His eyes go to mine. “I don’t know.” A grin curves his lips. “Now what?”

I’m aching for him, but I don’t want to rush this. I want to enjoy him, I want to drag out every moment, want to tease out this delicious foreplay as long as possible. So I keep exploring his torso with my hand, the other tucked between us, my knee on his thigh, my foot against his calf. I run my palm up his side and over his belly, teasing lower and lower with each random circuit around his body. And I watch him the whole time. At first, his eyes remain on mine, dark and brooding and impenetrable. But as my hand slips lower and lower, his eyes gradually close.

I flatten my palm against his belly and slide it under his erection, a teasing not-quite touch. He sucks in a sharp breath and pulls in his stomach. I grin a little at that. And then I can’t wait any longer. I slowly curl my fingers around his girth, and he stops breathing entirely. His face is a mask of rapture and wonder, and I can’t help wondering how long it’s been for him. Judging by his reactions to everything, quite a long time.

Which is fine. I’m finding myself not just willing to take it slow, but looking forward to the tantalizing journey. We’ll take it step by step, and enjoy every moment. He has this way of making me want to savor each second, each touch, each kiss and caress. I don’t know what it is, if it’s just some subtlety in his personality. I don’t know. But I’m going slow and loving it.

I don’t even pump my hand, at first. I just hold his cock in my fist and enjoy the view, the way so much of him juts up and out over my hand as I grip him at the root. My hand seems pale against his dark flesh, and I like even that subtle contrast. Slowly, I slide my hand upward, relishing the stutter of his skin against mine, and the way his belly sucks in and his breath exhales suddenly, involuntarily. I roll my palm over his head and squeeze, and then glide my fist back down enough to rub my thumb over the tip, smearing the pre-come over him.

I glance up and see that he’s watching through slitted lids, his face a mask of bliss and focus. He’s breathing deeply, now.

I caress his length slowly downward, and then I cup his sac, feel its heaviness in my palm. My cheek is on his chest, and I’m watching myself touch him, and even though this is by no means new for me, this somehow feels different. As if I’m doing and feeling and experiencing this through new eyes.

With each slow slide of my fist up his length, I curl and twist my palm over his head, rub his tip with my thumb and then pump my fist to his root. As my hand presses against his belly on the downward slide, Ben lifts up, presses into my hand. His breathing is ragged. He’s getting close and holding back. His hands are knotted in the flat sheet at his sides, as if he’s not sure where to put them. So I let go of his cock and take his hand in mine, press it to my head, into my hair. I resume the slow caress of his length and he weaves his fingers into my hair, smoothing it back off my face, and his other hand caresses my shoulder and down my back as far as he can reach.

When his hips begin to move with the stroke of my fingers around his considerable thickness, I press my lips to the flesh of his chest, and then to his ribs, moving over him gradually now, until I can kiss from hip to hip, chest to navel. He tastes clean and smells of soap and man.

“Oh…ssshhhhhiiiiit….” He gasps. “That feels so good.”

“Yeah?” I kiss his belly, mere centimeters from the head of his cock. “Which part?”

“Everything. Your hand, the way you’re…touching me. You kissing me like that.”

“Are you close?” I ask.

“Yeah…”

“You’re holding back, aren’t you, Benji?” My cheek is resting on his belly now, my eyes locked on his cock, watching it squeeze out of my fist, the head dark and straining toward my mouth.

“Yeah, I am,” he admits, with a groan.

“Don’t hold back,” I say, sliding my face over his skin, closer and closer.

“Echo…you don’t have to—” he starts, but then I’ve got him in my mouth, and I have to keep my jaw spread wide to take his thick cock.

I wrap my lips around him and slide my mouth around him until I feel him at the back of my throat, and he groans, gasps.

Letting him fall out of my mouth, I look up at him with a grin. “I don’t have to what, Benji?”

“Do that,” he groans. “You don’t have to do that.”

“I know.” I punctuate this by licking the pre-come off his tip, and then curl my fist around his root and put my lips to his cock and suck at the head. “But I’m going to anyway.”

“Oh god. I’m close, Echo.”

I hum as I slide him into my mouth. I cup his balls and press my fingers under them, and he lifts his hips off the mattress, his fingers tightening in my hair. Oh yeah, I like that, the way he’s got a grip in my hair and isn’t quite pulling, but almost. I bob, now, taking him as deep as my gag reflex will let me and then backing away. I swirl my tongue around the head of his cock, tasting his essence, feeling him throb between my lips. He strains, almost thrusting at me. I hum again, a moan of encouragement. His hips move, and I can tell he’s trying to not fuck my mouth. So I back my mouth away and take him in my fist, pump him hard and suck, swirling my tongue against the tiny slit at the top of his cock, tasting the moisture pooling there. He is thrusting now, involuntarily moving into my fist. I bob with him until I hear him groan, and then I let go of him and move my head in synch with his thrusting, sinking down as he pushes in, pulling away as he draws back. And now he’s moaning loudly and both his fists are tangled in my hair, holding my hair and gently encouraging me to keep going.

“Oh my—fuck, oh fuck—” he grunts, and I feel him tense all over. “I’m—I’m coming, Echo…Jesus—ohhhhhh…”

His warning comes just in time for me to prepare. His hips thrust up, and his cock nudges the back of my throat, and I feel the come burst out of him, a gush of liquid down my throat. I pull my lips up and then back down, fucking him with my mouth, hard and fast, and he comes again, and this time I taste it, a thick hot wash of come in my mouth, and he comes a third time, and I’ve got to swallow before the next wave surges out of him, and I’m bobbing and stroking him with my tongue, feeling spurt after spurt of seed explode out of him, until I’m sucking it from him and he’s groaning and stroking my head and feathering my hair away from my face.




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