It was unlike anything I’d ever felt. Wet, and hot, and slow—like he was savoring it. My cock jerked again, precum beading at the tip, and Dante simply took that as a cue to suck the tip into his mouth.
Fuck. Fuck. It was so good. The pleasure was so overwhelming, I had to tip my head back and close my eyes because if I looked down at Dante I knew I’d come immediately. Then Dante began to suck for real, gentle suction and his skillful tongue licking along my shaft as he bobbed up and down. His hands dug into my thighs, pressing them a little wider on the desk.
There was no way I was going to last. My orgasm was building raging hot in my gut, pleasure churning from my hips to my chest, and my breath came in short, staccato gasps as I tried to stave it off. I didn’t want it to be over so soon—I didn’t want to embarrass myself by coming so quickly.
But apparently Dante could read my body language too well. He slid off my cock and stroked it with his hand slowly. “Just let go,” he said. “You can come. I want you to feel good.”
Then he ducked his head back down and swallowed my cock again.
And with that instruction, I couldn’t hold back. I sighed into it, letting the sensation of his mouth on me—hot, wet, powerful, intoxicating—take over.
“Close,” I choked out.
I expected Dante to pull off and jerk me off through it. But instead he just redoubled his efforts, sucking faster, harder. I chanced a glance down. He was watching me, brow furrowed in concentration, and he gave me a little nod.
And that was all it took. Knowing he wanted that from me was enough. My orgasm nearly bowled me over, and my hands flew from the edge of the desk to Dante’s broad shoulders. I clung to him, steadying myself as I leaned forward, I cried out, my toes curled. I came so hard I saw fireworks behind my eyelids.
And Dante just worked me through it, humming around my cock and fucking swallowing like it was nothing. He didn’t pull off until I pushed a little desperately at his shoulders, so oversensitive it was almost painful, but in the most wonderful way.
“Good.” Dante’s voice was low and sex-roughened. He stood up, stood between my spread legs, gathering me into his arms and carding his hand through my hair. Pressed against his chest, it was easy to match my breaths to his as I shivered through the aftershocks. “How was that?”
“Amazing,” I sighed. “What about you? I can…”
Can what? What did I want to do? I wanted so much—wanted to jerk him off, blow him, let him bend me over and fuck me on his desk. But with Dante’s arms around me, I was comfortably trapped, and couldn’t reach for him.
“Don’t worry about me,” Dante said warmly.
Part of me wanted to argue, but it was hard to find the words with Dante’s heartbeat beating steady and comforting in my ear. It was just so comfortable. I felt safe, cared for, and—it embarrassed me to even think it—cherished.
I was sunk. I’d never felt like this before. So settled in my own skin. I wanted to feel this way again—or always.
“This was about you,” Dante continued. “Get you some experience.”
Oh. Right. Reality settled over me like a sudden summer rainstorm. This wasn’t supposed to mean anything. It was just a little favor between friends. And I was okay with that. I had to be okay with that. If Dante thought I was too attached, he’d surely say we couldn’t do this again.
And I really, really wanted to do it again.
So. I tried to wrangle the warm feeling inside me into something more manageable. But if I was going to do that, I couldn’t sit here and let Dante hold me like this.
With some effort, I pushed out of his grasp. “Thank you,” I said quietly, as I tugged down my shirt and tucked my cock back into my jeans.
Some brief, unreadable emotion flickered across Dante’s face: a slight downturn to his lips, a furrow in his brow. But as soon as it appeared, it was gone. “Right,” he said. “I think that’s enough work for today.”
I huffed a laugh. He was right about that—no way I could think about numbers with my brain still halfway offline from the blowjob. We moved in an easy,