Page 54 of Napkins and Other Distractions
Angling my head back, I’m able to give the tip a small kiss and take the head in my mouth. He continues using his fingers on my chest, getting lost in my salty fur while his feet glide around my cock.
“I love your chest. So hairy. So thick. So fucking sexy,” he says.
“Mmmh. My best boy.”
With closed eyes, the nerves in my body take over, tingling and vibrating. With a woozy head, I’m fairly certain all the blood in my body has traveled south. I cannot remember the last time I was this hard. Maybe high school? College? That one time, Corrine and I had sex on a hotel balcony in Barcelona. But something about Vincent and the complete attention he’s giving me sends me over.
“Do you think you can come like this?” he whispers.
Not wanting to remove his delectable dick from my mouth, I simply give a quick nod.
Vincent’s toes hover over the sensitive tip and my body trembles. My brain knows his disdain for the ensuing eruption, but I’m unable to signal my mouth to warn him. And he’s got to sense it. My chest heaves, my balls seize, and I suck him harder as my cock shoots thick ribbons all over Vincent’s toes and feet. The warm liquid coats us both, but he doesn’t flinch.
He doesn’t relent, even after I’ve come and my body shudders at his touch. My hips tremble with each slick stroke as he slathers cum up and down my shaft.
“Okay, okay,” I say, leaning my head back against his thigh.
He leans over, hands on my ears, and kisses my sweaty forehead. When he pulls away, his eyes open, I see his beautiful face, and my body fills with warmth. My breathing becomes deeper and more relaxed. I’m completely present, immersed in the bliss coursing through my veins.
“Did you enjoy that?”
Did I enjoy it? Is water wet?
“Um, yeah.” My entire body still hums with pleasure. “What the hell was that?”
“It’s called a foot job.” His chin now rests on the top of my head.
“A foot job? That makes sense,” I say, still not quite ready to move. “But how the fuck did you know about it?”
“From the internet.”
“Excuse me?” I ask, my eyes agape.
“Kent, you can learn about almost anything on the internet.”
“Apparently.”
He hands me a washcloth, and I start with a few swipes at his feet before carefully rubbing in between each toe, ensuring he’s perfectly clean. Once his toes shine, I take care of myself. Vincent watches as I clean us both, a soft smile on his heavenly lips. A shift is happening between us. Slowly, this man is letting me in, and I know his trust isn’t something to take lightly.
Sitting at Vincent’s kitchen island, our takeout in front of us, my stomach reminds me it’s late, and after the physical exertion he put me through, I’m ravenous. We both wear plain white T-shirts and gray sweats, all Vincent’s, a bonus for being relatively the same size. He’s about an inch shorter, and I’m several inches wider around the middle, but thankfully, the stretchy material is forgiving. Matching dinner outfits wasn’t part of my first-date re-do plan, but neither was the wine, the water, or the foot job. Oy.
“Are we over pretending we’re just friends?” I ask, motioning to our matching outfits.
“Kent Lester,” Vincent says, a fork in one hand and a napkin in the other, “only you were pretending.”
“Are you teasing me?”
He leans over, wipes the corners of my mouth with his napkin, and then kisses me. His lips brush mine; it’s longer than a peck, but he pulls away before it escalates … only to return for another. He folds his napkin, wipes his mouth, and continues eating, the unique fusion of Mexican and Korean spices creating a cozy aroma.
“Do you think we’ll make the go-live date?” I change the subject as thoughts of Dr. Cutler swirl with her questions and continual obsession over the board. One bonus of being Jewish … anxiety runs like the electric company. It may have occasional outages, but generally, you can count on it being there. “The clock is ticking.”
“For sure,” he says. Watching Vincent’s meticulous use of chopsticks, his luscious lips welcoming them, a small smile meanders across my face. He’s really quite precious.
“Geoff never drops the ball.” His chopsticks pause, and his chin drops to his chest. “That’s my role.”
I reach over and put my finger under his chin, hoping he’s okay with the contact during a meal. He doesn’t recoil, and I gently lift his face until his eyes find mine. I take a deep breath and smile. “Stop beating yourself up all the time.”
“Easier said than done. My whole life, I’ve been the problem.”
