Page 86 of On Fire

I slowly take off his jacket and then start to unbutton his shirt.

“Right here?”

“Right here.” I say and gently push him down on the sofa. The leather is charcoal black. The lighting is dim, and he looks hot. His chest trembles with fear or anticipation or both. He has no idea what’s in store.

His cock is sticking straight out at attention. Glancing down he seems embarrassed and starts to put his hand over it to masturbate, but I push it away.

“Oh no. This is my job,” I say and kneel. I lay my chest over his cock and the beat of his heart flutters at my throat. Now I’m growing hard. He immediately notices. He starts to pull me up, reaching for my pants.

“No. Not tonight,” I say. “This is going to be all about you.”

He shakes his head.

I hold each wrist firmly and sit back slightly on my knees. “What’s wrong?”

He looks suddenly stricken, gazing at me with such shame, I’m caught off guard.

“What?”

“The last guy I slept with said I take too long to come. Like an hour. It’s embar—"

I drop his wrists and kiss him hard on the mouth, sucking the air out of his lungs. As our lips part, my whisper is husky and thick. “That is definitely not a problem.” Before I drop down, I whisper in his ear, “This will be the most delirious hour of your life.”

I drop down and take him in, all of him, nearly to his stem and he looks surprised for a moment.

He closes his eyes and tips his head back. I open his shirt further and kiss his nipples.

His head tips up. “I’m too self-conscious,” he says.

“I can redirect your attention,” I say, standing and peeling off my shirt. I drop my pants. Just as he edges forward on the sofa to make a move on me, I shake my head. “You may only look. I get to touch.”

΅

By the time I’m nearly finished with him, we’ve worked our way into the bedroom. He’s stretched out on my bed, on his back, gasping, a light sheen of sweat over his now quite naked body. One arm is over his eyes—he still won’t look at me, but I’m okay with that.

I’ve been gripping his cock, stroking up and down with my mouth, hands, fingers, around the most sensitive glans while the other hand fondles balls and explores his asshole. Several times his testicles rise so high inside, I’m left holding almost nothing.

When he comes, it’s explosive and he spams as I hold him. When he’s done, I keep my arms around him, let his throbbing cock calm down. One day I want to be inside him, to let him feel what that’s like—to let me find his “P” spot. I’m not as good he is with my hands, but my cock can work wonders.

See it as a future opportunity, I remind myself. Baby steps.

“You ready for more?” I kiss him.

“More?” He’s wiped out.

“So, we won’t be going out then? You don’t have the energy?” I ask.

“Don’t toy with me.”

“Oh. I think I’ve already done that.” I lean down and kiss the tip of his cock and it trembles. I lay it back against his thigh.

He moans again.

I lean over him and kiss him, run water for a washcloth and wipe his abdomen. He flinches when the cloth drops on his skin.

When I kiss him once more, he’s roused from a post sex coma. He stirs sleepily and looks at me with those light blue eyes.

“I am all yours,” he says.

“I know.”