Birthday Licks Page 3

  “Last one, beautiful. Ready?”

  Ready? Oh God. So very, very ready.

  The last blow cracked over him like lightning. The skin of his ass was on fire, stretched tight, felt like one more touch and he’d explode. His cock was no different, except maybe even hotter, harder, every touch—the anticipation of every touch—dragging him closer to an orgasm he thought would be as obliterating as dying.

  “Twenty-one! Thank you…thank you…” The words trailed off, incoherent even to his own ears.

  Thomas was kneeling next to him, petting him, smoothing his hands over Ryan’s back, soothing him. The Dom cupped the back of Ryan’s neck, squeezed gently, easing some of the tension gathered there. Long fingers raked through his hair, lifting the sweaty ends and baring Ryan’s skin for puffs of cool, cognac-scented breath.

  Ryan was shivering, shuddering, so full of sensation and emotion he was literally vibrating with it.

  Thomas shifted, prepared to stand, and the need rocking Ryan exploded.

  Close Your Eyes

  He didn’t ask permission, didn’t even consciously decide to move, but as Thomas stood, Ryan pushed up on his knees and turned.

  His arms were around Thomas’ thighs before his brain processed his movement, and by then it was too late to make requests. And besides, the need to touch, to worship with hands and mouth, was overwhelming.

  He pressed his face against Thomas’ thigh, rubbed sweat and tears into the soft denim. Thomas’ erection was there, right there, and Ryan lifted up enough to rub his cheek over the thick, heavy length.

  Thomas shuddered, the first sign Ryan had seen that the Dom was anywhere near as affected by their play as Ryan was. It inspired him, and Ryan opened his mouth over Thomas’ cock, mouthing it through Thomas’ jeans, tracing the length with his teeth, just enough to feel through the fabric.

  “Fuck, beautiful.”

  Thomas’ voice was low, more rough than smooth, and his hand wound through Ryan’s hair. He didn’t pull, not exactly, but he definitely took control of the moment, pressing Ryan’s face even tighter into his crotch, directing Ryan’s mouth to his cock-head. Ryan was happy to oblige, desperate to oblige.

  He opened wide, rubbing with tongue, scraping with teeth, getting the fabric wet and sucking at the faint taste of precum that began to soak through the material.

  So good. Thomas tasted so good. Hot and spicy and the bitter-salt of tears. Ryan wanted more, needed more.

  “Please.” It didn’t even sound like his voice. His voice wasn’t that raw, shameless cry. He was scrabbling at Thomas’ belt now, fumbling with the buckle even as Thomas fucking crammed Ryan’s face against his cock.

  He struggled for a delirious moment, high on the pain still throbbing across his ass, the scent and taste of his Master. When Thomas tightened his grip and began to drag him away, Ryan struggled, frantic at the thought of losing the intimate contact.

  “Stop.” Thomas’ voice might have been a bit ragged, but the command was sharp and clear. It froze Ryan in place as surely as if he’d been poleaxed, and allowed Thomas to step back and put some distance between them.

  Thomas watched him for a long while. Long enough for Ryan to begin to squirm. Long enough for his high to even out, for him to recognize it for what it was. He’d only danced on the edges, but fuck if that wasn’t subspace. And double fuck if he didn’t want back there.

  “Why did I tell you to stop?”

  Ryan might have believed the lack of emotion in Thomas’ voice if he hadn’t seen the hard-on trying to burrow through his zipper. Or the flush rising in his cheeks.

  “I didn’t have permission, Mas—” Thomas’ narrowed eyes showed that he’d caught the slip even before Ryan’s foggy brain did. “Um, Sir.”

  Thomas nodded.

  “Display position. Kneeling.”

  It was agony, nearly impossible, but Ryan locked his hands behind his back, straightened his spine with jerky movements and ended up with his head raised but eyes trained on the floor. Fuck, his cock ached. His ass ached. Every inch of skin cried out for Thomas’ touch. But that wasn’t what Thomas wanted, so Ryan would wait.

  “Very nice.” It was ridiculous the rush of pleasure those two softly spoken words gave him.

  “Here is how it goes, with me at any rate. Unless you’ve been directed not to speak, generally you are allowed to ask.” Thomas’ smile was wicked. “In fact, generally you’re encouraged to beg.”

  Ryan wondered if Thomas realized he was pressing the heel of his hand against the base of his erection.

  “With me, you may ask. Then I will say yes or no. That’s up to me, not you.” Wicked eased into pure evil, and Ryan wanted to lick the dimples that appeared in Thomas’ cheeks.

  Thomas went silent for a while, so Ryan took a chance and asked.

  “Sir, let me suck your cock, please?”

  “We didn’t discuss sex, beautiful. Do you just want to suck my dick, or do you want me to fuck you?”

  Would you? Would you really? Because it was so far beyond what Ryan had dared wish for that the mind boggled.

  Thomas must have read something on his face, because his smile somehow got softer without losing even a hint of the wicked intent that had Ryan’s cock practically dripping precum.

  “Both, Sir. You taste so good, but I haven’t been fucked in so long…” And never, I think, by someone who really knew what he was doing…

  “Did you bring…stuff?” A glint in those dark eyes as Thomas deliberately mimicked Ryan’s earlier words. Only he really did mean sex stuff. Supplies.

  “No, I…” Hadn’t dared hope for sex. Hadn’t really dared hope for anything.

  “Then I guess it’s good we’re at The Mask.” Thomas reached casually into a bowl situated on a low table. Condom. Pillow pack of lube. If he hadn’t been so focused on keeping his position and not shooting like a thirteen-year-old, Ryan would have collapsed with relief.

  “Open my pants and take out my dick. Show me what you can do with your mouth.”

  Ryan was moving before Thomas was finished speaking. He struggled a little with the belt buckle, and a little more with the button fly—denim wet with spit and precum didn’t want to cooperate—but then it was easy. Easy to lift the waistband of Thomas’ boxer briefs so that the head of his cock could surge free. Easy to peel jeans and briefs down together to hang on the Dom’s hips, baring the v-cut of his hips, the pale, tender skin where thigh met groin.

  It was beyond easy to bury his face in Thomas’ crotch, to breath in the scent of salt and sweat and sex.

  “I’m waiting.”

  Ryan had been lost in the moment, lost in the sensory overload he got from touching, smelling, flicking his tongue out and tasting Thomas. His Master’s words called him back, though. They reminded him that he wanted to give Thomas something as remotely meaningful as what Thomas had given him.

  He started with the condom because, as much as he felt like he’d known Thomas forever, they were at a sex club and that alone was reason to be doubly careful. Thomas was uncircumcised, something utterly unique in Ryan’s experience, and he toyed with the velvety cowl of flesh, playing peek-a-boo with the flushed head of Thomas’ cock, drawing a low sound of enjoyment he felt in his own dick, before carefully setting the condom against the damp, weeping tip.

  He rolled it on slowly, taking the time to pet Thomas’ cock, to learn the texture of the veins along the shaft. It was beautiful, his Master’s cock. Long and thick and with just a slight curve lifting toward his navel, and Ryan ached, literally ached to taste it, and he resented the hell out of the fact that he was about to get a mouthful of latex instead of a mouthful of salt and sex.

  Then there was no room for resentment. There was no room for anything but the sensation of Thomas’ hand on the back of his head, Thomas’ fingers knotting in his hair. Thomas’ voice, low and gravelly when he muttered, “Now, boy,” and Thomas’ dick, pulsing and alive against Ryan’s tongue and then stretching Ryan’s mouth, fillin
g him up with almost as much sensation as his burning ass.

  He took Thomas deep, because this was something he loved. This was something he’d practiced, was good at. He sucked hard, hollowing his cheeks with the effort of it as he dragged his mouth the long, curved length, then wrapped his hand around the shaft, squeezing, twisting, jacking hard and fast as he concentrated the suction at the tip.

  Thomas’ hips jerked, his hand tightened and he gave a little grunt. Ryan felt his own dick swell, the knowledge he was pleasing his Master as effective as a hand on his flesh.

  He lifted off for a moment, took a breath and shifted his jaw. “So good, Sir,” he muttered, dragging in another breath and dropping down fast, engulfing Thomas’ cock to the root.

  “Fuck.”

  Thomas’ voice was strangled, his hands twisting in Ryan’s curls. Ryan took it as approval, let it inspire him to take Thomas deeper, to bury his nose in surprisingly silky pubic hair and swallow around the swollen head of his cock.

  “Enough.” Thomas sounded gruff, breathless. Perfect. “Hands and knees. Give me your ass.”

  He hated to give up that perfect, luscious cock, but Ryan’s body was obeying before his mind had even processed the command. Back on his elbows and knees, ass high and open, dick practically levitating it was so fucking hard.

  Please, please, please…

  Thomas’ hands covered his ass, fingers spread wide, squeezing the burning flesh. Ryan’s breath froze in his chest as the top of his skull threatened to lift right the fuck off. Then the trapped breath was whistling out and Thomas’ thumbs were digging in. Into his asshole, first one, then the other, then both, slick with lube Ryan hadn’t even been aware of the Dom opening, twisting and spreading and opening him so damned right that every atom of his being cried out to be possessed.

  Please.

  He didn’t know if the word made it outside his head because he wasn’t really hearing anything past the roaring in his ears. But Thomas must have somehow heard it, or was reading his mind again, because he was pressing the thick head of his cock against Ryan’s aching hole, pressing slow and hard and undeniable, and Ryan was stretching and burning and it hurt so fucking good.

  And then Thomas was in, in, all the way inside and his jeans and belt buckle were scraping against the backs of Ryan’s thighs and the top of his head was lifting off. Purple and gold and green streaked the black behind his closed-tight lids because Thomas’ cock, his perfect, thick, curved cock was stabbing against Ryan’s prostate and Ryan was clenching down with every muscle in his body trying to obey Thomas’ grunted, “Don’t come.”

  Ryan had told Thomas sex was all good, and he believed it. This? This wasn’t like any sex he’d had in his life. It wasn’t like any sex he’d imagined. And the last word he’d ever use to describe it was good.

  Cataclysmic. Nuclear. Mind altering and Earth shattering. But not good.

  Thomas was still gripping his ass, hands clenched tight on his cheeks, holding them open. Ryan swore he could feel the Dom’s eyes on him—on them—on the visual of his cock spreading Ryan wide, and Ryan taking him in.

  Then those hands were moving, pressing hard on blazing skin before running up Ryan’s back.

  “Don’t come, boy. Not ’til I tell you to.”

  Ryan gritted his teeth, held his breath, tensed up. He did every fucking thing he could think of to keep the orgasm back, to keep body and soul together until his Master said it was okay to let go. Thomas helped, stroking his back with long, hard sweeps that grounded him, that kept Ryan in his skin just enough to hold on for one. Moment. More.

  And Thomas wasn’t even moving yet.

  And then he was moving, pounding in hard, pulling out slow, pausing so his cock-head stretched Ryan’s rim, then slamming back in in a delirious rush.

  Ryan braced himself on his forearms and pushed back into each thrust. His ass ached, the places where Thomas’ belt and zipper rubbed against the abused skin felt chafed raw. Each scrape of fabric or metal or leather over flesh was another streak of color behind his eyes, scarlet and crimson agony that was so tightly tangled with the ecstasy Ryan couldn’t tell them apart.

  Thomas bent over him, chest to back, soft cotton and buttery leather pressed to Ryan’s sweat-slick skin, and the contrast ripped through him. Orgasm was coming. It was undeniable. Except his Master had told him not to come, and Ryan was desperate to obey.

  “Please,” he whimpered, this time making sure the word was out loud.

  “What do you need?” Every one of Thomas’ words was punctuated by a hard thrust, a guttural noise. He was fucking Ryan in 3-D Technicolor, stereo surround sound, and Ryan was loving it.

  “Help me. Gonna…” Gonna come. Gonna explode. Implode. Gonna lose his fucking mind, shoot it right out of his dick with the spunk boiling in his balls.

  “Don’t.” Thomas’ voice was almost as raw as Ryan’s own. Could the Dom possibly be feeling half of what Ryan did? The thought was heady, and just ratcheted Ryan’s arousal that much higher.

  “Do. Not. Come.”

  This time the words were accompanied by a rough hand on his balls. A hard grip and a sharp tug.

  “Fuck. Sir, that…” Another sharp tug and the orgasm backed off, no longer rightthefuckthere, but still glimmering purple and gold at the edges of his vision.

  “You ask. I give.” Oh fuck, Thomas was giving. Giving hard, punishing thrusts that filled his body with sensation, filled his head with white noise, white light.

  Thomas was speeding up, bottoming out with a fast and dirty grind that rubbed his cock over all the most sensitive places inside Ryan, then pulling all the way out to the rim, only to slam in hard and do it all over again.

  Every thrust forced a low sound from Ryan’s chest, and every sound seemed to push him closer to climax. He would have begged, wanted to beg, but words were completely beyond him. He was in a place with no thought, no language, nothing but sensation and the knowledge that his Master would hold him together.

  “Soon, beautiful.” Thomas’ voice was ragged, and the words meant less than the tone.

  Then Thomas was slamming in hard, harder than ever, and staying there, hips jerking gracelessly against Ryan’s screaming ass, dick pulsing in his hole, the spray of his cum hot even through the latex of the condom.

  “Come!”

  And thank fuck, thank God, because he was coming whether he had permission or not. His arms buckled and Thomas rode him down, one arm clenched tight around his chest, the other somehow controlling their fall.

  The Dom was still hard and full inside him, that luscious cock grinding over his gland even as Thomas’ hips twitched in aftershocks. Every twitch, every throb echoed through Ryan’s body, passed from Thomas to him and back like an electric current. The splash of his own cum, striping his chest, even hitting his fucking chin when Thomas’ cock hit his prostate hard, was another sort of jolt. It was as if his entire body had become one raw, exposed nerve, experiencing his Master’s orgasm every bit as intensely as his own in a feedback loop that felt as if it would never end.

  When it did, when the jerking stopped, when his balls were aching and wrung dry, the noise in his head went silent. The colors behind his eyes faded to soft pastel.

  Thomas’ arms were still wrapped around him, pulling Ryan tight against his body. One rough, callused hand stroked over him, throat to chest to groin, smearing Ryan’s cum over his skin with lazy motions. When the Dom stroked Ryan’s spent cock, his entire body jolted, too much, too sensitive. Thomas merely cupped the slick flesh, hand warm and firm and not about to be denied.

  He didn’t know how long they lay there, Thomas stroking, petting, Ryan breathing raggedly. He did know that when Thomas reached down to hold the condom in place and slipped free of his body, it felt as if the other man was pulling a good bit of Ryan’s soul with him.

  “Stay,” the Dom murmured, easing Ryan down to lie on his side. He rose to his knees and rummaged in a drawer Ryan hadn’t noticed and came back with a packa
ge of pre-moistened wipes and a tube of Tiger Balm.

  “Aftercare,” he explained and began to clean Ryan with firm but somehow gentle touches. Then he stroked the balm over the flaming curves of Ryan’s ass. When he’d finished, he rested one hand on the small of Ryan’s back, a gesture so unconsciously possessive that Ryan felt his exhausted cock give a weak throb in time with his skipping heart.

  “Sir,” Ryan started, not sure what exactly he intended to say, to ask. It didn’t matter, though, because Thomas didn’t let him finish.

  “This was a scene, boy.” He pushed up to kneel, removing his hand from Ryan’s back so he could pull briefs and jeans into place. He tucked himself in as he spoke, fastened zipper and button, fastened his belt with a jingle of metal.

  “It was an intense scene, and it was your first scene, which makes it doubly so. Don’t make it more than it is.”

  The breath burned in his chest. Ryan knew what Thomas was saying, and knew that, for him at least, the words were far too little, too late. Still he managed to whisper, “Don’t get attached.”

  “That’s right, boy. Don’t get attached.”

  Warm hands guided Ryan up, pausing when he was kneeling to make sure he was steady. The care in Thomas’ touch was so diametrically opposed to the distance in his words that it made Ryan dizzy.

  “Get dressed, beautiful. Then drink a bottle of water or three. Then go home and sleep.” Thomas stood, and it took every bit of self-control Ryan had to keep from flinging himself at the man, clutching his legs and wrapping around him and begging him not to go.

  “Think about this in the morning, with a clear head. Decide if it worked for you. Find Doms to play with. The Mask’s a safe place for that.” Dark eyes surveyed the club, which had receded so far in Ryan’s awareness that it was more than a little startling to realize they weren’t alone. Other men were watching them, appreciation and lust clear on their faces, approval in their low voices.

  The sudden plunge into reality, the clear message that Thomas was done with him, left him feeling more naked and vulnerable than he had draped ass-up over the Dom’s lap. His hands were clumsy, his body not quite working right as he reached for his clothes, still following Thomas’ directions, even when they widened the gulf he felt growing between them.