Page 43 of Edged
“No, you won’t,” he said. “But I get the feeling that you aren’t worried about being heard.”
“Of course I am.”
“You got your cock sucked in a play room with the door cracked open.” Archer raised a brow at me, holding up one finger, then another and another. “You let me jerk you off in an alley, and now here you are on a very small airplane with your cock waving around in the breeze. Owen, we both know that I’m the liar here and you’re just the exhibitionist.”
Embarrassment flooded my throat, my cheeks, and reflexively, I took a step back. My first thought was always to defend myself, protect myself, and I hated the way Archer saw right through me. Even after all these years and all this time, he stillknewme, and I fucking hated him for that.
“I hate you,” I whispered.
He bit the tip of his tongue and nodded, pulling his belt open with one hand in a practiced move that had me shifting my weight to better balance myself on my feet.
“I know.” Archer pulled his cock out and fisted it around the base, his impressive length hard and pink, pointing toward the roof. “Why don’t you get on your knees now and show me just how much?”
I mirrored the position of his hand, taking my own dick into my fist and giving my erection a rough pull. Covering my crown with my palm, I slid my hand back, giving long and leisurely overhanded strokes as I went to my knees. His cock was inches from my face, smelling like soap and sweat, and I closed my eyes so he wouldn’t see them roll back.
He pushed his cock against my lips, smearing precum across my mouth and my chin, up my cheek, until I finally opened and stuck out the flat of my tongue. Archer groaned, sliding his tip toward the back of my throat, pulling back before even getting close to making me gag.
“Put your hands on my thighs, Owen,” he instructed, and I gave another pull down the length of my cock. Groaning, I opened my eyes and blinked up at him, finding his face flushed and his eyes hooded. He pressed his tip back in again, never going far enough for me to really feel it.
“Owen,” he said again, voice strained. “Do as you’re told.”
I wanted to protest, but I could taste the trail of him on my tongue, and my jaw ached for how long I’d been holding it open, but there was no suction, no spit, just the agonizing tease of a blow job. It had to be hell for us both, and I had no idea how he did it because I was near ready to clamp my lips down around the base of his dick and suck his goddamn soul right out of his body.
I’d brought myself close to my own end and he must have known it, hence the command. With as much reluctance as I could muster, I placed my palms on his thighs. There was precum slicked across my palm and I took great pleasure at rubbing it into the no doubt expensive wool blend of his pants. Let him pay to get them dry cleaned for all I cared.
“Good,” Archer whispered, letting his head fall back. “Good boy.”
I grunted in protest, and he withdrew his cock from my mouth entirely, smacking it against my cheek and raising his face to once again stare down at me.
“Does it hurt yet?” he asked, shifting below me to nudge the swollen head of my cock with the tip of his shoe.
“Yes.”
It always hurts with you.
He made a pleased sound and settled his cock back onto the flat of my tongue.
“Don’t come, Owen,” he warned, easing himself toward the back of my throat, further than the other times. He moved his weight forward, straightening his spine and scooting toward the edge of the couch so he could get all the way into my throat.
I gagged and he went still, one hand coming to rest on the top of my head. He wasn’t holding me down or forcing me, he was steadying me. Archer’s touch was soft and reassuring as I adjusted to the stretch in my jaw, and when the convulsions in my throat settled, he pushed another inch deeper into my mouth. Tears freely fell down my face, sliding down my cheeks and off my face. Onto my throbbing erection and undoubtedly onto Archer’s shoes as well.
I flexed my hands, digging my fingers into the meat of his thighs, and he pressed another inch of his cock into my mouth, making his way toward my throat. I gagged again, finding it impossible to not. Breathing was hard, thinking was hard, not touching myself wasagony.
“You can dig in,” he said, as if sensing my battle. “I can take it.”
I gouged his legs with the sharp half-moons of my nails, the bite of pain only making Archer’s cock pulse and leak into the back of my throat. He groaned, snapping his hips and burying the rest of his length in my mouth. I sputtered, and his hand in my hair finally tightened, holding me in place while I struggled to find room for him.
“There you go,” he whispered, lashes fluttering.
The top of his shaft burned against the roof of my mouth, and I moved my hands higher up his legs until I reached his waist. I tore his shirt out from behind his waistband until my fingers found his skin and I grabbed him again. I relished the way my blood sang when his skin touched mine, and I once again dug my nails into him, wanting him to really feel it.
The pain only served to spur him on, though, another hot burst of wetness landing against the back of my tongue. I was fairly certain snot was bubbling out of my nose, I knew I was drooling and crying, and between my legs against the side of his shoe, my cock leaked a copious puddle of precum.
“Fucking hell, Owen. Your mouth.” Archer made a pleased sound and kicked his foot inward, teasing my balls with his foot. I groaned, gyrating against his shoe and closer to coming than I realized. “Your mouth is what my dreams are made of.”
How did he fucking do that?
Why did my body respond to his torment like it was pleasure?
