Page 15 of A Handsome Devil

Clasping his shoulders, I switched our positions. Now Truman was the one slapping his hands onto the surface of the dresser, covered in mismatched socks and hopefully dry men’s underwear. The surprise on his face made him even more handsome, if such a thing was possible.

I rubbed my nose against his. “I know I’ve been waiting forever for you,” I muttered in between sucks to his lower lip. “But there’s a lot you don’t know about me.”

Truman grinned salaciously. “Oh yeah? Like what?”

Now we stared into each other’s eyes, panting. How had such a down-to-earth, practical guy decided he wanted me? The most unstable fiend who ever existed. He sure was getting himself into a shitload of trouble, but there was no turning back.

Bracing his shoulder in the crook of my hand, I forced him to his knees so suddenly he had to grip my hips to keep from toppling over. “I’m the conductor. The Dom, your master, your ruler.” To enhance my command, I cupped the back of his skull in my hand and angled my hips toward his face, cock to mouth. My jeans were so tight I felt my member throb against the fabric. I was so shocked when he opened his mouth wide, encircling my pulsating cockhead, I had to place my fingertips on the dresser’s surface as he munched on my covered dick until my full balls were pressing for release.

I now had a reason to live another day.

Truman

I was dizzy with hunger.

The events of the past ten minutes were so unbelievable, my brain couldn’t process it all. This was not one of the hundreds of scenarios I’d dared to envision in the few days since Alessio had been gone. Mostly I’d imagined him dead, or at least on a sidewalk with men injecting women straight into their jugular vein, as if trained to be brutal.

Oh God, did I tell Alessio I loved him? What were the odds of him sticking around, not relapsing, getting his career back in order? Well, whatever I’d said, it must’ve been good, because Alessio came back with, “I know I’ve been waiting forever for you.” And my voracious kisses sealed our passion.

When he shoved me to my knees, I knew the shorthand. I’d sucked a few cocks in my brief time as a gay man, and had the same done to me. I wasn’t sure yet whether I was what they called a Dom—with a capital D—or a sub, a submissive who existed to pay homage to his Dom. Alessio rubbing my face against his bulging crotch, my hot mouth open against his cockhead, gave me my answer.

I loved being on my knees. I loved worshiping his prick. My mind was so numb I could’ve been sleepwalking into disaster, but it didn’t matter. I could give a flying fuck less about anything in the universe as my fingers scrabbled to undo his belt buckle, the buttons on his jeans.

And his voice, this telegenic talking head! His arrogant confidence! He’d commanded orchestras, entire bands, and now me.

“That’s it, Truman. Yeah. Do it. Show me how much you worship me. Show me how you love to suck cock. Do it. Yeah, that’s it. Take my big cock into your hand and—ah!”

I had swiftly yanked his pants down to his knees, my fingernails digging into the sinewy muscles of his luscious ass. Sperm squirted from the hole in the crown of his dick, and I wasted no time in inhaling the mushroom head, flicking the salty semen with my tongue-tip.

I knew I had him then. When he gasped, his knees went weak. With my thumb sliding up and down the underside of his prick, I felt the come pulsating urgently. Just a few more strokes and licks, and this seductive, smooth-talking conductor melted in my hands. I started humming and groaning, the vibrations echoing up and down his length, and he lost it.

Gush after gush of come shot into my mouth, nearly choking me. I swallowed frantically to keep up—it wouldn’t look properly submissive if I didn’t. Alessio’s hips shuddered, his fingers against my skull skittering around, his muscular thighs quaking as he spewed hot jizz down my throat.

Even when drained, he still clutched my skull to him, panting slower and slower until at last he released me. I collapsed onto my calves, wiping my forehead with the back of my hand. My head spun for a few moments, and when I opened my eyes, Alessio was gone. What the…

Oh. He’d crashed onto the unmade bed. All I saw were the bottoms of his thick-soled boots sort of twitching as he breathed, laying on his back. I crawled to join him, flinging myself over the edge of the mattress.

We lay on our backs gasping, arms slung above our heads. Alessio hadn’t even bothered to stuff his cock back into his jeans, and it throbbed against his hip.

He turned his head to me and asked huskily, “Whose room is this, anyway?”

“Gunning.” His Army discharge papers were framed on the wall, but no other sign of his year in some literal hole in Afghanistan that he wished to forget. He was just glad he’d made it out of there alive. I changed the subject. “You didn’t relapse?”

What a smile! Hypnotic and seductive above that soul patch. Now I knew how eyes could twinkle. I felt like in one of those four in the morning dreams that are usually a horror show with rubber-faced beings popping out from behind fences. Except once in awhile, you got a dream that was sublime in its holiness. Elevated above all else, even if a devil or two tried to stick his head in.

“Nope. Denmark didn’t want to either. He’s more interested in hitting back at his dickwad doctor who wouldn’t give him any Oxy.”

Despite feeling like I was swaying on a hammock in Hawaii, I raised myself on my elbow with a slight frown. “Alessio. You know I don’t want you—”

Dragging himself to a half-sit against a crushed pillow, Alessio held up a calming hand. “Truman. Don’t worry. I’m clean, but we did need medication to continue. I’m sure you’ll agree with me that people with physical injuries still need meds.”

I couldn’t resist forking my hand through his slick black curls. His hair was down around his shoulders today, and squeaky clean. Smiling, I was compelled to lean in for a deep sniff. “Yes,” I murmured. “I agree. But it should be monitored by a prof—”

We froze when the front door creaked open and banged shut. As we were on the same level, Alessio barely had time to stuff his penis into his jeans before Gunning Vaghti barged on into his own bedroom. Spinning his notebook onto the cluttered dresser, he only saw us when we put our boots on the ground.

Of course, his automatic reaction was to reach for a nonexistent gun at his hip. We’d been over and over whether to arm ourselves at The Establishment Club. Eventually we decided not to, as we could easily become disarmed ourselves, the weapons used against us.

“Holy mother!” shouted Gunning, frozen solid in a comical open-mouthed way.