Page 107 of The Last Guy On Earth
“Before I met you,” I say while slowly stroking him, “I’d fooled around with guys before. A little slap and tickle. Jerking a buddy off.”
He makes a horny gasp and thrusts his cock into my hand.
“Always knew that I found guys attractive. Never wanted to put a label on it. But then came you.” I withdraw my hand suddenly, and Clay makes a noise of protest. But then I raise my palm to his mouth. “Lick it.”
He does.
I slip my hand back to its favorite place. “You changed me,” I say, as I start to jack him again. “You…” I use my free hand to tilt his jaw towards my mouth. “You did this.”
I take his mouth in a badly angled kiss that’s more tongue and ambition than skill, but it only takes a moment before we’re both panting.
“I remember,” he says shakily. “One night I just went for it. We were in a hotel. Like this.” He twists away from me, sliding out of my grip. Then he yanks off his underwear and removes his T-shirt.
He kneels on the bed, naked. The perennial golden boy. Tanned skin, toned body. Camera-ready face. Way out of my league. Or so I’d always thought.
But now he’s crawling toward me, pushing me down into the pillows before kissing me senseless.
I’m so turned on. And I feel so lucky. Then and now. Same as always.
The kissing continues as he rides my hips, pausing only to yank my boxers down. Then we’re skin on skin, raring to go. I’m twenty-two and desperate. And I’m thirty-seven and in love. I’m a total mess inside.
But Clay is here and nothing else matters.
“Jetty,” he whispers, bracing a hand on the mattress and looking down at me.
“W-what?”
“I’m really the first guy you kissed?”
I am almost too turned on to answer questions. “I said so, didn’t I?”
“Am I theonlyone?”
“Yeah. ‘Course.”
Clay likes this answer. A lot. The kiss I get next is blistering hot. Then he kisses his way onto my neck and down my throat. Onto my chest. “Am I the first guy who blew you?”
“Yeah,” I answer heavily. “And you’re sure as hell the only guy I ever blew, then or since.”
He looks up, blue eyes flaring. Then he continues on his path, kissing and tonguing his way down my body until he’s reached the promised land. He licks me from base to tip. And when he takes me into his mouth, I have to throw back my head with pleasure. My skin prickles, and my nipples tighten, and I can’t believe my good luck.
Except I don’t want to just lie here and be serviced. My inner twenty-two-year-old is in the mood to get messy. “Flip around,” I urge Clay. “I need to suck you.”
With his mouth around my cock, he groans. I feel it in my balls.
But then he does what I ask, and we scramble to rearrange ourselves diagonally on the giant bed.
“Hi,” I say to his erection, which is dark red and straining. “Remember me?”
Clay doesn’t have any time for my jokes. He grabs my hair and shoves my head toward his cock.
I take the hint, nuzzling him and skimming a loving hand over his sac, making him groan. “The first time, I tried to fake this,” I say, brushing his tip with my lips. “I wanted you to think I knew what I was doing.”
“Didn’t care about your technique,” he mumbles. “Wanted you so bad.”
Hearing this lights me up, and I sink into the heady work of pleasuring him. He tastes clean and salty, and it’s the best kind of sensory overload. Every place I touch him makes him shiver.
He’s torturing me at the same time, with kisses and tongue. It’s hot and dirty and a revelation. But it’s also deeply familiar. For years, I’d forgotten how this felt—the unique cocktail of lust and equilibrium that I’ve only experienced with Clay. I think I needed to forget it in order to survive.
