19. Christian

19

CHRISTIAN

N ame me one good decision anyone’s ever made after gulping six ounces of tequila. A clever workaround, maybe, but not smart.

Still. He’s had me hot since the elevator, and what better way to get to know a man than by learning to suck his cock? He can tell me everything I need to know about him while I’m a captive audience.

He wastes no time unbuckling his belt, unhooking his slacks and tugging down the zipper. His bulge is noteworthy, and I wet my lips in anticipation. “You can keep talking,” I say. “Tell me about yourself.”

“I think all my brain cells are in my dick.”

I tip my chin toward it. “Show me.”

“Fuck,” he growls, rubbing his bulge but not pulling it out. “Is this who I am?”

I don’t feel like that question is directed my way, so I just watch his bulge get bigger, wondering if he’ll be one of the rare men in a basement alone with another man who can resist this. I bet those numbers are minimal; I don’t care how straight you are. A blow job is a blow job, and he knows I’m discreet. It’s in the job description.

“I’m so fucking tempted,” he goes on, trying to talk himself into or out of it.

I keep my hands off him, even though I’d kill to run my hands up those thick thighs. His hand moves over his dick again and again, gripping it through his boxer briefs.

“Are you sure you want this?” he asks.

“Yeah.” It’s not even a question. The set up is great—it’s both of our first times. I mean, I’m sure he’s had his dick sucked plenty, but not by a guy. And if it’s anything like my first time with the bartender, the novelty factor alone was ninety percent of the turn-on. I’m not nervous enough to tell him any of this, though. My enthusiasm is off the charts, mouth already watering in anticipation.

He decides his internal battle, and his hand shifts, reaching behind the elastic and drawing out a cock that shouldn’t surprise me but still manages to. He’s taller than me. Bigger than me. Makes sense he’s hung like a goddamn stallion.

I try to relax. My thoughts. My jaw. My throat, but just the sight of that massive erection gripped in his big hand has me rock hard, too. “I want to do this,” I whisper.

“I want you to do it, too,” he finally admits in a low voice.

“Be patient with me,” I say before replacing his hand with mine, dipping my head, and licking a line up his shaft.

“ Shit …” he hisses, his newly free hand immediately grasping the back of my neck.

I taste salt at his tip where he’s already leaking. I suck his exposed crown into my mouth and slide my tongue along the curve of it. He’s filling my mouth already, and I’ve got several, fat inches left to deal with.

“Fuck, how do you look even hotter right now?”

His praise is just as powerful as his punishment, and I work my mouth up and down his tip, making out with it, tasting it, and growing slightly obsessed with the feel of it on my tongue—hot and smooth and tight. When I get a better grip and manage to take more of him, I suck my way off the top and realize something mind-blowing. He’s uncut.

His foreskin quickly retracts again, unable to contain his bulging crown.

“Christian,” he whispers urgently.

Fascinated, I suck his foreskin between my lips, stretching it to its max length, and he exhales jaggedly. “Oh, God .”

I can’t help it. I have questions. “Is it sensitive?”

“Fuck yes.”

“In a good way?”

His hips rock, and I open my mouth to catch him, the foreskin sliding back from the pressure of my lips. Nudging up again, he goes further than I expected. I cough and pull off again. “Easy, big guy.”

He huffs what might be a laugh or a sex sound. Hard to tell. “Sorry. You feel pretty fucking good.”

Pretty good isn’t great though. I’m going for epic, but I might need to lower my expectations and refamiliarize myself with my limits.

As I suck him in again, a thick blood vessel on the underside of his cock thuds against my tongue, and I hold still, tracing it with the tip of my tongue. Drool pours from my mouth, dripping down his cock and pooling on my hand at his base. I use it to stroke the rest of his length, twisting my wrist.

His fingertips dig into my neck as his thighs shake against my shoulders. “Christian…fuck…”

He tastes so goddamn good. Dark and woodsy—coated in salt. No wonder my mouth is watering. I’m starving.

He presses one of his thumbs to the hinge in my jaw, rubbing firmly.

I meet his eyes—hooded and demanding. His own jaw is tense and grinding. “Open wider for me, beautiful boy. ”

I grunt around his cock and do as he says, stretching as much as I can, allowing him to wedge more of his cock inside. It gets thicker the further down I go, forcing my lips to stretch taut.

“Suck,” he whispers.

His hips rock up, and I hollow my cheeks, obeying. Using both hands, he keeps my head still and gently fucks my mouth, stopping short of my throat—in total control. “So fucking tight,” he groans, throwing his head back and giving me a view of his strained swallow.

I make a sound at the sight of it—helplessly turned on by the act of serving him—even if I’m not suffering. Not in the least. I palm my cock, but don’t whip it out. I hang onto it like it’s a stress toy because otherwise my hands would be all over him.

“That’s perfect, Christian… It’s fucking perfect. Shit, you’re gonna make me come.”

He’s stuffing me full, leaving very little for me to do to make it any better for him. I focus on my suction, keeping my eyes on him. It pays off when he looks down at me, his forehead creased and his chest heaving. His wet lips are parted, and something in his eyes looks agonized—broken. It’s beautiful, hot, and painful all at once.

His hand caresses my cheek even as his cock moves inside my mouth. “Yes,” he sighs. “Look at me just like that.”

I wouldn’t be able to stop if I tried.

We lock gazes, and I watch as his face grimaces and goes slack, as it morphs from agony to passion to shock.

A warm gush bursts on the back of my tongue. His cock slides over it, pushing it down my throat where more fills the back of my mouth as it pours from him. “ Unnhuuh … ooohhh … fuck .” The sounds are guttural and deep. My body responds with a rush of desperate need. I swallow his cum like it’s all I need to survive, and hope like hell he gives me more.

He grunts at my over-eager efforts, but I’m not ready to let him go .

“Get up here,” he says—another growling demand I’m scrambling to obey. He’s got me by the arms, his cock sliding out of my mouth, and he’s roughly jerking me up. I land chest to chest with him and manage to slide my knees onto the couch outside his hips to catch myself.

He takes hold of my face. “Give it back.”

I open my mouth, and he comes for it, licking my tongue and cheeks and palate, but there’s not much left. A trace of his taste maybe, but I swallowed it all. Like he appreciates this, he wraps his arms around me and deepens the kiss—slowing it down. My cock smashes into his abs, and I can’t stop my hips from moving.

He kisses his way past my jaw to feast on my neck, murmuring things like, “Did sucking me get you hard, beautiful boy? Do you need to come? You gonna make a mess of yourself for me?”

Jesus. Jesus .

How is this so hot? How can I want him this much ? So much I’d beg and crawl and grovel.

His mouth returns to mine, covering it and consuming it. His hands grasp my ass, maneuvering me against him to create maximum friction. “Are you gonna come for me, Christian?”

“ Yes …” I moan brokenly.

He squeezes my ass hard and gives my searching tongue a flickering lick that lights the fuse of my impending orgasm. It burns down my spine, my legs, up my groin, and suddenly the pressure and pleasure are too much to contain. “Gibson,” I whisper urgently against his lips as my dick unloads. A violent shake rocks me into him, and he gets a firmer grip, one hand still on my ass and the other banded across my back. I press my forehead to his and feel my face contort with the thunderous release.

It’s beyond intense. Nearly as overpowering as the one he gave me bent over in Rome. This is just so different than that. This one feels more like something we made happen together—like teamwork .

This one, I was expecting, and I won’t lie and say it’s not exactly what I wanted. I wanted it too much.

“Shit,” Gibson sighs after a minute or so passes with only the sounds of our heavy breaths between us.

I tuck my face against his neck and let out a long sigh. “Was it okay?”

He rubs my back in long up and down strokes. “Good enough to have me rethinking the whole just this once thing.”

I smile against his skin. “Don’t overthink it. It’s just a blow job.”

“You’re such a romantic.”

I huff. “Keep dreaming.”

“You don’t like me just a little?” he asks.

“Maybe a little, but mostly for your money.”

His laugh is soft, and I realize his mouth is resting on my neck, too. “You kissed me,” he says.

“You made me.”

“I might make you do it again.”

I shut my eyes and focus on the way our breaths sync. The way our pounding hearts settle. I guess I do feel like I know him a little better now, so this wasn’t a totally failed effort. Plus, I feel amazing. I haven’t been with anybody else since him. Not that three days is a particularly long time, but if it can be like this—three times a day might not be enough.

I ask the question as soon as it occurs to me. “Is this gonna be a thing?”

“Do you want it to be?”

“Not sure,” I answer honestly. “I mean—there was tequila involved.”

“That’s what we’re gonna call it? Blame it on the tequila?”

“I guarantee you, I wouldn’t have done that without alcohol.”

“No? Why’s that?”

“You know why.” You’re my boss. You’re married. You knew my dad. I’m dead inside. Et cetera .

“You’re gonna be a problem, aren’t you?”

“Absolutely not,” I say with a decent degree of certainty.

We draw our faces apart, and I take in our position. Even in the dim lighting, I can see the mess I made of my pants, and by extension, his shirt. I’m still sitting on his lap. My legs remain tense, practically gripping his hips. I try to relax my thighs and take my hands off him.

He’s not on the same page. His hands move rhythmically up and down my quads, drawing out another set of aftershocks and making me tremble like there’s a chill in the room.

“So, you’ll be working with me tomorrow,” he says.

“Yes.”

“And after all the work is done, you’d like to try another scene?”

My brows shoot up. “Definitely.”

“It would be in my private room at the club. Is that all right?”

I nod.

“And you’ll make an appointment with a therapist?”

I sigh. “If you insist.”

“I do.”

“Sounds like a big day. We should probably say goodnight.”

He narrows his eyes at me, for once, having to lean back and look up slightly. It doesn’t make me feel any bigger, though. He still looms large. “Don’t worry,” he says. “I can take a hint.”

“Good.”

“Mmm…” he growls, and I like it. Heat rushes back to my cheeks. His attention may have more than a little to do with why I’m taking this job. It makes me feel like I’m not a complete waste of space. Granted, I wasn’t expecting this much attention, but my dick is happy.

He gives my hip a tap, and I move off him. He tucks his cock into his shorts, zips up his pants and stands to fasten them while I watch. “Want a t-shirt?” I ask .

He pulls out the small, stained spot on his shirt to examine. “It’s not too bad. I might keep it as a souvenir.”

“Thanks for letting me suck your dick.”

He laughs, shaking his head. “My pleasure.”

“I told you,” I say. “It’s the tequila.” I sprawl back on the couch with one foot on the cushions and one on the floor.

He takes in the sight of me and gives his head another, shorter shake.

I laugh. “What?”

“Ridiculously sexy.”

“I’m flattered you think so.”

“Are you going to get the door for me?”

“No way. You’ll try something on me.”

He smirks. “You’re right. So that’s a no?”

“I’ll see you tomorrow, Gibson.”

“Yes. You will.”