If I Could - B. Celeste Page 0,81
two months of dating, he went down on me for the first time. It wasn’t rushed or sloppy like he was worried, but pure, beautiful torture. He asked me to help him set a pace, tell him what I liked, but he could have done anything and got me off just the same. Still, I guided his movements with encouraging groans and grunts as he took me deeper, gagging on my cock before opening his throat and letting me fuck his mouth.
There’s no way he misses my hard on right now, practically asking to sword fight his.
“I’ve been thinking,” he says after a moment of gentle petting, my hand lowering closer and closer to where I want to be wrapped around.
“Should I be scared?” I tease, fingers tracing the elastic band of his briefs, moving back and forth slowly.
His brows pinch. “Out of the two of us, my thoughts are far less scary than yours.”
I chuckle. “Let’s agree to disagree, babe. I’m more interested in what you’re thinking than I am scared.”
Rolling his eyes, his fingers do their own explorations, landing on my chest, fingering some of the hair there before circling my nipple in teasing motions. “It’s about my birthday present. I think I know what I want.”
Teeth biting into my bottom lip when he tweaks my nipple before leaning forward and dragging his tongue across the bud, I manage to croak out, “I take it you didn’t like the present I got you?”
I’m pretty sure he chuckles against me thinking about the new apron I bought him that says once you put your meat in my mouth, you’re gonna want to swallow and besides his hatred over the word ‘gonna’ he said he loved it. “I plan to wear it proudly, like a badge of honor.”
“What is it that you want for your birthday?”
His mouth ascends up my chest, peppering kisses along the side of my neck, nipping, sucking, licking, before they stop at the underside of my jaw. “I want you.”
I move my head a fraction so I can meet his eyes. “You have me, babe.”
“All of you.” When his words catch, I understand exactly what he’s asking for. We haven’t talked about it because I could tell it’s something that freaks him out a little. At least, it did. The first time I ever bottomed with a guy, it hurt like hell because he didn’t use enough lube or prepare me enough and hurting Reece like that is the last thing I want to do.
“Are you asking what I think you are?”
His nod slowly moves up and down. “I’ve been thinking about it for a while. Ever since you started…” The sexiest pink takes over his face, and I fucking love it. “Ever since you played with my ass the first time, I’ve been wanting to do more.”
It took time, time I happily, and agonizingly waited for, before one of our many nights of hand jobs led to rimming. I perched him on all fours while I jerked him off and started kissing down his back until my teeth bit into his ass cheek while one of my free fingers teased his tight hole and probed it with my tongue. He loved being marked by me, and I loved marking him, making sure everywhere I left my claim could be hidden on school days. That night he’d made me so fucking hard just by asking what team I’d be rooting for during the Superbowl. One simple question had my dick straining painfully against the zipper of my jeans, but the next one? It’d made the need to feel him squeezing my finger that much stronger. “I looked it up online and think we should root for the underdogs. It seems like the Patriots get enough attention, don’t you think?”
The underdog. I almost told him I loved him then and there, but instead showed it through every kiss, over every single inch of his body. And when I asked him if I could play with his ass, guiding my every move along the way, it was undoubtedly the hottest experience of my life. Watching a man’s ass in the air as he writhed for me, hearing him moan and beg for more, watching spurts of cum shoot from him and onto my hand when I hit his G-spot with every thrust of my fingers.
He’d been thinking about it since then. “I know we never discussed it before,” he keeps going, as if he needs to convince me,