by V. Theia
“You sound jealous, Noah. Don’t fear, you can play racquetball if you want to.”
His exhale was gravel and it was that motion of feeling warm air on my forehead that forced my gaze to climb.
No words spoken.
Just shallow breaths and penetrating eyes.
But boy, his eyes said a lot.
I sensed every word his body language translated, swirling down to my belly pooling warmth. His fingers dug into my hips and it was impossible not to react to Noah no matter how I tried. Because it was my Noah.
Simon was on his way in the elevator. The birthday gift clutched in my hand and I was staring into angry blue slits and for the life of me I didn’t understand why the anger or why I’m pinned to my own hallway table.
I wish I could read his mind.
My obsession inches away from my nose, giving me all his scent with every lungful of air and I’m expected to be the bigger person here and not react, not show an ounce of what I’m feeling. It’s impossible, if I can feel my heart beating, can he hear it? It’s loud enough. Can he feel it through my clothes and his own chest?
“Noah… what?”
His reply is a humming noise through closed lips.
How easy it would be to bury my face in the hollow of his neck.
Between the table and Noah, I find myself leaning closer.
His smell and the strength of him overpowered my senses, the total size of a man I love so much. Noah was the epicenter of desire, the man I measured every other man against. It oozed from his pores, it’s not one thing, it’s the full package that makes up the Manhattanite. It came as no wonder most of the gay community in the city were attracted to Noah. Nor was it a surprise the same number of women also wanted him.
An extravagant amount of time seemed to pass with only the flex of his fingers on my hips. Like Noah was waiting for me to decide.
I do. Instantly.
With my heart thumping, the gift slipped out of my hand to the floor causing a loud clang neither of us recoiled at. Then my hands stroked up his chest, curled around his neck and it was me who pulled Noah down.
It was me who kissed him first.
But he was already meeting me midway, I grasped. His neck tightened in my hands and he sort-of dipped to the side, so we perfectly aligned.
We fell into kissing. It’s not a frantic crash of lips, more like a coax from his mouth to mine and so satisfying I ached. He invaded every inch of my being. It wasn't subtle. Noah's possession over my mouth was a fucking Tsunami of sensation, kissing me like he had a point to make.
I don't know if he got the answer he needed, but his starved grunts urged me on. I grabbed his stubbled face with recklessness and gulped him, one kiss at a time. If for a second, I thought I was in charge, he proved me so wrong when he pried my mouth open with a flick of his tongue.
He answered my moan with one of his own.
Fingers tightened on my waist, clawing me closer, pushing me back into the table at the same time, using his hips to keep me there. So, fucking eager to please I whimpered and sagged into him while he consumed me like I was his last fucking meal.
We kissed a little harder.
Frenzied now.
Tongues tangled, he tasted so good I wanted to drown in him.
This was kissing. This was kissing on fire.
His tongue attacked mine, owning my mouth, licking every part and swallowing my gasped moans before feeding me his groans.
It was incredible, the best kiss of my life and I couldn’t stop.
My lungs beat at my chest wall for air and I went right on kissing him, my hands held the roughness of his face, unwilling to relinquish my grasp.
And right as his tongue plundered my mouth, sliding against my teeth, swallowing my carnal moan, one of his hands cupped my nape possessively we heard the knock on the door.
For a millisecond it didn’t break us apart.
I’m so aware it’s Simon, but I don’t care.
I just need to kiss Noah.
I need him to keep using my body to jack his erection against.
Far from halting Noah, he growled, and robbed my mouth deeper. Wet, sloppy, perfect kisses forcing my lips wider, he licked my tongue and I swear I started to taste colors. I can hear my own heartbeat thrumming in my ears and the feel of his cock grinding my belly was sparked heat. I needed him so badly.
Jesus, Noah had some dirty moves.
Then another knock and it’s this one that roused us to reality.
Breathing heavily, I let go of his lips, I noticed how wet his were.
Wet from mine.
Mine feel foreign on my face, like they no longer belonged to me since these lips have kissed the fuck out of Noah Fierro.
“The—the door.” I spluttered. It’s a miracle my tongue even worked to make the words go. I’m a freaking wreck.
He didn’t move an inch and for Noah and his size that’s a big-freaking-sign that he was into what he was doing that he automatically didn’t spring back into normal mode. I loved the chuff of his breath against my cheek. He’s affected, and I can’t help feeling the thrill of it. I carefully slid out from under him, brushing his arousal against my hip.
Sweet, merciful hell. I’m soaked and ready. My fucking panties are damp through.
How many times is that now? I know the number. How could I ever forget the amount of times I’d made a gay guy hard. Not me. I’m thinking the number as I stepped away.
“Answer it.”
His voice was thick, there’s no doubting it’s from the need to fuck and I’m dizzy again. Heady and fricking annoyed I agreed to go out because it would be rude to cancel now so I can drop to my knees and blow my best friend, right? RIGHT? Fuck.
I’m so goddamn annoyed at myself right now.
Annoyed for kissing him.
More exasperated I’m turned on and still confused at what’s happening between us. It’s like we’ve crossed a line but kept dancing back to the middle only to tiptoe across again for a second.
I’m so wildly aroused I could hear my own wetness. I’ll need to change my panties. With my ruddy cheeks, Noah stepped into me again and cupped my face, forcing me to look at him.
“Enjoy your date, kitten,” he kissed my forehead.
They’d once been my favorite kiss.
Now I prefer the ones where he rammed his tongue down my throat and choked me in his taste.
It’s Noah who pulled the door open to a startled Simon.
I don’t blame him for taking a step back to let Noah out.
Noah was taller and broader than most.
He’s not smiling as he left without another word to me.
I invited Simon to come in. My smile forced.
I had to make a quick underwear change and then we left for the party.
Thankfully Simon didn’t notice I was a space cadet most of the night obsessed over dirty-hot gay kisses. He brought me wine and cake and it turned out to be a fun sophisticated party. Nothing like I had for my eighteenth birthday. Good music and I chatted briefly to a teenager who was interested in computer science as his major.
But throughout the mounting hours I’m more aware of my mouth than ever before. I licked my bottom lip repeatedly to taste Noah there.
I can’t believe how ravenously we made out in my hallway while another man waited patiently on the other side of the door for me.
How India of me. She’d cackle if I risked telling her my sordid secret, which I am not. I’m not ready to share whatever this is with Noah with anyone else. It might not come to anything then who would look imprudent. I’d be the girl who wanted a gay dick and foolishly thought the dick in question wanted me back.
I sighed. Yeah, no way am I telling anyone yet. Or at all. Ever.
“You’re looking pensive over here in the corner.” Simon remarked with a crooked grin. Whatever liquor was inside the red cup he held, he looked a little flushed in the cheeks making his green eyes sparkle as he dragged a hand through his m
essy brown hair. He’d danced pretty much the entire night with the same woman. If this was a date situation I would be pretty pissed about that. But as it stood, I didn’t notice and now I smiled, glad he’d at least enjoyed himself.
“I was regrouping. This kid talked my ear off. I didn’t know eighteen-year olds were so ambitious. What happened to skateboards and weed?”
He laughed. “Skateboarding is a career now. Little shitheads make more money than I do.” He leaned against the wall, but I noticed right away how he watched the brunette sneaking glances back at him. I rolled my eyes taking the red cup out of his tight grip. “Go back over there, for god's sake before you both eye-fuck each other to death.”
He didn’t even look sheepish. “Do you mind? I said I’d take you home, I don’t want to leave you stranded.”
“I’m a big girl and can get myself home. Go. And thanks for the invite, I had a great time, your sister is sweet.”
“She’s a brat. But I love the kid. See you soon, Sena?” I watched him amble through the crowd to hopefully get laid. One of us should be getting some.
I don’t leave right away as planned. Hell, it’s free booze and cake, my momma didn’t raise no fool. After several pieces and a few glasses, I’m alone in a corner slightly sugar-sick to my stomach and just a smidge tipsy.
It was my thumbs fault I opened my text thread.
SouthernBelle: I love the way you kiss.
SouthernBelle: I could suck on your tongue for days.
SouthernBelle: Srsly. Lethal kisses, I had to change my panties.
I included so many fire and splash emoji’s that Noah’s reply came through before I’d finished sending him the wall.
KingOfManhattan: Are we sexting?
I gulped the moan locked in my throat.
Yes. Yes. Yes. My tongue glued to the upside of my mouth or I’m sure I would have yelled my reply to all and sundry. My breasts suddenly ached for attention and I know just the two hands they want, better still, the mouth they want sucking them. I looked around the party, almost as if these group of strangers would guess at the rampant, dirty thoughts I was having. God knows I wouldn’t want anyone to know I was seconds away from sneaking into the public bathroom and dry humping the sink.
The wine and sugar lowered my dirty-geek inhibitions.
Noah’s tongue earlier completely obliterated my sense of logic. I was in my fuck it phase where lust ruled all.
SouthernBelle: Yes, please. Tell me something dirty.
I’m either going to regret this tomorrow or find it’s my greatest idea I’ve had yet. Either way I’m on this train hunched over my phone, cradling it like a new-born baby willing it to light up with a new message. Come on, Noah.
I’m so tense the party floated away. I didn’t hear sounds any more, only the rhythm of my own speedy breathing and the way my clothes suddenly feel too tight for my skin. I’m hypersensitive. Turned on and needing the fuck I was robbed of.
Or a good, hard textual fuck.
It was nearing a decade since I sexted anyone properly. I was terrible at it. And the boy was terrible at it. My jock boyfriend might have been the best quarterback the school had ever had, but damn, he was not known for his skill with turning me on with anything other than his hands and his big footballer cock.
Often if we were sexting I was not sprawled on my bed rubbing one out. I was doing laundry or eating dinner with my parents or finishing a paper.
He never knew, fragile egos on teenage boys.
Ping.
Oh, god. He replied. He replied! My nerves shook my fingers as I tried to unlock my phone, it took two tries. Because I'm prone to overanalyzing, I list the number of excuses Noah could give for not sexting with me;
-I'm on a non-date with another guy. That's a biggie, but hey, he tongue fucked me while the other guy was waiting.
-He is too stoic to sext.
-You're drunk, go to bed, Sena.
Would he comply and give me something so filthy I’d feel it in my stomach when an orgasm flared?
I wanted the latter.
Please, god, give me the latter. I’ll never ask for another thing again for as long as I live. Beads of party sweat dotted along my top lip, I felt my spine melting from eagerness. The mere thought of sexting with Noah was enough to have me hornier than I’d been with anyone else. The image of hard, solid muscle underneath my hands was enough to have me breathing out of sync as I accessed my messages and then to Noah’s thread.
It’s then my world stopped.
Thump. Thump. Thump.
My heart.
Oh, god. I might die.
KingOfManhattan: You’re on a date with a nerdy dipshit and you’re soaking wet for me. So, wet you’re probably churning your greedy thighs together for any grind of friction to ease that little pussy, do you even deserve dirty talk from me right now?
It’s official. I am dead, attending my own funeral. Here lies Sena Black. She had a promising life but died of aggravated pussy failure.
I’m not an expert on what I’m about to do, but that was here nor there as my thumbs flew like they’re on roller skates. I’m all instinct and lust and heaving boobs as I pictured Noah in one of his many nightclubs, I don’t know which he’s at tonight, but I know he ruled all like the King of Manhattan. Lording his gorgeous arched brow over people as they danced and cavorted their nights away and I wondered was he smiling while he messaged me, or was it more to amuse? I don’t care, I don’t care about doubts or his reason.
Thank you, wine goggles.
Is he smirking?
I bet he’s smirking.
Dirty dog.
Drunk or not I checked spelling errors. Here goes nothing. One push of my thumb and the text whizzed electronically to my villain. If it ruined our friendship then… no, it wouldn’t. He talked about me being wet for him, that was Noah one hundred bajillion percent participating. Even gay men would know not to talk of wet pussies, right? I gulped the rest of my wine and waited.
SouthernBelle: Yes, I do because it’s all your fault. Pay up, lion. So damn wet I can still feel your tongue pushing inside me. It was the best non-orgasm I ever had, and I want it again and again until I can’t walk from all the times you make me come.
It was a good idea to leave at this point, in case I wanted to do some manual self-help orgasmic navigation. It would be frowned upon by both restaurant and hosts to manic-strum myself right there in a corner. I used my Uber app to call a car and yay there he was. I was so thankful for once he didn’t speak much English, I couldn’t concentrate on a conversation, what with my nose glued to my phone screen.
Had I written too much?
Could a dirty text be too dirty? I don’t think that’s how it worked.
My chest tight with emotion and god, eagerness. This was forbidden excitement and so fucking naughty I practically threw a twenty at the driver when he dropped me off outside my building. I was in the elevator holding up the wall when I heard the text ping.
It’s like one of those cartoons when everything froze in mid-air. I’m desperate to look that my fingers shake but I wanted to be in my apartment just in case I accidentally combust starting with my underwear. After fighting with the key; the stupid piece of metal didn’t cooperate I stumbled myself inside my apartment, clutching the phone with all my horny might willing me through the rooms. Shoes kicked off. Keys dropped. I’m halfway on top of my bed before I dared look down at the screen. My addicted hormones in full swing demanding attention from the one who fucking owned me.
My scream was one of frustration when I saw the text is from my mom. It was damn near midnight why was she texting me articles on artificial insemination from Facebook?
She wanted grandkids. I get it, but I don’t have time for her biological grandma clock now. It’s obvious Noah isn’t replying, it’s been twenty minutes already. I shimmied out of my clothes, leaving them over the chair and climbed into bed in just my underwear.
Feeling despondent, my fizz evaporate
d into thin air. I thought we were having fun, and then—
Ping. No hesitation. I pounced scrolling to the texts this time.
KingOfManhattan: My dirty-girl is wet and needy? It would take no effort at all to make you come right now. To slide in with my fingers, my tongue, my hard cock and drown you in your own screams.
Seconds later.
Ping.
KingOfManhattan: Dirty enough for you, kitten? Too honest? Or do you need to know I’m sitting behind my desk hard as a fucking baseball bat grinding the heel of my hand on my cock to stop it from hurting?
KingOfManhattan. I can still taste you with every breath I take.
KingOfManhattan: Your pussy is the only one I’ve eaten out and it’s all I can taste in the back of my throat. I fucking loved that pussy.
It was a kind of torture as I read and re-read and re-read again hungrily. He undeniably won sexting. Panting like I’d been running for a week. I ached so badly between my legs it took all my focus not to stroke myself but at the same time I didn’t want our game to end. Whatever effect the wine had on my brain soon cleared. I’m stone cold sober as I shuffled up against the pillows, my knees braced with the phone in my two hands. Thumbs working quickly.
I know exactly I want to say. There’s no stalling or re-thinking.
It’s as if some veil dropped and we could say everything we wanted to on a 9-inch screen. The phone afforded me honesty as my wants and desires poured out of me, one dirty message at a time.
SouthernBelle: I think about it, Noah. Constantly. How you touched me. The way you jerked in my mouth. Your legend cock is huge. I felt it scratch in my throat all the next day.
I sent it but I’m a roll. I’m also panting like a damn dog.
SouthernBelle: I think about how I’d suck you longer this time, make you plead, make you crazy. So hard for my suck that you come and come, and I can’t swallow it all, so it drips onto my chin.
