Page 29 of Hurricane Love

Suddenly the pressure was gone, and so was the weight of Wylie’s cock on his tongue as he pulled out abruptly and caught the ropes of cum in his hand with more of it splashing against his abdomen. His beast of a cock was an angry red, flared head pulsing with every eruption. Diego panted, breathless, unable to tear his eyes away.

Wylie’s other hand was still on the back of Diego’s head, holding him in place, forcing him to watch his spectacular finish. Seeing the other man’s gizz spray everywhere and feeling the rumble of Wylie’s satisfied groan sent Diego into a pleasure spiral all his own. His orgasm barreled through him abruptly andpunched the air out of his lungs as he jerked his hips forward and finished messily in his own hand.

“Damn,” Wylie said, chest heaving from exertion as his pearly ejaculate slowly oozed across his skin. “That was…incredible.”

“You’re a mess,” Diego said, eyes trailing the streaks of cum, wanting to lick the droplets from his skin.

Wylie grabbed his discarded shirt from the floor and used it to hastily wipe himself down, then offered it to Diego. Diego did as best he could. Wylie sat back in his chair with a satisfied smirk on his face, body loose, hands clasped across his navel, just staring at Diego. Meanwhile, Diego knelt there with his dick out and his hand sticky with cum, a little stunned by the intensity of what had just happened.

“Next time, come down my throat,” Diego said, a little disappointed that he’d been denied that pleasure.

Wylie’s eyes widened, then narrowed, a slightly predatory look in them. “You like that?”

Diego pretended to clear his throat, still tender from choking on Wylie’s monster of a cock. “Yeah,” he muttered, electing not to say any more on that topic. Rousing from his post-coital daze, Diego stood and awkwardly buttoned his pants, then went over to the kitchen sink to wash up properly with soap and water. Twenty seconds was the food-safety standard, and Diego made sure to use up every one.

Meanwhile, Wylie tracked his movements, studying him in that intense way of his while rocking back and forth in his grandma chair. He still had his socks on and his dick hanging out, plump and still wet at the tip. Diego noticed the beast was slowly coming back to life. Maybe there was some truth to the man’s claims.

“Why’s there lube under the cushion?” Diego asked, though he probably didn’t need to.

“This is my special chair,” Wylie said with a shark-like grin. He motioned to his dick. “I could go again. I’d like to return the favor.”

“Bet you would, but I gotta be at the pit at 5 a.m. tomorrow.” Also, he needed a little time and space to process. He didn’t want to make this awkward, so if he could just make a graceful exit… “Can you, uh, give me a ride home?”

“Yeah, sure,” Wylie said, unable to hide the flash of disappointment that crossed his face. He emerged from his post-nut stupor long enough to collect his clothing and disappear into his bedroom. He came back out shirtless, wearing a pair of gray sweatpants that did nothing to hide his big, swinging dick or the chiseled lines that angled directly toward it. Now that Diego knew what the other man was packing, it was going to be impossible not to crave it.

“Go put a shirt on,” Diego said.

“Why?” Wylie asked, slowly stroking himself from chest to navel. There was a constellation of freckles on one side of his abs that Diego hadn’t noticed before.

“Because I said so,” Diego insisted, borrowing one of his mother’s favorite expressions. Smiling, Wylie went back to the bedroom and came out again wearing an old Largo High t-shirt. The school’s mascot was the Packers, short for orange packers, citrus having dominated Largo’s economy in the olden days before the groves were ripped out and the land was leveled for housing and roads.

The mascot was represented by some kind of wild hog, but most of the time, rival schools called them the fudge packers. Diego wondered if the younger generation had graduated from such casual homophobia. “They still call us the fudge packers?” he asked.

“Yup,” Wylie confirmed. “Might as well own it, right?”

“You walk around the trailer park like that?” Diego asked, nodding at those damn sweatpants.

“All the time. How do you think I get fed around here?”

Diego threw the dish towel at him, which Wylie plucked up and used to snap at his hip. Diego lunged and wrestled him into a bear hug; Wylie was one he’d need to keep a tight hold on. Theywere both laughing and gripping each other tightly, and then Wylie was right there in front of him. Gorgeous, smiling, radiating confidence and power. Fuck, this was a lot already. Diego released him and backed away. “We should go.”

“Yeah, all right.” Wylie went to the key hook by the door and grabbed his keys, then pocketed his wallet and vape and donned his sunglasses. Diego would rather see his pretty, blue eyes but whatever. They headed outside into the muggy evening with the mosquitoes buzzing all around. Diego tried to play it cool while having a complete crisis of confidence.

What am I even doing,he asked himself with a sudden pang of self-awareness. What if he was bad at dating? What if he ended up hurting Wylie with his stunted emotions and crabby personality? Why did any sort of intimacy scare the shit out of him?

Back in the car, they were both quiet, and the silence was a little bit awkward–Diego blamed himself. He knew he should say something, but he didn’t want to make it worse or fumble the ball. And he didn’t want Wylie to think he was an inexperienced loser.

“You’re pretty good at that,” Wylie said at last, breaking the silence.

“At what? Making things awkward?” Diego asked.

Wylie snorted out a laugh. “That too, but I meant, giving head.”

Well, that was certainly nice to hear, a boost to his confidence at least. “Thanks, it’s been a while.”

“Like, you seemed toreallyenjoy it,” Wylie said gesturing with his vape to make his point.

“Is that a problem?” Diego asked while wondering where this was going.