His grin widened, and then faded as his eyes drooped closed and he bit his lower lip. I watched him struggle with a smile of my own. All along, I had the impression that I was the one that needed him like air, but now I had a glimpse beneath the façade I would’ve sworn he’d never wear.
I usually wouldn’t push my luck with Crandall. He didn’t like jokes at his expense, but I’d tasted power, and that single sip swam in my head like a fifth of cheap vodka. “Or…” I drew out the word until he peeked at me from eyes lidded at half mast. “We could just go get breakfast.” I faked a pretty good shrug of indifference right then, if I did say so myself.
His eyes narrowed and his lips turned down in the faintest hint of a frown. “Jackass,” he whispered. “You’re so full of shit.”
I laughed and ran my hands up his thighs. The brief exchange made for an excellent distraction to my libido, and maybe I bought enough time to enjoy his body without worrying about coming way too soon through then entire act.
“Yes, I am,” I admitted. “But it’s nice to know you have it bad for me too.”
He scooted back and wrapped his long fingers around the base of my cock, squeezing that pressure point to hold back the impending explosion. While I would’ve said I was back under control, no longer on the cusp of giving in to base instincts and rutting away at whatever I could get my hands on, he then dipped his head and ran his tongue down the length of me with one long, slow stroke.
Control? What control?
I shuddered and moaned, my eyes rolling back in my head as I embraced utter pleasure while battling my body’s demand for immediate relief in release. When his tongue left me cold and damp, I kept my eyes squeezed shut, drawing in a ragged breath as I mentally surrendered to him once more. Fuck, suck, jerk. It didn’t matter as long as it involved Crandall.
“Yes,” he whispered so quietly that I opened my eyes to gauge the expression in his eyes. “I do have it bad for you.” I barely heard the words, but as his lungs expelled them slowly from his lips, his warm breath danced over my spit slicked cock, and I thought for sure I’d come without another touch. That, too, would be unique to Crank. Not that I’ve ever kept a lover around long enough to bother trying. Foreplay had been taboo until the night I first kissed Crank.
He froze there, his lungs expanding and deflating, breezing warm air over the soft, fleshy head of my cock. A tiny drop of precum welled in the slit at the tip and the pressure of that light load nearly had me begging for his lips.
I hadn’t realized I said a thing until Crandall grinned and cocked his head. “What was that, Mike?” he asked.
“You’re killing me,” I said through a panted breath.
“It’s a good way to die.” Before I could respond, he dropped his mouth over my cock. As his lips sealed against my skin, his fingers squeezed that secret pressure point again, and the sound I heard echoing through the room was my own low, moaning wail.
Crandall sucked hard, cheeks hollowing, as he dragged his lips up my shaft, pausing at the top to press his tongue against the sensitive slit. When he lifted his head, he didn’t give me a chance to breathe before he rolled the condom down over me. I stared at his lips, glistening with spit and spunk, and curved in a small, knowing smile. He loved the power, and upon realizing that, I knew I loved to surrender it to him.
“Lube,” Crandall said, breaking through my fog of lust.
“Lube.” He emphasized the word by inching up my body, letting his stomach brush against my rubber-wrapped prick.
“Oh God…” I fumbled in the general vicinity of where he’d tossed the little plastic bottle, unable to tear my eyes off of him long enough to find it. That theory that men were visual creatures? Yes, oh God, yes.
My fingers brushed the bottle, and a faint voice in the back corner of my mind noticed the plastic was sticky and should probably be cleaned, but the thought drowned in the tides of our libidos as I closed my hand around the lube bottle and handed it to Crandall.
Abandoning teasing and distraction, Crandall wasted no time slicking up my cock and then twisting to rub his fingers down his ass crack. Quicker than I’d expected, he lifted up on his knees, rising over me like a naughty, fallen angel.
“Crank,” I whispered. I wanted him so desperately the words were difficult to form. “Don’t rush it.” I didn’t want to hurt him, though I needed to be inside him more than I needed air, water, and music.
Ignoring my warning, he pressed himself down on my cock. His tight entrance resisted, but he did not. He circled his hips, rubbing against me and easing lower. His body slowly gave way, allowing the spongy head of my prick through. I felt like I’d implode before his muscles relaxed enough to permit full entrance. Somehow, I held back, lying perfectly still, so he could control the burn of penetration.
Pain contorted his face, but he took a long, deep breath and on the exhale, relaxed. My cock slid into his body, slowly, and inch by inch his muscles loosened just enough to suck me in until his ass rested on my hips and my cock throbbed in the snug embrace of his body.
Up Next: Mike’s Interlude, part three