Page 70 of Under The Twilight Rainfall
I know that I’m the one who told him to go, who told him that I’d be alright waiting for him—and I am, I always will—but that doesn’t mean the hurt is any less. My heart aches; I already miss him, and he isn’t even gone.
One week. I got one extra week with him while he sorted out his travel plans, and the entire time I lived on a high all because of those three little words: I love you. He says them casually, throws them out in pieces of conversation that always ends with my tongue in his throat.
He’s waiting for me in the room; I know he is.
The hotel we booked in the city is a far cry from making out on Lola’s couch, but for the plans Dex and I have for each other, privacy is much needed.
The steam from the bathroom has left an extra sheen on my skin, but I don’t bother to wipe it off, just knot the towel around my waist and listen to the sound of Dex’s muffled mutterings on the other side of the door.
He’s setting the big guns out: lighting equipment and two cameras—one for the livestream and one to record a different angle for editing.
I’d say the idea is nerve-racking, but after years of watching Dex from behind a screen, it’s kind of exhilarating to be the one who gets to experience his performance firsthand.
The sound of his voice is low, hushed, and while I can’t make out the words, I know from our lengthy conversation that it means the stream has started and he’s talking to the viewers. When he set up the countdown this morning, he wasfloodedwith messages.
Apparently it’s been a few months since Dex has performed live—especially with another person.
As soon as I step out of the bathroom, all of my nerves transform into arousal at the sight of Dex kneeling on the bed, his hard cock in his fist as he lazily strokes himself while answering questions from his viewers.
He’s mid-sentence when I stop by the bed, and I’m not sure if he sees me in the camera or if someone mentions me standing there, but he tilts his head back and smiles at me with such filthiness I’m half tempted to skip the foreplay and bend him over now.
But I have plans for the beautiful, horny man in front of me.
“Having fun already?” I ask, and I watch his eyes trail over the influx of comments before coming back around to me.
“You were taking too long.” He pushes his tongue into his cheek, eyes glinting mischievously, and when I grab a fistful of his hair, he gives an unperceivable nod. Unperceivable to his viewers anyway; I’ve been learning the tells of his body for weeks, and our conversations for this show were thorough.
I tug his head back hard enough for him to gasp, and then I cover his mouth with mine in a kiss that’s full of tongue and spit and all kinds of pretty little moans from my boyfriend.
I splay my other hand across his chest, feeling the muscles strain with the position. His nipples are hard, little peaks that call to my fingers, and even though his body jerks when I pinch them, the energy he throws into our kiss doubles.
Neither of us are necessarily into a pain kink, but Dex likes to play a little rough—likes to be manhandled and not taken gently. I like to take my time and appreciate his body every chance I get. We seem to have found a happy medium.
I follow the path down his sternum to where his hand has stilled around his cock, firmly holding but not stroking. I take that pretty pink head in my hand and rub my palm over it in slow circles, precum leaking to aid the glide.
Dex’s body responds immediately: balls drawing up, stomach muscles clenching, mouth parting in a gasp that I devour.
I relieve the pressure and replace his hand around the base with my own, pumping his thick shaft slowly, watching as his body relaxes and slumps. Only then do I break from the kiss, both of our mouths red and slick with spit.
He sits back straight when I release his hair and whines when I pull my hand away from his cock. There’s a slight haze to his eyes, and I almost check to see if he’s still good to film, but then he looks back over to the camera while he catches his breath and seems to clear a little.
“Are you going to pay attention to them or me?”
He glances back, fists clenched in the sheets, and shoots me a playful smile. “Well, they’re the ones who pay me.”
I walk around to the end of the bed, and Dex shifts to follow so we’re face-to-face. Him kneeling like this makes him a few inches shorter than me, and the difference from our norm is so hot that I take a slight deviation from our plan to tug him forward by the chin and kiss his lips a little more gently.
The whimper he lets out is accompanied by his hands on my waist, and when I pull away, his eyes are steady on mine. Full of trust. Full of love.
“But who works you over and covers your body with pleasure? Who fucks that needy hole with their tongue until you’re begging for dick? Who do you come for?”
His eyes shine with hunger, and I want nothing more than to fill him full of everything he wants.
“You.”
Dex spreads his legs, still on his knees, and dips his head to the edge of my towel, dragging his tongue through the droplets of water at my waistline. He smiles up at me as he licks a path up my abs, stopping to suck purple splotches on my skin and repays me for the nipple treatment with sharp tugs of his teeth.
I wind my fingers through his hair, gripping it in a ponytail fashion, and every so often give a sharp tug that drags low, sweet moans from his lips. He never stops, though, covering my chest in kisses, hickeys, and long swipes of his tongue until he reaches my neck.
