Total pages in book: 101
Estimated words: 97417 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 487(@200wpm)___ 390(@250wpm)___ 325(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 97417 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 487(@200wpm)___ 390(@250wpm)___ 325(@300wpm)
He guessed there was something to be said for denied gratification.
“I’ve never done this before so tell me if I’m doing it wrong.” Fitch’s eyes never wavered from their focus on Ansel’s dick.
“You’ve never touched your own cock before? I find that hard to believe.”
“I’ve never had one in my mouth.”
At his words, Ansel sucked in air. He hadn’t expected a blow job, not from a formerly straight guy, not the first time. His reply was automatic, barely a whisper. “You don’t have to.”
Fitch looked up and Ansel was caught by the dark hunger in his gaze. He absently registered the slow, steady slide of thick fingers over his cock until he was held in a grip so easy and sure, all he could do was blink. Then Fitch leaned forward and kissed him.
He trembled and opened his mouth to invite Fitch inside. He flicked his tongue along Fitch’s full bottom lip and tilted his head. Fitch took the bait and deepened the kiss, cupping his head with one hand while the other leisurely stroked his length. Damn, why was this making him dizzy? It was like his blood didn’t know which way to go, south to his pounding cock or north to his throbbing lips. He moaned and tilted his hips toward Fitch. More, more. Tighter. God. He was so close. Fitch pulled away, his warm breath fanning Ansel’s cheek.
“Good?” he asked.
“More than good, don’t stop now.”
“Where’s your room?”
Another stroke up and a squeeze to his crown. Ansel had to swallow a few times before he could form the words. “Down the hall, on the left.”
With a quick peck to his lips, Fitch released his hold and stepped back. “Show me.”
It took him a minute to remove his feet from the floor and another to shake the fog from his brain enough for Fitch’s words to make sense. Fitch had pulled up his pants and started unbuttoning his shirt before he could move. The sight of those thick fingers making quick work of tiny buttons should not have been such a turn-on. Ansel shook his head and hurried to his room.
Besotted idiot was not a good look. He took a moment in the darkness to put himself back together. Tonight was just like any other night. Fitch was just like every other guy he’d fucked. That didn’t stop him from kicking the dirty clothes into the closet, straightening the sheets, and checking the bedside table for condoms and lube.
Yes. Thank the lube gods, he had supplies.
Fitch came in as he was closing the drawer, the green dress shirt hanging from his fingertips revealing a chiseled chest covered with soft black hair. A scrumptious little trail followed the deep hollow of his abs to disappear into the waist of his pants.
Ansel stood rooted to the ground so Fitch closed the door and hooked his shirt on the doorknob. At some point, he’d kicked off his shoes. He was dressed only in his jeans and socks. With a nod, Fitch pushed them off. Following suit, breath shaking, Ansel did the same with his jeans and lace shorts.
Naked, Fitch came forward. “You’ll tell me if I do it wrong.”
Fitch maneuvered him until he was sitting on the edge of the bed.
“There is no way in hell you could do it wrong. I’m ready to burst from the thought of your lips around me.” Ansel swallowed and closed his eyes. He couldn’t look at Fitch. The guy was too fucking hot with his chest hair, and his furry legs looking like goddamn tree trunks. But then Fitch’s hands were sliding up his legs and he couldn’t not look.
Fitch lowered to his knees between Ansel’s legs and then caressed him from thigh to nipple. “You’re so smooth.”
“Part of the image,” he said, wondering what Fitch would think of him after he’d gone a few days without shaving. He was naturally blond. Any hair he was able to grow was fine and almost invisible. However, if he didn’t shave his face every few days he’d have a decent five o’clock shadow. He guessed Fitch needed to shave twice a day—he still hadn’t seen the guy without the scruff.
Fitch just hummed and pressed a kiss to Ansel’s belly, while those thick, dastardly fingers tweaked both his nipples. Ansel sucked air through his teeth at the jolt of lust that tightened his balls.
“Still good?” Fitch asked.
“Yeah, great.”
Another hum and tweak, but this time the kiss was to his dripping cockhead. He held his breath and waited. Should he have warned him? Fitch was straight, after all. He’d probably never tasted his own come, let alone that of another man. He was just about to open his mouth and apologize when Fitch looked up and swiped the precome off his mouth with his tongue. His deep groan could have been a fist for the pressure it stoked in Ansel’s balls.