Page 76 of Adrift Without You
“It feels good against my skin—masculine, rough. And…” He pauses, stubbing out the cigarette, the anticipation sending me wild.
“And…?” I slip my hand into my boxers, and Bren groans at the sight. “Baby, tell me.”
“And I’ve been thinkin’ about what it would feel like between my thighs.”
I sink down onto my knees in front of him. “And what would I be doing between your thighs?”
I spread Bren’s knees wider, his face blushing a deep rose.
“You know what you’ll be doin’,” he replies.
“But baby, I want to hear it from you.” I nudge the hem of his shorts higher, then kiss and bite my way up his inner thigh, nuzzling my face against his cock.
“You’re suckin’ me off and your mouth is so wet and warm.”
“Hmm,” I groan, marvelling at the wet spot appearing on his shorts and the needy little pants falling from his open mouth.
Slipping my fingers under the waistband of his shorts, I start tugging. He lifts his hips, and I strip them down to his ankles, his cock slapping back against his stomach. “Glad you didn’t bother with your briefs.”
It’s late at night, so it’s unlikely someone will walk past, but it adds to the thrill, nonetheless. Pre-cum glistens at the tip of Bren’s cock, his fingertips dancing across his pecs.
“Tell me more,” I encourage, blowing hotly over his balls.
“I wanna squeeze my thighs around your face and rub them against your beard. Fuck, Ky,please.”
Bren lifts his hips, desperate for my mouth. Fuck, I love him like this, asking for what he wants, allowing me into his fantasies.
Rubbing my beard against his inner thigh, I slide my hand up over his abs and pinch the hard nub of his nipple. Then, without any warning, I grab hold of Bren’s ankles and yank him forward in the seat, settling his thighs over my shoulders. He gasps and I bury my face in his groin, rubbing my beard all over his cock, balls, and taint. Even though we’d showered after round one, I can still smell sex on him, along with the citrus scent of my body wash. I hum approvingly.
“Ky, oh Ky,” he chants, threading his fingers through my hair.
Finally, I sink down over his shaft, taking him all the way to the root and swallowing, my throat tightening around his thickness.
“Jesus, fuck!” Bren exclaims, hand fisting my hair.
I pull off slowly, sucking hard, then swirl my tongue messily around the head, letting my saliva dribble down his length. I repeat the action a few more times, then set a languid pace sliding up and down. Bren squeezes his thighs around my face, so my beard rubs shamelessly against his inner thighs with each bob of my head.
Within minutes he’s thrusting up while he holds my head in place. It turns me on, Bren taking what he wants, and I groan, sending vibrations up his cock. Unable to ignore my own throbbing dick, I slip my hand into my boxers and stroke myself. When Bren approaches his orgasm, I double down on the pressure and speed, and he comes in my mouth with pleasured cries that pierce the night.
Back inside with Bren in my arms, I’m too distracted to follow the plotline of the movie playing in front of us. His fingers delicately glide over my hand—the palm, the back and then between my fingers—over and over again. Something about it is so sensual, my muscles turning to mush and my dick hardening yet again. I feel like a teenager. How can I be ready to go for round three at my age?
We rarely held hands when we were boys—partly because we feared getting caught, but also because Bren struggled with intimacy outside of sex for a very long time. Being with him again without that anxiety and shame is perhaps the greatest gift of my life. Which leads me to ask, “Bren, do you wanna have a bath together?”
“Yeah,” he says without hesitation.
“Really? Okay, stay here and I’ll run the water.” Immediately, I’m on my feet and rushing down the hall to the bathroom.
Ten minutes later, I call for him, holding my breath as he steps into the room. I’ve probably gone overboard—lighting candles and adding bubble bath. “It’s not too much, is it?” I ask.
“No, I like it.”
We quickly strip naked then step into the water. I lower myself first, then Bren settles between my legs, leaning back against my chest. Wrapping my arms around his waist, I pull him closer and kiss his temple.
“Damn, this feels nice,” he says. “It was a shame we never did any of this romantic stuff when we were young.”
I snort. “You’ve certainly mellowed over the years. I never thought I’d see Brendan Young enjoying a romantic bubble bath, that’s for sure. You’ve gone soft.”
“Fuck off.” There’s no real heat in Bren’s words and I can tell he’s smiling. “I could still kick your ass,” he goads.
