Page 73 of The Banker and the Blue Collar Man

If it felt like that for him, then I was all in. I’d just have to go slow. Be careful. Pay attention.

“Okay,” I said, breathless as a sixteen-year-old virgin on their first date.

“Okay,” he replied, and then he was beneath me, sprawled out like a sacrifice. He was giving me permission to do anything I wanted to him. But the only thing I wanted to do was bring him pleasure, like he’d brought me.

With my weight on my elbows, like a proper gentleman, my chest half across his, I kissed him on the mouth and watched his eyes half close, in a lazy way, as though we were beneath the shade of the cottonwood tree in his favorite place, its waxy, heart-shaped leaves fluttering overhead, the sounds of the branches brushing together sweet-pitched and high.

He was all mine, and I wanted to keep him.

Without a word, he pulled my hand to his mouth and sucked on my fingers, all tongue and teeth and hot wetness. When he released them, they were slick with saliva. “This,” he said. “Just use this.”

That’s what he wanted, some linebacker action. He was going to get it, but with tenderness and gentle slowness.

I eased him onto his front, and by that time my fingers were too dry, so I sucked on them and then trailed them along his thigh, his beautiful, heavily muscled thigh, with those dark hairs making small swirls near his bottom. I was struck by how beautiful he was from every angle.

Heat was coming off his body as though someone had lit a fire within him. He’d be amazing to cuddle up to in winter, so maybe I should make every effort to ensure that happened.

As for now, I leaned down, straddling one of his thighs, and kissed the small of his back. Kissed the top of each buttock. Inhaled the scent from his skin, scentless from the soap, deep and warm beneath that.

I’d never rimmed anybody before, but if any man deserved it, this one did. So I eased my way down—more kisses, soft whispers against his skin—and worked myself up to lick between his buttocks. Tasting him, tasting dark and salt, shocked at my own boldness.

I pushed my tongue into him. Yes, I did. Inside, brave as anything. Felt the silky softness of him against my tongue. Pulled out to lick up and down his crack and knew there was no way I could ever do this to anybody else but him.

Beneath me he was mostly still, though his body rose and sighed with each breath, a fraction of a movement each time. He tasted wet beneath my tongue. Felt wet when I pressed a finger in. Perfectly wet and tight and hot. I moved that finger and listened to him breathe. Eased another finger beside the first.

“Spit,” he said. “You gotta spit.”

“Like,spit?” I asked, my voice a high squeak as I raised my head to look over the curve of his bottom. He was resting his chin on folded arms. “Like, literallyspit, not justusespit?”

Taking him at his word, and kind of understanding what he meant, what he wanted, I gathered saliva in my mouth and spat down his crack. I hoped my aim was good.

“Now push in,” he said.

There was a marginal trail of wetness across his sweet, puckered hole, certainly not enough wetness by anybody’s standards, and my fingers were still inside him.

“With your cock,” he said, like I was some kind of simpleton. “Just.” He sighed. “Do it.”

Someone had taught him, or he’d figured out along the way, that rough was how it was done. I wanted to teach him otherwise, but perhaps that moment was not the time.

“Okay,” I said, mostly breathing in on the word, so it came out tinny and small. Like I didn’t want to do it. Like I was afraid.

I wasn’t. I just wanted this to be good for him.

Taking my cock in my hand, I rose up a little and snubbed the head against his hole. I was leaking pre-cum, but not enough to make the way easy. Still, any hesitation on my part might come across as a kind of rejection. And in no way was this that.

He shifted on the bed, making the metal frame squeak, his thigh brushing my thigh. “Dalton.” His voice was so low, I felt it vibrating inside me. Like it was coaxing me.

I pushed into him. I was no virgin, so I knew you had to push and pause, push and pause. Especially without lube. Especially with the spit drying.

The spit had already dried. I could sense none of it now, but my cock was leading the way, happy to be inside his warm body. Inside that tightness.

When I was all the way inside, sheathed, cock to ass, he moved again. It was as though he had me on a tether, topping from below, and my body came alive.

He could pull me inside his body, never to come out, and I wouldn’t complain. Curling my hips, I pushed in farther still, because I knew it was my responsibility to make sure this would be an amazing fuck.

Thank God for pre-cum, or I would have been tearing him from the inside. But he dipped his head onto his arms and seemed to be humming, which told me it was okay. That he liked this.

So I pulled out and pushed in again. Building a rhythm where pleasure was the only goal. There was more of my slickness now, easing the way. A steady, small chorus of slick sounds where our bodies met.