I was left with only Nathaniel in my hand. I looked at his face. Eager, happy. He leaned in toward me. "You win." He moved in for a kiss, but I squeezed him hard and tight. It threw his head back, closed his eyes, spasmed his body. No one else in the bed would have wanted me to squeeze that tight, but he loved it.
"What do I win?" I asked. I let him go.
He gazed down at me with eyes that didn't quite focus. "Everything." He kissed me. It started as a slow kiss, but then he was just suddenly kissing me as deep and hard as he could. I'd forgotten that Jean-Claude had bled me earlier. I knew that part of what made him so eager at my mouth was the taste of my blood. He kissed me as if he would crawl into my mouth, his tongue searching for every last drop of that precious fluid.
His body pressed on top of mine. He was so hard, so firm, the feel of him trapped between our bodies made me make small sounds into his mouth, as he kissed me.
He drew back from the kiss. "What do you want?" he asked.
"You, inside me," I said.
He gave me a fierce smile, and raised himself up off my body.
I grabbed at his waist and shoulders. "What are you doing?"
"You said inside, you didn't say where inside." He crawled over me, his body not touching me, and I knew where he was going.
"Is this more foreplay or do you want to finish here?"
"Finish," he said.
"Without the ardeur, I don't like to swallow."
"I know," he said, and straddled my chest, leaning forward using the headboard much as Jean-Claude had.
I stared up the line of his body, his face so eager, so sure of itself. I'd worked a long time to have him look like that during sex. He knew with me he could ask for what he wanted, that his pleasure was as important to me as my own. I cupped my hand under his balls. They were already tight and close to his body. The caress brought his breath in a long sigh.
I kept one hand on his balls, and spilled the other hand up and over the length of him. He smiled down at me. "What do you want Micah to do while I'm busy here?"
We'd only very recently begun ha**ng s*x at the exact same time, Nathaniel, Micah, and me. I'd thought it had been my idea initially, but now, it seemed like Nathaniel initiated it more. I knew what he wanted me to say, and truthfully, dawn was going to come, and I had one other man in the bed. Whatever we were going to do, we needed to be doing it.
I kept playing lightly with Nathaniel, and called, "Micah."
He crawled until I could see him. He just looked at me with those chartreuse eyes. His face made no demands, but his body spoke for him, so hard, so eager. "You, inside me."
"We've never done this without the ardeur," he said.
"I know," I said.
He gave me a look, then he smiled, and crawled back down along the bed.
"Suck me while he does it." It was more a command than a request, but I'd worked long and hard to have Nathaniel that commanding anywhere in his life. Hard to bitch about it now. Besides, he was so temptingly close, so hard, so ready. I had to mound the pillows up, a little higher, to get the angle we needed.
Micah's hands slid over my hips.
I licked the tip of Nathaniel, slid my mouth over him, took him inch by inch into my mouth, slow, so slow, so we could both enjoy the sensation of it.
I went down about halfway, then back up. We needed him wetter, so he'd slide better. But there's something about putting that much of a man that far inside your mouth that makes you wet, both above and below.
Micah's hands spread my legs, his finger plunged inside me. It made me cry out, and shove all of Nathaniel inside my mouth at once.
He put his hand on the back of my head, held me against him, so that I was trapped, and had a moment of choking around him. It wasn't a gag reflex; it was a suffocation reflex.
He let me go, and I fell back from his body gasping for breath, choking. When I could talk, I said, "Don't do that again."
Micah said, "Are you okay?"
I nodded, wasn't sure he could see it, and said, "Yeah."
"You do it with the ardeur," Nathaniel said.
"We're doing it without tonight." I think the look I gave him was not entirely friendly.
"I'm sorry, but I'm used to being able to do that."
"Twice, we've done that twice. Twice is not a pattern."
"I'm sorry," he said, and that look came back to his face, that uncertain, lost look. He started to move, and I grabbed his h*ps to keep him from moving. He looked down at me, his face so fragile, so hurt, as if all the new bravado were only skin deep: scratch it, and it goes away. I did the only thing I could think of to chase that look from his face. I drew him back into my mouth, sucked him fast and hard, until his head went back and his eyes closed. When he looked at me again, he was smiling, but there was still a flinching around his eyes; a shadow of that hurt. There was only one thing that would take that hurt from his eyes, I had to prove I trusted him. I slipped my mouth over him again, and gave myself over to the pleasure of him filling my mouth. I let my face show just how much I enjoyed the sensation of all that velvet muscle inside my mouth. The sensation of it wet and slick from my own saliva. But I didn't stop at the comfort point, that point where it just feels good and full. I sucked past that point where my body told me too much. I sucked until my mouth met his body, and there was no inch to spare. I sucked until he was shoved as hard and deep inside my throat as I could manage. I sucked until my body stopped complaining about needing to gag and started to complain about needing to breathe. But I'd learned to be able to fight past that, too. I stayed there, pressed tight and solid against his body, until he looked down at me, stayed until my throat convulsed, spasming around the length of him. He stared down at me, his eyes wild, eager, and something more. His hands stayed in a death grip on the headboard, as if he didn't quite trust himself. I drew back from him, coughing, before I could get a good breath. I finally let myself swallow all that extra saliva and lay back, panting as if I were behind on my breaths and had to catch up.
His body shivered above me, a shiver of pleasure that went all the way up his body, to throw his head back, close his eyes, bow his spine, as if the memory alone were that intense, and for Nathaniel it might have been. He finally looked down at me, eyes slightly unfocused. He smiled, and said, "Thank you." And the look on his face held something much more precious to me than passion; it held soft gratitude, wonder, love, for lack of a better word. There were men who loved me who never wore a look like that. Maybe it was his youth, or his years of therapy, or his lack of hang-ups. What Nathaniel felt he felt down to his toes, no hiding, no holding back, not once he gave himself to someone. It had been one of the things that made him such a danger to himself with the wrong person. With the right person he was magnificent in his abandon. He put the rest of us to shame with our wariness, our unease, our holding back. He was the only one of us who simply gave.
I gazed up into that face and was happier than I knew how to say that he was in my life.
I felt the bed adjust, a moment before fingers slipped inside me. Two searching, slender fingers. Those fingers found that certain spot, and began to flick back and forth, back and forth, fast and faster, until the feeling threw my head back, and tore a scream from me. There were other men who could do that to me, but no one else was that quick at it. I knew who it was, before I looked past Nathaniel's body to see Jean-Claude kneeling between my thighs. His eyes had bled to solid blue light.
Nathaniel moved off me, and I had a moment to try to focus and find Micah, before Jean-Claude slipped his fingers back inside me and brought me again, screaming, tearing at the sheets, grabbing for the headboard, grabbing for anything to hold on to.
I found a hand, and grabbed it, nails digging into the wrist as I writhed. When I could see again, I found it was Micah. He stared down at me with such a look on his face. He spoke, staring down at me. "Wait, Jean-Claude, wait until I'm in place."
I blinked up at him. "In place where?" My voice sounded as thick and unfocused as I felt.
He squeezed my hand tight, and said, "I want you to scream your orgasm with me in your mouth."
I said, "Okay," then thought enough to say, "Can't deep-throat you from this angle."
He put his other hand against my cheek, and turned my face to the side, toward his body. "How about now?"
The way he asked made me smile, and staring at the front of his body so thick, so ready, stole the smile and made me whisper, "Let's try."