“Just shove them down far enough. That’s easier.” I didn’t want him to get a good look at the padded bandage and the bruising I still wore on my thigh and decide I was too hurt to sleep with. Slipping my waistband below the curve of my ass and under my balls was easy and barely twinged my leg. The bunched fabric covered my bandage and left me feeling sluttier than if I was fully naked.
Brooklyn hummed as I freed my erect dick. “Mm. Nice.”
“Pretty average.”
“I have a thing for gingers.” Brooklyn reached over and delivered a slow stroke down my shaft that had my cock sitting up and begging.
“I could blow you,” I offered. “If we can figure out a position.” My thigh had almost stopped throbbing, and in that miracle, I was hot and hard and eager, unwilling to move and lose this moment.
“Nope.” Brooklyn eased his long legs down the bed, stretching on his side facing me. “Nothing fancy, nothing that might twinge your leg or your head.”
“I’m fi?—”
Brooklyn kissed the second consonant off my lips. “You’re definitely fine. You’re also going to be holding still. Let me do the work. Start with kissing.” He tapped his lips with his forefinger. “Right here.”
I didn’t know if that was just how Brooklyn was, or if he’d figured out I liked to be told what to do in bed. Didn’t really matter right then. I kissed him, right where he wanted it at the outer corner of his mouth. The faint hint of growing scruff prickled my lips.
He chuckled and turned his head to find my lips with his. With a light tug on my beard, he changed the angle, deepening the kiss. Then I felt his palm press over my nipple. I moaned. I was always stupidly sensitive there.
“Oh, yeah.” Brooklyn went back to kissing me while he rolled and pinched and tugged at my nipples.
My hips tried to punch forward of their own account, and a flash of pain up my thigh made me wince.
I thought I hid it, but Brooklyn leaned away from our kiss. “You have just one job, Arthur. Hold still and let me take care of you.”
That didn’t feel fair. He’d been taking care of me all week. But when he slid lower and closed his mouth around my nipple, all I could do was gasp and try not to move.
I cupped his head in my hands, his short, straight hair silky under my fingers, and tried to guide him to the other side. He resisted, long enough to make me whine, then turned his attention to my other tight nub. I gasped at the edge of teeth, fighting to keep my touch on his head gentle. Then he licked where he’d bitten me, soothing sensitized skin with the flat of his tongue.
Brooklyn moved down my body an inch at a time, stroking and licking and nipping—a gentle bite on my stomach, a kiss pressed to my hip bone.
In the past, I’d been self-conscious about my soft pasty-white stomach. What muscle I had was hidden in a layer of cushioning, but Brooklyn treated every bit of me as if it was worth exploring. Then he reached my cock and slid his hot mouth over the head.
I looked down and all I could feel was need and wonder, as Brooklyn bobbed up and down and took me apart with his mouth and hands. It wasn’t so much technique as how attuned to me he was. How he’d clamp a hand on my hip if I was about to move, or pause, open mouth hovering around me, too much and not quite enough, as I teetered on the brink.
After getting me almost there three times, he backed off and started again, kissing my stomach, my hip, then lower. He cupped my balls, rolling them, but when I tried to raise my thigh to give him room, I flinched and he let go. “Maybe not this time. Hold still, Arthur.”
“You have someone sucking your dick like a graduate from cock-sucking college and see how well you hold still,” I muttered, my breath rasping in my throat.
“Not an excuse.” He nipped my stomach. “And thanks.” He sucked my dick down again, this time almost reaching my curls with his lips.
“Goddamn graduate degree,” I said. “Please, Brooklyn. Come on. Don’t stop now.” My pulse pounded in my throat, and all my nerves were strung tight, vibrating. I’d never in my life seen anything hotter than Brooklyn West with my cock between his pretty pink lips, while controlling my movements with those long, strong fingers. “Please!”
He sucked me harder, faster, with less variety and more sloppy, wet, tight perfection. Heat rose in my belly, in my groin, in my face and chest. My balls ached, climax boiling just below the surface, and I wanted to thrust down his throat but I obeyed the grip of his hands. “Yeah, that, God, yes, God!” Orgasm hit me in an avalanche of heat. My cock jumped and spurted in Brooklyn’s mouth.
He laughed, a low choked sound, even as he drank me down. Then he pulled me closer, deeper, his fingers digging into my hip, his mouth full of me.
“Oh God.” An aftershock ripped through me, perfect white-out pleasure rocking me one more time. Then I sighed, long and hard, and my body rolled down the other side of that exquisite climax mountain. My breathing steadied. My heartbeat slowed. Other sensations came back online, including a sharp ache in my thigh that I ignored, because nothing was allowed to make this moment less than perfect.
“That was incredible. Thank you,” I murmured.
Brooklyn eased off, letting my softening cock sag against my thigh, and grinned up at me.
Look at that man.
I asked, “Can I blow you now? I want to.”
He eyed me up and down. “Some other time.”
