Beautiful Boy(27)

The feather-soft grazes of his lips left every nerve sizzling and fried  each time he moved his head. Then his blazing, wet tongue swiped the  spot that had been aching for his touch since our brief moment in his  kitchen years ago. He sat hunched over in the chair between my legs, his  face buried in my sex, his tongue expertly manipulating my clit while  his fingers explored every inch inside me. I thought I'd explode, unable  to hold on any longer, but then he pulled his face away and waited  until he had my attention.

The tension in my forehead grew tight as I waited for him to say  something-or to go back to what he'd started-but then I realized his  intention.

"Nolan, I'm completely naked on your desk. You're sitting between my  legs. Your fingers are deep inside me and you just had your mouth on my  clit. I think it's a safe bet to say you have my permission." My words  were nothing but panted desperation, airy and throaty.

A genuine smile lit his face as he said, "I'm not taking any chances  this time." And after giving him a nod, he turned his grinning lips back  to the throbbing he'd created.

This time, his movements became harsher, making his earlier  ministrations seem gentle and soothing. His thick, calloused fingers  moved roughly in and out of me, forcing my eyes to nearly roll to the  back of my head. With each thrust of his hand, the stirring in my lower  abdomen intensified, filling my core with almost unbearable heat.

But he didn't stop there.

Every time his tongue flicked my clit, a shivering ache attacked my  skin. Every time his lips wrapped around the aching ball of nerves, my  body temperature smoldered, like I was burning from the inside out. But  what pulled me over the edge with the force of concrete blocks tied  around me, was when his teeth pinched the overly sensitive flesh,  shooting sharp, pleasurable pain throughout my entire nervous system.

His name ripped through my throat and echoed around us, my legs and arms  trembling as if I were naked in the middle of a snowstorm, stuck in an  avalanche. I needed something to hold on to while I waited for the room  to quit spinning, so I clenched his head between my thighs.         

     



 

But he didn't allow me to fully come down from my high before he pulled  me from the desktop. I barely had enough strength in my legs to stand  when he turned me around, facing the desk, my hands splayed over the  wood. My heart thrummed in my ears, making other sounds appear far off,  but it didn't prevent me from hearing the clank of his belt or the  shrill sound of his zipper.

My breaths heaved in and out, adding a soundtrack to the noise caused by  foil being ripped open. And then humid air floated over my back,  accompanied by a heavy exhale at the exact moment I became completely  filled with him.

It wasn't that I hadn't been ready-he'd worked me over so much I had  more natural lubrication than I needed. And it wasn't his size, because  without even seeing him, I could just tell he'd been made for me.

But for whatever reason, the moment he sank fully into me, I became disconnected.

He stilled with his entire length buried in me, his lips barely settled  over my arched spine, and his fingers dug painfully into my hipbones.  Each pant blew across my bare skin, and I could feel the thin layer of  sweat form over every inch of my body.

I wanted to ask him to take me to his room, wishing we were comfortable  on his bed, but before I could form the question, he began to move. Slow  at first, leisurely pulling his length out before torturously rolling  his hips and pushing back in. By the third stroke, his movements sped  up, eliciting the inevitable build-up inside me. And by the time his  thrusts became harsher, demanding my orgasm, the air in my lungs had  grown stale, my throat burning and reminding me of my need for oxygen.

I opened my mouth and pulled in a lungful of air, prepared to hold it  long enough to chase the release, but then he pulled my body upright,  holding my back against his chest. The change in position forced my  breath to escape and my head to lean against his shoulder. The edge of  satisfaction disappeared in the distance.

Curse words followed by my name settled over my exposed neck as Nolan's  hands angrily roamed my body. His palm found my breast and roughly  manipulated it until my nipple became a hardened ball, desperately  seeking his attention. His other hand settled between my legs, letting  the heat from his palm infiltrate my sex while his hips continued his  thrusting motion.

The angle of my body made each push and pull come in direct contact with  the swollen nerves deep in my core, which brought the edge of release  within reach. And once his fingers began to play my clit like a stringed  instrument, I barreled closer to my climax. His throaty and gruff  pleas, begging me to come, filled me with yearning and a painful desire.

But every time I took two steps in that direction, I fell back one.

My inability to let go had nothing to do with his attention to my body.  Every move, every touch, every word that came from him went beyond  perfect and worthy of extracting a very satisfying orgasm. However, I  couldn't seem to quiet my thoughts long enough to stay in the moment  with him.

The passion was there.

The desire was present.

His movements were on point.

But none of it mattered when all I could think about was where we were,  the position we were in, and how what we were doing could only be  classified as fucking. After confessing our feelings to one another,  admitting to the deep connection we shared, I guess I thought our first  time together would be more …  I don't know.

But not this.

Not against a desk like horny co-workers.

Not with him at my back.

Not with my only visual being a window.

I wanted to see him, gaze into his eyes. I yearned to touch him, feel  his skin beneath my fingertips. Hold his shoulders as he moved over me.  And watch his face as he gave into me. I wanted his eyes, his mouth, his  expression of pleasure to be what I saw when I came-not a wall or  crooked blinds. I wanted to experience his breath across my face, not  against my back. It only served as a constant reminder of our position-a  position which lacked intimacy. And because of lack of romance, my mind  wouldn't relax enough to allow my body the pleasure it so desperately  sought.

"Novah, please …  You feel so good, it's hard to hold on. I need you to  come for me … please." His voice was strained, proving to me just how  close he was to losing control. He grew rigid behind me, his hands stiff  on my body, his arms coiled around me. He hugged me as tightly as he  held on to his orgasm, and I knew I had to do something.

I relaxed against him, throwing my head back into his shoulder. My jaw  dropped open as I pushed short, frantic pants out. I clenched my core  around his girth and dug my fingernails into the flesh on his forearms,  making every effort I could to convince him of my dramatic orgasm.

"That's it … come on my cock." His speed picked up, turning his swift  thrusts into rigid, stiff lunges as he chased his orgasm. Then his chest  vibrated along my back with each hearty grunt until his movements  slowed.         

     



 

He leaned forward, which forced me to brace myself over the desktop,  stinging my palms with the harsh slap on the wood. His body covered  mine, his ragged breathing filtered over my shoulder, and his chest  heaved, swaying my body with the momentum.

And then, without warning, he pulled away and released himself from my  core. I turned my head enough to catch a glimpse of him zipping his  pants. Nothing seemed right. Everything felt off like I'd been thrown  into another dimension, one where our profound confessions never took  place and we were nothing but two desperate people caught up in a  meaningless hook up.

I turned around and leaned against the edge of the desk. Tears  threatened to break free, and then I watched as he righted his clothes  before heading toward the door.

"I'm going to throw the condom away and grab a wet cloth for you. I'll  be right back." The way he withdrew himself from me left me empty and  confused, but his tone was of a caring man. It held no malice or ill  intent. Like he had no idea the state he'd left me in.

My back scraped the unforgiving handles of the drawers when I fell to  the carpet. But I didn't care. I'd become so desensitized, the pain  never registered.

He hadn't left me for long, but it was enough time to run through  everything in my mind. How we'd gone from bearing our souls, exposing  our hearts, to fucking like animals in a darkened room. And although it  wasn't what I'd imagined it to be-soft and loving-it still made sense in  a way. It was needy, impulsive, and in the moment. It had proved his  inability to wait, his desperation to be with me, and I couldn't fault  him for that. Nor could I hold it against him.

When he came back in the room, he held out his hand and helped me off  the floor. Then he proceeded to wipe the cold, wet cloth over my  sensitive sex, cleaning and soothing me. His fierce attention never left  me, quietly studying me. The way he gazed at me with such love burning  bright in his dark eyes inhibited me from holding onto the frustrations  over his actions. I began to relax and lose my grip on the melancholy  filling me moments ago.