Page 87 of My Dead Wife's Ex Will Do
I pull his zipper down slowly and delight in how his cock swells into the gap. Victor braces his hands behind him on the bed as I bend my head and exhale a hot stream of breath through the fabric of his underwear. When I lift my head, there’s a wet spot that I don’t think is only from my mouth.
I hook my fingers in his jeans and underwear and pull them down. He cooperates by lifting his hips just enough that I can get them over his ass but is otherwise loose and compliant. I strip him of his sweater and the T-shirt underneath, because I like to look at him naked, but don’t bother removing my own clothes yet.
I’m back to kneeling between his spread thighs and regard his cock before me. It’s stiff and juts straight up from a dark gold thatch of hair. I feel like I didn’t take time to properly appreciate it during our week in Costa Rica.
Or maybe I’ve just missed it.
And him.
I close my eyes and inhale the musky, warm scent of him. Then I take my time exploring and enjoying him. I lick a broad swath up from the base to his tip, then engulf the tip between my lips. Victor sighs and drops down on his elbows.
I suck and lick and nibble and generally make a mess of things between my spit and the fluid leaking from Victor’s cock. Victor pants and moans and his fists clench at his sides. I hoist his thighs over my shoulders to lift him enough that, when I pull off long enough to stick my finger in my mouth to wet it, I can feel between his cheeks for that tight furled spot.
Accompanied by a steady, sucking rhythm and one hand curled tightly around the length of him that doesn’t fit in my mouth, I press and release at his entrance. Each time I press forward, he opens a little more for me. When I look up at his face, he’s biting his lip like he’s trying to hold something back.
I pull off and say, “You can talk if you want. You’re being very good, being so still for me.”
His cheeks flush pink. I don’t know why watching him squirm a little when I praise him is so hot.
His mouth opens and closes but he doesn’t say anything. I go back to sucking him and pressing my finger inside him, this time all the way in on one smooth glide.
Victor arches his back and groans. Then his hips settle on the mattress. “Sorry,” I hear him whisper. My lips curve around his cock. I’m not going to chastise him for that. It’s still too much a marvel to me that I can unravel him like this.
From the sounds he’s making and the aborted little hitches of his hips that I think he’s not even aware of, I’m guessing he’s close. I slide my finger out and press two inside him, opening him slowly while I suck him deeper into my mouth.
“Jesus, Jay,” he swears.
When my fingers brush his prostate, his hips jolt. A couple more sucks and that’s it. He comes down my throat with a long moan and I swallow as much as I can.
When he’s finished, I pull off and out of him and settle back on my heels. My knees are killing me but it was worth it. Victor looks delightfully debauched, sprawled on my bed, and my own cock is rigid and desperate.
I strip off my suit, tie, shirt, and undershirt. Part of me wants to maintain the power differential of fucking him fully clothed while he’s naked, but the more practical part of me shudders at the thought of my dry-cleaning bill.
Besides, there’s a lot to be said for the feel of his bare skin against mine.
Forty-Three
Victor
Jason asked me to be still for him and I’m doing my level best, but the man is irresistible. I risk moving just enough to push up to my elbows so I can watch him undress. He’s methodical about it, like he is about everything else. He takes the time to hang his suit up in his goddamn closet, getting the creases on his pants just right, arranging his tie on a rack that contains a couple dozen colorful or patterned silks.
I wouldn’t mind if he wanted to sacrifice one of those ties to the cause of keeping me still. He runs a hand down them and looks over his shoulder at me, as if he’s considering the same idea, but doesn’t pull any from the rack.
Maybe next time.
I’m starting to hope there might be a next time.
He tosses his shirt and undershirt into a laundry hamper in the closet and turns back to the bed wearing only a pair of black boxer briefs. There’s a gratifying bulge in the front.
He regards me, his hands on his hips. My dick is spent but there’s a curl of anticipation in my stomach at the way he’s looking at me.
Hungry.
Like he wants to devour me and he’s barely holding himself in check.
I hope he lets go.
“Jay…” I’m not begging, exactly, but it sort of sounds like that.
