Page 62 of The Fake Divination Offense
“I know.” He tugs at my belt. “Change of plans.”
Kneeling before me, he still has to reach up a little to get at my crotch. And that view, him straining for me, those pink curls and his big, glassy eyes, rosebud lips kiss-swollen and slick—
I teeter forward, one hand going out to brace on the door behind him, the other grabbing myself through my pants.
He gives me a questioning look.
“You sure?” I huff a slightly deranged laugh. “This is going to be fast. Like, two-pump-chump fast.”
He smirks. “Did you miss the part where I said I’m a virgin? Trust me, I won’t be breaking any records either.”
My turn to whine. It’s excruciating, but it makes him smile, and anything, anything that makes him smile is worth it.
Then he’s back to work, tugging my pants down, pushing my shirt out of the way, and I let it happen as I focus on how toinhalebecause I seem to have dropped that ability somewhere.
He pulls me out of my boxers, and the sight of his pale, pretty fingers around my dick has me slamming my eyes shut, digging my knuckles into the cold metal of the door, and going over rawball plays in my head.
But—this is his first time, yeah? Sostep up.
I manage to pry my eyes open, breath punching holes through my lungs, to see him—well, gawking. At my dick.
Which is a little validating, not gonna lie.
I have giant ancestry. Proportionally.
But for someone’s first blow job, a giant cock is kind of like being chucked into the deep end.
Pun intended.
Fuck, now’s not the time for stupid nervous jokes.
A blush creeps up the back of my neck and I reach my free hand out to touch his jaw. “You don’t have to—”
His rounded eyes ping up to me.
There’s that ferocity again. The Alexo who tackled me into the closet. Thehunger.
“I might have a bit of a size kink,” he says with the same straightforwardness as if he’d said,It’s cold out, wear a jacket.
I sputter a laugh that gets immediately bitten off in a stunned moan when he sucks the head of my dick into his mouth.
“Belle,” I shout. “Holy shit—mmph—”
His cheeks hollow as he pulls back and my vision goes spotty. “Now who needs to be quiet?”
That smirk.
“Don’t think you can—oh fuck—”
He swallows me down, taking a good few inches into his mouth before he gags—only hedoesn’t pull off. Just lingers there, choking and fighting it, his eyes watering, spit pooling over the edges ofhis lips and dripping down his chin. Each contraction of his throat squeezes more, and more, and he holds through it like he’s trying to force-train himself.
I’ve died, I think. This is death. This can’t be happening in reality.
“B-belle,” I stutter, and my hand slips behind his head, gripping his curls for something of this world to hold on to. “Fuck, you don’t have to—your first go—fuck.”
He pulls away with a wheeze and blinks up at me, eyes dewy and spilling tears that streak black makeup down his cheeks, saliva glistening all over his mouth, his chin, hell, down his neck.
“Good?” he asks, voice raspy.
