Page 16 of Praised
“Not red?”
“Not yet.”
There were plenty of times where stop didn’t really mean stop, but not on a first time and not with a man like Rose.
“Don’t pee on me,” he said with a chuckle.
“What about in you?”
That turned the chuckle into a full-on laugh, and he smacked my chest playfully. I grabbed his wrists and held him there, adjusting us both so the length of my cock rested better against his ass.
“No piss,” he said, giving another wiggle. “But you said you liked things a certain way? I’d rather hear about the things you want to do instead of the things you don’t.”
I was like my friends in a lot of ways, but in some we were very, very different. Over the years of my life, I’d learned that kink took many different forms and it meant all kinds of things for all kinds of people. Rob liked control, and Archie liked to play with his food, and me…
“Praise,” I whispered, sliding his hands down the front of my chest until we reached one of the buttons I’d yet to undo.
“You like to be told you’re a good boy?” Rose flicked open the button and spread his fingers wide against my skin. “That you have the biggest and best cock I’ve ever seen?”
I bit the tip of my tongue, shaking my head. “No. Not like that at all.” On my lap, he shivered, working his way to the next button.
“I might have the biggest and best cock you’ve ever seen, but I’ll be the one doing the talking.”
“Oh?”
I crooked a finger and beckoned him closer, until his ear was flush with my mouth so I could tell him what he was in for without raising my voice over a whisper.
“Just like that,” I rasped, my words turning into a low growl as I spoke. “You’re doing so good. Taking this cock like you deserve it. You do deserve it, don’t you, Rose?”
“M…maybe.”
He slid his hands to my belt, hesitating until I raised my hips off the couch in encouragement.
“There’s a good boy,” I whispered, transfixed as he worked my belt out of the loops and tugged my zipper down. “There’s my pretty little thing.”
“I’m not…not yours.” Rose reached behind him and tugged his shirt over his head, discarding it on the floor. His jeans were impossibly tight, though, and there was no way he was going to get them off without getting up.
“And you don’t do casual, so here we both are being very serious for the night.”
I gave his jeans a tug, pulling the button and then reaching for his zipper. I’d expected many things when the fly of his jeans opened. I knew from our encounter on the dance floor that he was far more hung than his slender stature would have let on, but what I wasn’t prepared for was the black lace that came into view as the denim spread open.
“Are you wearing panties?” I pressed my fingertip against the small black bow that decorated the waistline of his undergarment.
“I like nice things,” he murmured, climbing off of me and shimmying his jeans down an inch to reveal more of the decorative fabric that did little to hide the golden hair of his happy trail or the thick swell of his erection. “Are you a nice thing?”
“I can be.”
Rose took a step toward the bedroom, beckoning me after him with a curl of his fingers and the darkening of his eyes. I stood, loving the way he didn’t cower when I towered over him.
“There’s one thing we didn’t talk about.” He pushed his pants down a little bit more, the backs of his knees hitting the velvet couch at the foot of the bed.
“Tell me.”
I encroached on his space and he sidestepped out of the way until I was the one with my back to the bed. He looked good enough to eat. The light hadn’t done a single thing to change that. Just gazing at him, spit pooled in my mouth, and I circled my shoulders, letting my shirt fall to the floor. My belt was already open and I shoved my pants to my ankles with one quick motion. Stepping out of my slacks, I pulled off my socks and straightened back to my normal height, dick doing some massive stress testing against the cotton of my boxer briefs.
“We talked about condoms,” he murmured, “but we didn’t talk about which one of us was going to wear it.”
I’d never been a fan of stereotypes, but there were some that did play out in my life. I was a dominant man who preferred to top. That didn’t mean dominant people couldn’t—or didn’t—receive, but I could count the number of times I’d bottomed on one hand. While I didn’t hate it the way some people did, it wasn’t something that I often sought out. It was a lot of action for little reward, but as I worked my way through formulating an answer, Rose was busy working out of his pants, proving just how little his lace panties left to the imagination.
