Page 38 of Napkins and Other Distractions
Overcome with the desire to taste his lips, I crane my neck, grasp his arm to hold him in place, and turn to kiss him. Kent’s lips, soft and wet, brush mine, and his hand moves to the top of my head. Pausing, I whisper, “Only kissing, okay?”
“Vincent, I haven’t stopped thinking about kissing you.”
He presses his mouth to mine and leans over me, his weight providing deep pressure on my naked torso. He slowly crawls on top, never breaking the kiss, and I reach for his face. The softness of his beard between my fingers settles me, and then he turns from my mouth and gently kisses the palm of my hand.
“I’d be thrilled to do nothing but kiss you until the sun rises.”
I nip at his lips, and he mutters, “So sweet.”
“Me?”
“You. Your lips. All of you.”
Nobody has ever called me sweet, and Kent’s eyes are barely visible, but on top of me, the faint light from the alarm clock catches them, and there’s a yearning there.
I let him take my finger in his mouth. And the moment it enters, and he begins gently sucking, my half-erect cock comes to life in my pajamas.
“Oh, hello,” he says, and wonderful, he’s felt it too.
I slam my eyes closed and turn my head, covering my face with my arm.
“Vincent, it’s okay. We’re kissing.”
“It’s a reflex,” I mumble through my forearm.
“We can kiss.” He gently removes my arm from my face and plants a soft kiss on my neck. “And if you’re hard, it’s okay. It doesn’t mean we have to do anything. I’m going to enjoy your lips.” He nibbles my bottom lip. “Your mouth.” An index finger brushes over my mouth. “Your tongue and teeth.”
“Really?” In my limited experience, this is not how it works. Erections mean sex.
“Really,” he says, his mouth on mine again. In a gentle, repetitive motion, he caresses my head as if coaxing out a shine.
“You really don’t mind?”
“What?”
“Only doing this,” I say, touching his lips.
“Are you kidding? This is heaven.”
His evident pleasure from kissing puts the worries about my throbbing erection at ease.
Kent’s whiskers tickle my chin. “Can I ask you something?”
“Sure.”
“Where did ‘good boy’ come from?”
“Someone said it once and … it did something to me.”
“Something?” he asks, nuzzling his beard on me.
“It makes me horny. Riled up. And … hornier.”
“Yeah, I kind of got that.” Kent palms my erection through my pajamas and I laugh. The closeness. The talking. The kissing. Fuck, what is he doing to me?
“I think maybe it means I’m doing it well. Pleasing you.”
“Yes. You most certainly are. My good boy.”
