“I think you’re jealous.”
“I’m not.”
“You are. You want me all to yourself.” He’s inches from me now.
“I always want you.” I admit.
“It’s not just that.” He wiggles his arms around my waist. “It’s scary. I know. You suffered a big loss. But you’re still here. It doesn’t mean you love him less to continue living your life.”
All the air leaves my lungs. I’m jealous and I want to be the only man to fuck the maddening man in front of me. I hadn’t realized it went that deep. He’s right. It feels disrespectful despite knowing it’s not.
“I wish he’d send me a sign. Let me know it’s okay. I’m navigating… whatever this is between us blindly.”
“I know. The only advice I can give you is to go slow. If it starts feeling bad, we can slow down.” He rests his head on my chest, fitting just under my chin. I accept the comfort he offers and hug him to me. “Let’s start by admitting we want to be the only person the other sleeps with. It’s what we’ve been doing anyway, so it doesn’t require any more effort. You just have to say it.”
He’s right. This whole time I haven’t even thought of seeing anyone else and deep down, I knew he wasn’t considering anyone else either. We’ve spent every second of free time we have together. I’m a fool to pretend we aren’t dating.
“You’re the only person I want to fuck.” I kiss the top of his head. Peace fills me and it’s all the confirmation I need that I’m making the right choice.
“You’re the only one I want fucking me.”
He peers up at me through his eyelashes. I lean down and take his mouth. His lips are soft, but his kiss is hard. His hand skims down my torso and he cups my still rigid dick. He rubs up and down, teasing me. I reach under the waistband of his pants and take a handful of his fleshy, naked ass. Something about knowing there’s nothing underneath his pants turns me on. We’ll be at Fran’s, having a normal conversation, and I’ll remember he’s free balling. Then I spend our entire twenty minutes together trying to regain control of my hard-on.
“You’re so hard already,” he groans. “How about you bend me over that couch like you promised?”
In one fluid motion, I yank down his pants and lead him to the sofa. I push him face first over the arm, propping his ass up. I kick his legs apart and get down on my knees. I spread his cheeks open, his tight hole coming into view. Using my tongue, I lick from his balls up the place I want to be sheathed in. He whimpers, egging me on to do it again and again.
I gather spit in my mouth and dribble it down his crack. Using my middle finger, I rub it around his hole before pressing in, fixated on the way he so readily accepts the intrusion. I add another finger, scissoring him open, preparing him for me. When I feel he’s ready, I swiftly gather the supplies and suit up.
The first thrust in is fucking magic. Ecstasy and pleasure have me wanting to spurt off right away, and also prolong this for a lifetime in equal measures. Using the cheeks of his ass as leverage, I pound into him. His hips rise and fall against the sofa, seeking friction.
“Such a tight fit, baby. You’re strangling my cock,” I say through a clenched jaw.
After the initial edge of my need is taken off, I home in on that spot inside him. I’ve never given anyone an orgasm through penetration alone, but if anyone’s capable of it, it’s Kian. He’s so reactive and he loses himself so completely when we fuck. I put all my effort into hitting his P-spot. I know when I’ve gotten it just right because his body shudders.
“Yes. There,” he says breathily.
Sweat forms on my brow as I concentrate on milking his prostate. I’m as hard as steel and it takes active effort not to come, but I’ve taken on the challenge and I can’t quit. He mewls from underneath me and his breath hitches. He quakes and calls out my name. I don’t stop until he’s clawing at the sofa and squirming to get away. I pull out, knowing he’s probably sensitive.
“I just—” He sounds shocked. A quick look at the side of the sofa and seeing the product of his release tells me yes, he did. He spins around, the look of glee coloring his cheeks. He sinks to his knees and rips the rubber off. “You’re about to get the best blow job of your life.”
He swallows my dick whole, rolling my balls in his hand, and pressing a finger down on my perineum.
“Oh fuck.” I gasp.
He pumps my shaft in time with his sucking, making me lose control. I slam a hand onto the wall at my side, my knees suddenly feeling weak. He pulls off me and sticks out his tongue, resting the tip of my dick on it while he jacks my cock. My balls tighten and an orgasm rips through my body uncontrollably. I don’t know what flies out of my mouth, but I hear my voice, so I know I’m moaning something.
I watch as my cum paints his tongue. When every last drop has been milked from me, he meets my eyes and swallows.
Goddamn.
Kian
I float on cloud nine for a solid week. Archer has me smitten. Not only by the magic he performs with my body, but also with how he’s opening up to me. I thought it would take much longer to get him to admit he wants to be exclusive with me.
What can I say? I’m just that fucking powerful.
Now that Archer and I aren’t pretending to be friends, our coffee dates at Fran’s have us holding hands and discussing more permanent plans. Like someday taking a vacation together and things we can look forward to doing when summer arrives, and we need to beat the heat.
The only damper on my elevated mood is Sara. I keep it to myself, though, because Archer thinks I’m criticizing her when I mention her downward spiral. She’s been late more than on time lately, she spends more of her shift staring out the window than serving customers, I’ve smelled alcohol on her numerous times, and she refuses to talk to me about it. But what do I do? I can’t fire her. That will undoubtedly cause Archer to rethink our relationship.
I’m stuck.
So I ignore it. I let Sara know I’m here for her. I keep an eye on her. I make sure she isn’t driving home when I’m certain she’s had a glass of wine or two during her shift. I listen without judgement when Archer shares what’s going on at home. And I’m supportive of all the time he spends with his niece and nephew. I know those kids are the ones suffering the most. No relationship is without challenges, right?
That’s what’s going on in my head on a Wednesday night as I’m tucked into my office at Blur, paying bills and my cell rings from the corner of my desk. I smile, thinking it’s my nightly call from Archer. After he gets the kids tucked in, he calls, and we catch up on how our days were. Not that we don’t constantly text anyway.
I lift the phone up and see it’s not Archer, but Duke, my cook at Focus. He never calls me, choosing to communicate anything Focus needs while I’m there early on in the night. My lips turn downward as I click the accept call button.
“Kian, you gotta get over here,” Duke rushes out. “She’s drunk.”
“Who?” I ask.
“Sara. She’s stumbling around. She spilled wine on a customer. She’s tanked, dude.”