“Please, Nick,” I say, and I sound pitiful, even to myself. But I don’t care. I’ve waited too long for this. I need this.
I need him.
He’s still staring at me, and I can see the torture in his face. I wish he would say something. Anything. The silence is becoming unbearable.
Finally, he moves. Keeping his eyes on mine, he strips off his black T-shirt and tosses it away. Then he backs up, slowly, until the wall comes up behind him. He leans his head back, closes his eyes.
And then I realize what he’s doing.
Leaving it up to me.
Now it’s my turn.
I step forward tentatively, breathless, scared any sound I make will shatter this moment and he’ll wake up again, tell me this isn’t right. I move nearer until I can smell the rain on his skin. My eyes take in the broad expanse of his chest exposed before me, the long rippling muscles of his abdomen. Raindrops are skittering down the ridges, dripping into the waistband of his black jeans.
I reach out one shaking hand and rest it on his warm silivri escort skin. A shiver runs through him at the contact, and I smile to myself. Then I lean in, lifting myself up on my toes, and place my lips on his. He makes a soft sound, and opens his mouth invitingly. I can taste the hunger in him, but he keeps his hands firmly against the wall at his back. I deepen the kiss, feeling that familiar black and rainbow fever blot out my sight, my senses. He surprises me by thrusting his tongue into my mouth, and I gasp, allowing my own tongue to be taken into his mouth in return.
The fever rages. I can feel myself falling, falling, and there’s no bottom to the plunge. I’m gripping Nick by the shoulders, letting him bruise my lips and bruising his in return. I can barely breathe, but then neither can he. All I know is that there has to be some kind of end to this, some kind of finish, or else we’ll burn alive.
I feel Nick’s cold hand fly up and close around my wrist. His fingers şirinevler escort are like a vise, unrelenting, as he drags my hand down his chest, over his stomach. He doesn’t stop until my fingers brush below his belt.
The breath stops in my chest.
My fingers touch black denim wet from the rain. But there’s heat here also, some kind of fire. I feel the cold metal of his zipper. And then I feel something else. I clench my fingers around it, and he groans.
Suddenly I’m ripping open his pants, tugging down the zipper. He helps me, but our hands collide and so it takes longer than it should. Finally he shoves his pants down to his thighs, takes my hands in his own, and puts them on his body.
I let out a low sound, not so different from the growl he makes as my fingers close around his penis. I tear my lips from his and look down.
It’s long and smooth, and thick, so thick I have trouble closing my fist all the way. Strong and blunt, thrusting against my şişli escort hand from a nest of black hair. It’s warm. I rub my fingers up and down its length several times, and Nick groans.
I find his face with my eyes and my heart turns over at the expression I see there. What could have been mistaken for agony etches his features. But it isn’t pain he’s feeling. His eyes are closed tight, his jaw tense. Once again I smile to myself, knowing what I’m doing is bringing him pleasure.
Before I know what I’m doing, I’m on my knees before him, and I’m taking his penis into my mouth. He lets out a startled sound and his hands grip my head, as if to stop me. But then the hands fall away in surrender as I start moving.
I can barely fit any of it in my mouth; it’s too big. What I do taste is salty, smooth, and warm. I savor all the different textures, savor all the helpless sounds Nick makes as I love him.
Suddenly, he pushes me away, his eyes alight with frenzy. His hand flies to his thrusting shaft, closes around it, rubs furiously. I watch, entranced, as he finishes what I started. Groans are ground from his lips as he comes. White liquid jets from his penis to the ground, and finally, Nick collapses, his breath coming fast.
His eyes find mine, a faint smile tugging at his lips. “Does this mean you like me?”
I shrug. “Maybe.”