I clear my throat. “My point is that this dick is very pretty.”
“Dicks aren’t pretty.” His voice is uncertain, like he thinks dicks are pretty.
“Are you calling my cock unpretty, Fitzpatrick?”
“No. Yours is—” He swallows hard, and his cheeks turn that pink color I adore.
I decide to put him out of his misery.
I trail a finger from his balls to the tip of his cock. His cock twitches.
“It has no curves,” I say fondly. “And it’s not veiny.”
Noah sneaks a look at mine. “Veiny is good.”
I smile at the way his green eyes dilate and run my fingers through his hair. “And both balls are round and perfectly matched.” Then I crawl between his legs, because that’s the best way to get to his balls. I lick them, which is interesting, because I’ve never had something with that wrinkly, thin texture in my mouth, and Noah groans. I hold each one in my mouth, and Noah’s groans louden. His legs wriggle. His shaft twitches.
I glance up at him. “Be quiet.”
“Okay,” he says softly.
I grin, then lick my way down his shaft. “Good?”
“The best,” he manages to get out. His chest moves up and down in a way more rapid pace than an athlete normally does when lying on a fucking bed, and his breath stutters out of his perfect pink lips.
I bathe his whole cock in my mouth, moving in long wet moves. I want to get to know it. I want to know how it looks and how it feels in my mouth.
And finally, I want to worship it.
I take his head in my mouth and suck.
“Finn,” Noah murmurs.
I slide his cock from my mouth. “You want me to stop?”
“No!” he moans. “Don’t stop. Never stop.”
My lips twitch but I slide his cock back into my mouth. I mean, I’m not cruel, obviously.
I suck hard, hollowing my cheeks, and channel my inner vacuum cleaner. From the wild flaying that Noah promptly does, I’m successful.
“I’m going to—” Noah pants. “Montreal, Winnipeg, Montreal, Winnipeg, Ottawa.”
I withdraw from his cock. “What are you doing?”
“I’m reciting Stanley Cup championships in order.”
“Why?”
“So I don’t come!”
“You can come. That’s the point.”
“I might make your mouth wet!” Noah exclaims.
I snort. “Besides the order is actually Montreal, Montreal, Montreal, Winnipeg, Montreal...”
“I didn’t want to repeat myself. You might think I was crazy.”
