Page 90 of On Fire

I take a big gulp, wince, and set the tumbler on the nightstand.

“Here’s the thing,” I say. His face is perfect, that square jaw line—he even has a little stubble going on today, and those eyes . . .they still slay me.

“What?”

“I want to be inside you this time. Would you be willing to try that?”

His eyes cast down to the floor. I lift his chin with my finger, so he has to look at me and then I lean down to kiss him. “If you think it’ll make you uncomfortable, I get it. But I just wish you’d let me try. I think you’d like it.”

“I don’t know. I’ve never done it. I’ll need to go wash.” He looks hesitant, but then rises.

This will buy both of us some time.

He leaves, and I don’t follow him into the bathroom. I stand outside the door, though, and when the water is off, I start to speak.

“This is no pressure. I mean it Keller. If it’s too much—I’ll stop immediately.”

Right then he opens the door and takes me in his arms. He kisses me but his hands tremble.

He’s nervous.

So am I.

But not so nervous that the moment he gets into bed, I grow hard.

“Okay,” he says. “Let’s do this,” he adds, though I wonder if this isn’t more for to shore up confidence than it is the truth. He makes it sound like a training exercise.

We start slow. I kiss him, roll him over, play with nipples, tease muscles, lick and prod and probe orifices, his testicles, his ass.

I explain he can just be completely passive. I know this is hard for him.

Then I pull his muscle shirt completely off and gather his torso on my legs, keeping one straight and the other bent. I lay him over my bent knee, arms on either side so his chest is open to my hands.

I dribble oil over his chest and begin a slow massage. One hand moves from his temples, down his throat to his chest and abs while the other works in the other direction. I’m rubbing him everywhere in slow, smooth, broad strokes with my arms and hands. At one point, he relaxes so much, I have to shove a pillow between my legs to support him.

His eyes are closed, and his chest shudders when I fondle his balls. A moan floats from his lips. He’s completely aroused and yet totally relaxed. I don’t know if he understood the two could co-exist until now. More small moans work up from his throat.

My cock is so hard. Having permission to do what I want with him is intoxicating. I increase pressure—everywhere.

Now he’s on his back, gasping. “Oh my God, Nic . . . fuck me.”

This is not a command—he says it with a drowsy sigh. I’ve brought him to the brink twice. I extricate my legs and position the pillow under his hips so they ride higher on the bed. His groin is stretched flat now and that well-oiled rib cage is spread open further. I swallow.

I stand and finish what’s left of the bourbon in the glass.

Take the now crumpled tube of lube, I squeeze some on my condomed dick and fingers. I climb on top of that mound of a man and gently stretch him open with my fingers.

His eyes open, but they’re not fearful—just curious. I kiss him and then whisper, “The trick is to relax.”

“I’m there,” he mumbles.

I nudge his legs open, put one hand on his chest, the other on the bed to support my weight and slide into him. Slowly.

His mouth opens incrementally. I stare into his eyes, lean down, and work my tongue into his mouth, entering him both ways.

I swallow his deep moan.

Deeply seated in him, my dick starts to beat. I pull out halfway, then, with the first real thrust, his head snaps up. I stop, panting, wanting to be sure.