my hand at the thought. I swallowed hard. The heat in my gut was building, sweat beading on my forehead as I jerked myself faster, harder. It felt so good, so much better than the perfunctory jerkoff sessions I usually had.
I imagined Heath jerking me off like that—two hands, serious expression—until I got close, like I was now. Then I’d tip his chin up so I could see those big brown eyes of his and how swollen his lower lip was from where he’d set his teeth into it.
“Try it with your mouth,” I’d say.
I imagined his eyes widening. How his knees would hit the floor like an air raid drill.
Then I’d glide one hand into that soft blond hair and tilt his head back. He’d open his mouth, so sweet and obedient, and flatten his tongue. To start, I’d just rest my cock there, the head of it on the flat of his tongue, let him get used to the weight of it. He’d steady himself with his hands on my thighs. And then, at my instruction, he’d seal his lips, and I’d slowly push my cock into the wet heat of his mouth.
How far could he take it, at first?
I groaned at the thought. Maybe only halfway. Maybe not even that. But he’d try, really do his best, breathing hard through his nose as tears pricked at the corners of his eyes.
“Good boy,” I’d tell him, and he’d only redouble his efforts. Trying so hard to be good, and I thought of how my heart would swell with pride.
I jerked myself faster, slumping heavily against the door. I was close, so close. I imagined withdrawing my cock from Heath’s mouth—he’d whine a little at the loss. But then he’d realize what I was doing and open his mouth again, tongue out. Waiting. Fuck. That gorgeous image burned in my mind as my orgasm hit me like a gut punch. I came hard into my own hand, imagining my cum striping Heath’s pretty, patient face, across his tongue and cheeks.
I blinked my eyes open, reeling from the intensity of the fantasy as the aftershocks of my orgasm left me loose-limbed and a little dizzy against the door.
I swiped the back of my hand—the clean one—across my forehead, wiping away the sweat. I hadn’t had an orgasm like that from just a fantasy in a long time. Not since I broke up with my ex, at least. But it was so vivid, almost like something we’d done before. And doubly enticing because it felt within reach. Like if I played my cards right with Heath, I could make it a reality.
Which I absolutely should not do. Even if he seemed like he was craving it, too. Even if he wasn’t sure exactly what he was craving, but wanted to follow his instincts, to learn. And God, I wanted to show him.
But that was off the table, at least until I finished setting things right with Hell’s Ankhor. Maybe it would stay off the table even after, depending on whether I decided to listen to my rational brain that told me I’d been down this frustrating road before, that it only led to heartbreak—or my heart (and cock), which couldn’t deny the chemistry pulling us together.
But none of that was going to help me when Heath showed up at the office later. I shook myself a little to clear my head, and then jumped in the shower to wash away the evidence before I started my workday.
Cleaned up and dressed, I left my bedroom in a substantially better mood. When I descended the stairs, whistling a little tune to myself, Tru glanced up from the video game he was playing on our clubhouse’s immense television. He was sprawled on one of the couches, his tall body taking up the whole thing, one leg sprawled over the top of the couch. He was weirdly flexible from years of training Muay Thai, and was always finding new and stupid-looking ways to lounge on furniture.
“You’re in a good mood,” he chirped. “You get laid last night? Finally make it happen with that cute little Hell’s Ankhor guy?”
“Oh, fuck off,” I said warmly as I wandered back into the kitchen for my second cup of coffee—lukewarm now. Of course Tru hadn’t made a fresh pot. “I can’t just be in a good mood?”
“Sure you can,” Tru said. He paused the game and shifted on the couch, folding his arms over the back of it to