9

9

Angus

Maybe we shouldn't.

And here I'd thought things were going so well. I'd come on too hard, too fast, and managed to scare off the one guy who actually got me.

As my heart sank faster than a truly original song on the Top-40 chart, Newton gave the can opener a tug and said, "Maybe we shouldn't open the can, I mean."

Oh.

Well, that was a relief.

"Can?" I pitched it over my shoulder. "What can?" As it hit the linoleum with a thump, I went in for another kiss, beyond relieved that he'd decided he was into me. And when our lips brushed, the chili oil from dinner flared to life again with a fiery tingle that shot straight to my nethers. I'd wager that Sir Isaac felt it too. He arched into me and deepened the kiss.

We grappled at each other, and soon more things joined the Happiness on the floor. The can opener. A scarred cutting board. A water bottle. A set of keys that fell with a startling jingle. Kissing and groping, we made our way down the hall like a pinball, banking off the walls and knocking everything askew as we went. When finally we made it to the futon, the apartment looked like a freak gust of wind had rearranged everything. Made sense. If this connection we shared turned out to be more than just a one-night stand, change was inevitable.

Might as well embrace it.

The bamboo frame creaked as Newton tipped back onto the futon, pulling me down on top of him. Our legs scissored together, and a telltale bulge prodded me in the thigh. The thought of him getting hard for me had me stiffening up too, and soon my well-worn Levi's felt two sizes too small. I reached down to resettle myself and he knocked my hand aside, going for my fly.

Who knows if he was normally this bold…but I liked it. And when I returned the favor and eased open his jeans, he rewarded me with a desperate murmur against my spiced lips. "Yes…yes…yes."

We shucked our clothes in big, awkward shoves, like we weren't willing to stop kissing for even a second. The room was cool but his skin was hot, everywhere I touched made my nerve endings perk up. We both groaned as I ground myself against him, hands free, sliding our hard dicks together like a couple of pistons. And when I thought I might very well shoot my load on him like a desperate, horny teenager if I didn't take things to the next level, I angled a kiss down his neck and started making my way downtown—

He grabbed a handful of my hair and said, "Wait." But instead of telling me to put on the brakes, he added, "I want to taste you, too."

The record came to an end. Instead of going back to the beginning like it was supposed to, the stylus of my unreliable turntable bumped against the center label with a clickety click.

I hadn't realized I was panting so loud.

I swung around and Newton ran his hands up the backs of my thighs. He grabbed my ass two-fisted and urged me toward his mouth. I aimed to give just as good as I got, but like everything about this whole encounter, I was sloppy with desperation. Which made it all even hotter.

Sex is like jamming. If you want to make good music, you've gotta pay attention to what everyone else is doing but still focus on your own fretboard. When Sir Isaac amped up the suction, I did the same. Hell yeah.

The musky salt-sweet taste of dick filled my senses as I took him deep. Good—so good. And soon we did find our rhythm, rocking together, giving and taking. Getting off on getting each other off.

That first moment of a blowjob is always the best—the shock of a wet tongue, followed quickly by the suction, the heat. After the initial OMG, a baseline groove is formed off a chorus-verse ebb and flow that generally builds to a crescendo. But soon after we got going, Newton sighed around my dick, and the whole predictable 12-bar structure imploded as the tingle of chili raced down my shaft. And he wasn't the only one with a spicy mouth. When my breath hitched, he shuddered, hard.

"Too intense?" I asked.

"God, no. Keep going," he begged. And the improvised riff of those whispered words was a punch of sensation. Every gasp I wrung from him wound me up tighter, and the same with him. A killer duet.

I was gonna bust. But I didn't want our first time to be over, so I hit the sustain pedal and shifted all my focus to the perfect fit of us wound around each other, yin and yang, a lazy-eight figure of infinity. And even though I lost myself in the us-ness of the act, the floodgates surged open. His, and mine.