I circled my fingers around his substantial shaft and slid him from my mouth. I desperately wanted to see what I was working with. I’d been staring at the sizable bulge in his pants for most of the night. He was large. It perfectly fit his massive frame. I might have had him on length, but I paled in comparison to his girth.
I glanced up, fully expecting his eyes to be closed, as I slid him back into my mouth. Straight guys rarely turned a blowie down, but they didn’t like to watch. Not Evan though. He was staring down at me with feral intensity brewing in the depths of his blue eyes.
He wanted a show, and luckily, I loved to perform.
I released him from my mouth and jerked several fast strokes, twisting and tugging until a bead of precome appeared—fucking perfection glistening on the tip. Then I held his gaze as I laved it with my tongue, moaning when the saltiness registered on my taste buds.
His fingers tensed in my hair, halting any further movement.
I couldn’t stop now, no matter what kind of second thoughts he was having.
“Just let me do this, Evan. I swear it—”
“Oh, I’m not trying to stop you. I’m trying to give myself a second so I don’t blow my load on stroke number three.” He smiled down at me and finished with, “Henry.”
I could have blown my load without a single touch for no other reason than he used my name.
He might have been confused and fighting it. But he was still with me. It wasn’t a woman he was imagining at his feet. It was me. And, for that reason, I was going to give him the best blow job of his life—one he would still remember as he took his last breath.
Because, with just one simple word, he’d given that to me too.
Sliding him as deep as I could, I began working him with newfound fervor. I alternated between fast and hard, fisting his cock and sucking the head to the point I was sure it toed the fine line between pain and ecstasy. When I felt his shaft swell with impending release, I let up, switching to slow and soft. My tongue circled his angry crown before tracing up the vein running from base to tip. Squeezing on each upstroke, I forced more of his arousal from his slit.
Each time, I sought his gaze before lazily licking it off.
And, each time, Evan would reward me with something different.
“Henry,” he whispered.
“Henry,” he groaned.
“Henry,” he cursed.
“Henry,” he cried.
My name filled his every emotion.
And that filled me in places I hadn’t known were empty.
When his legs began to shake, I slowly inched him back toward the couch then lowered my attention to the sensitive flesh just under his heavy sac—flicking it with my tongue. His knees buckled on contact, sending him crashing down. I gave him exactly zero seconds to recover before resuming my assault.
It didn’t take long before his hips were bucking into my mouth. His hand remained in my hair, pumping my head into a rhythm I could tell he both loved and hated.
Loved because it guided him to release.
Hated because it guided him toward the end.
“Wait, Henry. Stop. I’m gonna…” He trailed off, but when I didn’t let up, he finished the sentence in my mouth. His cock twitched violently as he painted my tongue white.
Squirming under me, he cussed as I milked him with my hand and my mouth, sucking and squeezing until I was positive he had nothing left to give.
And then I swallowed every last drop.
Usually, one of two things happened after a man came in another man’s mouth for the first time: His entire body would go limp as he basked in the glory of an in-fucking-sane orgasm. Feeling as though his very life had been sucked out of him through his dick.
Or…
Without the sexual need calling the shots, he’d fly from the couch in absolute horror at the realization of what he’d done.
And, as I sat between Evan’s legs, his breathing still labored from the simple yet overwhelming exertion of coming, I’d never been more afraid of a reaction in my life.
“Henry,” he rasped, his voice thick.
I kept my eyes aimed at the floor as I rocked back onto my heels, allowing him space to make his getaway.
My heart thundered in my chest.
“Henry,” he repeated a little louder.
I couldn’t do it though. I couldn’t look up. I couldn’t handle the or. Not from him.
He pressed two of his fingers under my chin, stripping me of my choice while guiding my gaze to his.
Soft, blue eyes searched my face. They were pensive. Nervous, even. But they weren’t angry or filled with disgust. And, most importantly, they held not a single ounce of regret. My heart soared to altitudes that had never before been reached.
“We’re gonna need to take care of that,” he said.
The high was still so intoxicating that I barely understood him. My mind was spinning. I had no idea what “that” he was referring to, but I didn’t actually care either. Not when he was still staring at me from a cool cruising altitude—the spiral down nowhere in sight.
“Henry. ” He snapped his fingers.
“Huh?” I said, shaking my stupor off.
He chuckled then repeated, “We’re gonna to need to take care of that.”