Total pages in book: 61
Estimated words: 56831 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 284(@200wpm)___ 227(@250wpm)___ 189(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 56831 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 284(@200wpm)___ 227(@250wpm)___ 189(@300wpm)
He touched my cheek, so gently that it made my heart ache. “I don’t care about your past. All that matters is you and me, right here and now.”
“Are you sure?”
Even though he nodded, I knew I should tell him I was Mario Greco. He deserved the truth. But a part of me, a desperately lonely part I usually tried to ignore, whispered, Please, don’t screw everything up. You really need this.
While that inner debate raged, Romy searched my eyes. Then he took my face between his hands and brushed his lips to mine. The kiss was soft and tender and beautiful, and it was devastating.
I knew this thing that was starting to happen between us could only end badly. He’d find out who I was, and he’d hate me. But I couldn’t think about that now. I just couldn’t. Instead, I tried to quiet my mind and live in the moment.
That was overwhelming too, though. I usually didn’t feel much of anything, because it was easier to go through life with a tight lid on my emotions. But without even trying, Romy had torn that lid off and thrown it aside, and now I felt everything. It was like being swept up in a strong current—I felt like I was drowning in it.
Fine. Let me drown.
He rocked his hips and rubbed his hard-on against mine. Before I could overthink it, I slid off the wall and swung us around. Then I dropped to my knees.
Usually, I was the one on the receiving end. But I wanted to give to Romy instead of taking from him, and this was one very literal way of doing that.
He let me fumble with his clothes for a few moments before taking over. As soon as he unzipped and pushed his jeans and briefs to mid-thigh, I wrapped my lips around the tip of his cock. I felt clueless and awkward as I tried to slide my mouth down his shaft. But then he murmured, “That feels good,” and it encouraged me to keep going.
The blow job that followed was definitely lacking in finesse. It didn’t seem to matter though, judging by the sounds he made and the fact that he was rock hard in my mouth. I was totally focused on my technique, but after a few minutes, he touched my cheek and said, “Look at me, Marcus.”
The moment we made eye contact, everything changed. It finally dawned on me this wasn’t about the mechanics of what I was doing. It was about Romy, and the two of us, and our connection.
His expression was pure bliss. It felt good, knowing I was causing that, and it helped me relax. Then I started to really enjoy what I was doing. In fact, it was surprisingly fun.
It occurred to me most gay men probably had that revelation a lot earlier in life. That in turn reminded me how narrow my experience had been up to this point. There was a huge difference between fucking some random person and being with a lover. I’d only ever done the former, so no wonder this thing with Romy felt brand new.
Pretty soon, he blurted, “I’m about to come.” Maybe that was meant as a warning, in case I didn’t want to swallow his load. I just sucked harder.
He threw his head back and shot down my throat, gritting his teeth and stifling a yell. His hands clamped down on my shoulders as he thrust into my mouth, and I gripped the backs of his thighs and brought him right to the end of his orgasm.
Afterwards, he seemed shaky as he zipped up. We sat down side-by-side, leaning against the rock wall as he caught his breath. Then he asked, “What about you?”
“Next time.”
He leaned against me and murmured, “That was amazing.”
“You don’t have to say that. I know it took me a while to figure out what I was doing.”
“Because you’re usually on the receiving end of blow jobs?” When I nodded, he said, “I can see that. Actually, I was surprised when you went the other direction—not that I’m complaining.” He grinned at me, and then he got up and started to put on his socks and sneakers.
I could have left it at that, but instead I admitted, “Actually, I’ve been celibate for the past two years. For four years before that, I only had sex with men I was paying.”
When he glanced at me, I was glad to see his expression was curious instead of disgusted. “Why would a man as attractive as you pay for sex? All you’d have to do is walk into any bar or log on to an app, and you’d have men falling at your feet.”
“Because if you’re with a sex worker, two things are perfectly clear—you’re in charge, and it’s just a one-time thing with no strings or emotional attachments.”