Page 62 of Pressure Head
He froze. “Just what are you offering, here? Because I think we ought to be clear on this.”
He was probably right—but the band around my chest tightened at the thought of laying myself bare. “Do you want me to be offering anything?”
“Let’s not play games, Tom. You know I want you.”
I did? “Then . . . that’s what I’m offering,” I heard myself say.
There was a moment of absolute stillness. I swear my heart stopped beating. Any minute now he’d say something like,Are you sure?And then I’d bottle it, tell himNah, daft idea, and that’d be it.
He didn’t. His warm hands slid around my waist, and he pulled me close. I felt his hardness grow against my belly and shivered. He didn’t ask if I was all right, thank God. He just bent his head and kissed me.
Phil tasted of beer, and bitterness, and regret. But as our tongues moved together, the bitterness faded away, leaving a new taste of want and need. I still had my beer bottle in one hand, and I fumbled blindly behind me for the counter, setting my beer down heedless of whether it stayed upright or spilled its contents onto the floor. Phil’s hands dropped to my arse and cupped it, lifting me up against him. God, that felt good. My hands now free, I slung them around his neck, pressing his mouth into mine. Lips and teeth clashed bruisingly. Despite my efforts, he broke the kiss. “Are we going to do this here?” he asked roughly.
“Wherever you want,” I mumbled into his neck, his stubble scratching my lips, my face.
He chuckled, his hand still kneading my arse. “Can’t help noticing you haven’t got any blinds. Don’t want to frighten the neighbours, do we?”
“Well, maybe Mrs. F. at number ten. She’s a right miserable old cow.” I bit at his neck, just above his collar.
Phil gasped. “Come on—upstairs. Or do I have to carry you?”
He would too, I didn’t doubt. “Can’t take the caveman out of the boy, eh?”
“Something like that.” He gave my arse one last squeeze.
We stumbled out of the kitchen, still half-entwined, and up the stairs, Arthur doing his best to trip us up on the way. “First door on the right,” I told Phil, because my hands were a bit busy right then to open the door. So were his, but he shouldered it open anyway. “Sorry about the mess,” I muttered, trying not to think about how many days’ worth of old socks were littered around the floor.
“Forgotten what my place looks like already, have you?” Phil countered.
I didn’t want to think about Phil’s place, with its guilty secrets and its photo of the man he’d loved, so I pushed Phil down onto the bed and landed on top of him. He laughed, and twisted somehow, and suddenly he was on top, his weight crushing the breath out of me and making me dizzy. “This all right?” he asked sharply, lifting up on his arms.
“Fuck, yeah,” I breathed, wondering what he was on about.
“I mean, for your hip.”
“Oh—yeah, it’s fine.” It wasn’t aching any worse than usual, and my cock was being a bloody sight more insistent about wanting attention. “Don’t worry about it.”
He gave me a look like he didn’t believe me, and knelt up over me, straddling my legs. I was about to complain, until I realised he’d done it so he could get his kit off. The cashmere sweater hit the floor to hobnob with my manky old socks, and half a second later, his shirt joined the party. I was struggling to follow Phil’s example, but then he undid his trousers and completely robbed me of the ability to think straight.
Yeah, of course I’d seen his cock before. School changing rooms. Showers. But it had been a bloody long time ago, and back then, it hadn’t been stiff and erect and pointing straight at me. He was big—bigger than I remembered. I raised myself up on my elbows. God, I wanted to taste him. I could smell him from here, musky and male, with a strong hint of salt from the wetness that glistened on his exposed head.
I didn’t even realise I’d licked my lips until Phil smiled. “Want a taste of that, do you?”
“Oh, God, yes.”
“Lie back down. Put a couple of pillows under your head.”
I did what he said, my cock now screaming at me for a touch, or at least to be let out of my jeans. I ignored it and waited, breathing hard, for Phil to get his trousers off properly and get himself into position to fuck my face.
He was a bloody tease about it, holding his cock in one hand and rubbing the end of it all over my face and neck before he finally touched it to my lips. Good thing I’d had a shave today. Or maybe he liked a little pain, anyway. I bucked up, trying to get my mouth around him.
“Greedy, aren’t you?” he said, sounding fond. “Say please.”
“Please,” I said, making a rude gesture at him at the same time.
“I ought to spank your arse for that,” he muttered, but he lowered himself down on me anyway.
I opened wide for him, shielding my teeth with my lips. Salt exploded across my tongue as I flicked it over the head of him, and he moaned. He pushed in, and I circled him with my tongue, the circles getting smaller and smaller until I poked the tip of my tongue into his slit, because I bloody love it when blokes do that to me.
