palm. “But this? This needs more than spit.”
I huff out a laugh, too turned on to be properly embarrassed.
“First,” he says, reaching down towards his heap of clothes strewn across the floor. He finds jeans and pulls a condom from his wallet. “You’ll need this.”
