Page 80 of Rule 3: Never Fake Marry the Coach's Son
“Lie back and watch,” I tell him.
He obeys instantly, those big blue eyes fixed on my cock like it’s the most fascinating thing he’s ever seen.
I wrap my hand around myself, already close. The sight of him spread out beneath me, flushed and satisfied, is more than enough. Pre-cum beads at the tip and I use it to slick my strokes, paying special attention to that sensitive spot under the head.
Then I’m painting Oskar’s chest, his neck, his face.
I’m claiming him. He’s mine.
His pretty pink tongue moves out from his pretty pink lips, and my cock pulses again, spent but still aching for him. Maybe I should have just stuck it in his mouth, but I wanted to be sure he would enjoy it. I want his first sexual experiences to be good. I need him to look back on this night with nothing but fondness.
He licks his lips again, eyes bright with satisfaction. He’s so fucking hot.
I fetch a warm washcloth from the bathroom, ignoring my discarded clothes. After cleaning him up, I kiss his forehead and pull him close. His whole body fits against mine like it was made to be there. I fall asleep grinning, and he’s still in my arms when I wake.
I catch the moment when his body stills before he tries to wiggle free.
“Where do you think you’re going, mister?” I tug him back against me, enjoying how easily he moves in my arms.
“You’re awake.” His voice comes out squeaky.
“Uh-huh.”
“I was going to leave before you woke up.”
“Oh, yeah? Ghosting me in my own bed? Pretty cruel, Oskar.”
He giggles. “No. I—”
We’ve somehow drifted to the very edge of the mattress, so I shift us back and turn him to face me. God, I love how compact he is, how perfectly he fits against me. His eyes go all soft and dewy when they meet mine, nostrils flaring slightly like they always do when he’s flustered. Has he always looked at me this way? How did I miss it? How did I not see how beautiful he is?
I drink in his delicate features, the adorable upturn of his nose, when his eyes go wide with horror. He claps both hands over his mouth and starts scrambling backward.
“Where are you going?” I demand.
“I didn’t brush my teeth last night!” His face flames red as he keeps his fingers pressed firmly over his lips.
“I exhausted you.”
His gaze darts to my mouth, then he bolts for the bathroom. “You should have told me!”
“You looked so comfortable.”
“My teeth have bacteria on them!”
“Your teeth always have bacteria on them.”
“They probably grew!” He scampers into the bathroom, as if he thinks I’ll be able to smell his mouth from the other side of the room.
I sigh and follow him. He’s already furiously scrubbing his teeth.
“I also have teeth.” I remove my toothbrush and put toothpaste on it.
“Oh.” The word comes out garbled, and I don’t suppress my laughter.
He sneers and brushes harder.
“Don’t remove your enamel,” I say.
