If I enjoyed a kiss from him at an event, or even kissed him more than I needed to in public, it could always be chalked up to “doing it for the fans.”
But not this. Not my cock twitching just below his hand, clearly hard for him. Not how hard my heart was beating, and the fact that I knew he could feel it when he kissed against my neck. None of that could be anything but real.
And when he pulled up slightly and gazed at me, half-lidded, I could see it in his eyes that he knew too. Knew that we were absolutely fucked, and that neither one of us had any ability to turn away.
Eric trailed his other hand down my torso and stomach, just lightly with his fingertips, until they rested against my jeans. He slowly tugged down my zipper and then brought his fingers to the waistband, hooking inside and tugging downward. I arched up on the couch so that he could more easily remove them, and in a moment they were gone, along with the rest of my clothes from the waist down.
“God, do you even fucking know how badly I want to make you feel good, Dash?” he said, gazing at me. “You are just…” he trailed off, slowly running his warm hands up my inner thighs, “gorgeous.”
There was really nothing left to hide, then, with my cock standing tall and straining, a bead of precum at the tip thanks to how Eric had been touching me. I was shaking a little as he kissed up my thigh, kissing against the soft skin, his eyes gently shut like he was focused completely. I expected him—and half wanted him—to come up, to be at my cock again in an instant, and then I would have to deal with the fact that I’d surely come the instant his lips were against me.
But instead he moved slowly, methodically, his hands kneading against my thighs and hips, skirting around the base of my cock but never touching it outright. It started to become maddening, after a few minutes like that, with him coming so close to touching or kissing it, and always gliding past, to my hip or stomach or back down to my thigh but never my twitching, neglected cock.
“Jesus, Eric,” I gasped, my hands gripped tight against his lower arms, like I’d fall if I didn’t hold onto him. “Please,” I whispered. “I need….”
“I’ve got you, Dash,” he murmured against me, and then his tongue was against my balls, hot and painting a thick, wet stripe against them.
“Oh my God,” I said, loud, and he did it again, this time taking them into his mouth, flooding them with warmth. It was at once satisfaction but still a type of tease, since he hadn’t even touched my cock yet, and when I looked down I saw that I was absolutely dripping precum, and Eric was looking up at me as he slowly pulled away.
I let out a strangled sound that was close to a whine. Bucked upward a little, a small, desperate effort, because I was so hard it almost hurt at that point.
And finally, he gave me what I wanted. He licked the tip of my cock, tasting me, and then all at once sank down onto me, taking my cock inch by inch in one long slide until I was completely inside his mouth.
I moaned so loud it hardly felt like the sound was coming from me, and realized I had closed my eyes. As I opened them to look down at Eric, he was sucking back upward, his cheeks hollowed and eyes right on mine. I had to hold myself back from coming, and fuck, it was so hard, but I managed to, because it was far too good to be over that soon. I needed to see him down there longer, because Eric between my legs was something I thought I’d never get to have again.
I raked my hand through his hair and grasped his head as he started to bob up and down on my cock, still slow but finally what I needed. It shouldn’t have come as a surprise that he was so good at it, but it did—my mouth hung open as I watched him, swearing under my breath every few seconds and trying to hold myself back from the brink.
“Fuck, Eric, I don’t think I can last much longer—” I managed to say, out of breath and panting.
He hummed around my cock and then started to move even faster, more intently, giving me a look that seemed to say only one thing: give it to me, Dash.
“Oh my God,” I whined, bucking up into his mouth and feeling my body starting to twitch. I was so close I couldn’t believe it.
“Don’t stop, Eric, don’t you dare fucking stop—”
And I started to feel something building inside me, that had been there the whole time or maybe all fucking day being around him, and seeing him there with his mouth around me like he wouldn’t stop until I came sent me over the edge. I moaned as I came into his mouth, my eyes squeezing shut involuntarily. I came so hard I couldn’t even think, and Eric was all I could feel, sucking around me, swallowing as I bucked into him again and again. I sank into the couch, feeling like I was merging with it, and slowly let my hands loosen and drop from the top of Eric’s head. He moved up and kissed me, soft and sweet, and I could taste a little of myself but really it was the both of us on his lips.
After a few moments he lifted off of me, and as I opened my eyes again I saw that he had taken off his clothes. He had his beautiful cock in his hand, and had sat back onto the couch beside me, touching himself as he looked at me, pained.
“I’m so sorry, Dash, I fucking have to, that was too hot—” he said, his voice shaky.
I gestured him to come closer.
“Don’t apologize,” I said, my voice coming out husky. “I want you to come on me.” It was the kind of thing that normally I didn’t even know if I’d be into, but somehow in the moment I wanted it bad, even after I’d been spent, I wanted him to mark me.
His eyelids fell a little as he gave me a knowing look, and then he was over me again, straddling me as if he were about to fuck me, but instead he took his cock in his hand again.
“Touch yourself for me, Eric,” I said, “I want it.”
He leaned his neck back slightly and moaned, jerking his cock hard and fast. “You are so fucking beautiful, Dash,” he said, out of breath. “I can still taste you.”
“It’s because you made me come so hard I could barely breathe,” I said, meaning it.
He let out something between a growl and a moan and leaned down to kiss me, his left arm pressed to the couch, supporting him, and his right hand still at his cock. He shook as he deepened the kiss, and eventually pulled back, watching me as he touched himself.
“I’m so close, Dash,” he said, low and urgent.
“Then do it,” I said, “Come for me. I want it all. Show me I’m yours, Eric.”
“Holy fuck,” he said, his mouth opening and brow furrowing as he moaned, low and loud, coming onto my stomach, my chest and even a little onto my lower lip. I sucked my lip into my mouth, tasting him.
“Oh my God, you are fucking perfect,” he said, squeezing himself and painting one final stripe of white onto my chest. His breathing was so heavy, so labored, and he stayed there for at least a minute, catching his breath. I just watched him, struck by how deeply satisfying it was to see him unravel like that, none of his usual slick polish—just raw and urgent and real.
After a while he bent down carefully over me and met me in a kiss again. He was so insistent, still totally there with me, in a way he hadn’t been at all the last time we’d been together like this, and it was shocking and admittedly incredible.
“God,” he said as he pulled away, closing his eyes and kissing gently against my collarbone. “I’ve fucking never been with someone like you.”
“Huh?” I could barely speak.
“You’re just… you’re… so goddamn good. I don’t know. I don’t have the words for it.” He leaned upward, still looking down at me, his chest rising and falling with each deep breath, glinting a little from the sheen of sweat.
I puffed out a laugh, taking a deep breath. Finally I felt like I could start to remember how to form words. “Well, I’m happy that’s how you see me. I’ve never been with anyone like you either.”
He smiled softly before getting up, standing and stretching.
“I’m gonna go take a shower,” he said, taking a few steps toward the bathroom.
And there it was. That brief pang, again, one I knew so wel
l but had somehow forgotten. It was an echo of the last time he had done this—stealing away to the shower after fucking me—and as I heard it, regret flooded me.
But he turned to me, pausing before he went in. “And you’re coming with me,” he said, hitching his finger at me in a come here motion.
“Oh yeah?” I said, a smile appearing on my lips.
“Yeah,” he said, taking a step back toward me with a devilish grin. “Look at you, Dash. Clearly you need to be cleaned up.” He kissed against my shoulder, then met my eyes again. “Filthy and beautiful.”
“I’m allowed in your fortress of solitude?” I said.
Now he was laughing at me. He came back over, grabbed my wrists, and tugged me up.
“You’re not just allowed—I need you there. Now come on.”
Thirteen
Eric
I was in deep.
I knew it because when I got in the shower—just to rinse off, nothing crazy, nothing out of the ordinary, I turned to see Dash getting in behind me and I almost felt like I was floating.
Because, for fuck’s sake, he was exquisite. Even just doing normal, mundane things like rinsing off in the shower. And of course, also when he was so close to coming, in that moment right before I knew he was going to come in my mouth.
He was pretty exquisite then, too.
I had never really felt something like that, so strongly, right after I had just had sex with someone. Usually I was spent, and ready to move on, even if I did really like the person I’d been with.
Now my intense urge to pin him against the wall had dissipated for the moment, but that feeling of being drawn to him, like a magnet, was still completely present. It was unmooring, and as he stepped into the warm shower I couldn’t stop myself from running my hands down from his shoulders, along his shoulder blades and upper back, down to the dimples right above his ass cheeks.
He turned back to me with a shy smile, his hair wet and lashes glinting with droplets of water, and I had to kiss him again, squeezing my arms around him from behind.
When I pulled back I reached for my body wash and spread it over my hands, lathering it over his body. I washed all along his back and then made him turn around for me, running my hands along his front, down to his cock, and then getting on my knees and washing his legs.
I was convinced I must be a madman. I was sure he probably thought I was one, washing him like that. But I wanted to take in every inch of his body. To memorize it, and feel him under my palms.
After lavishing attention on him I finally cleaned myself off, and we toweled off and returned to the bedroom.
Dash stood nude in my room, scratching the back of his neck, and then giving me a little glance. He looked hesitant, like he didn’t know what to do next, and I realized I’d just been standing there staring at him for a few seconds, in awe of his body.
“So… I guess it’s kind of late, I can… head out?” Dash said, his voice uncertain.
I blinked at him. “Dash, I’m gonna say something, and feel free to say no if you don’t agree. But I’m gonna speak my mind for a second.”
He waited, biting his bottom lip nervously.
“Fuck no, you’re not heading out. I want you to stay here. With me, tonight. I know it might be weird for me to say that, but—”
“…Are you sure, Eric?” he said, his eyes unsure. “I don’t know, isn’t that, like, overstepping the bounds of our fake relationship or….”
“Fuck the fake relationship,” I said. “Fake or real or whatever, we don’t have to talk about that tonight. I just… I want you to stay. If that’s what you want.”
He nodded, and it became bigger and more emphatic as he did. He let out a long sigh, his posture relaxing immediately. “I really would like to stay. Just for tonight.”
“Then good. You’re gonna stay here.” I crossed over to him and brought him into my arms.
“This doesn’t mean anything, though,” he said, leaning against me. “Right?”
“All it means is that I don’t wanna stop hanging out yet. Let me get you a pair of sweatpants, and then we can go watch some junk on TV. I also have homemade ice cream that I made last week, and I don’t know about you, but I need that in my life right now.”
He laughed and I felt it against my arms, and it send a wave of affection through me that I didn’t even know I was capable of. “What flavor is it?” he asked.
“It is White Russian ice cream. It’s got Kahlua in it, and it’s divine.”
“God, if you had told me about that earlier I would have demanded to spend the night.”
I smiled, my lips buried against his hair, and then I pressed a kiss to his head. “Let’s get to it.”
As we ate the ice cream, which I admit was one of the better ones I’d ever made, we sat on the couch and watched a British baking show on Netflix. Dash leaned against me after he finished eating, and I swore I could actually feel my heart fluttering in my chest. After about an hour he suddenly wrapped his arm around me in a loose, warm hug, curling around me, and when I looked down I saw that he’d fallen asleep.
He was hugging me in his sleep. I could have died in that moment, and I didn’t even know I was the kind of person who could care about that kind of thing. How could something like this be better than even having sex with Dash? I mean, the sex was already ranking among the best I’d ever had, and now he was making his way into my heart with an alarming speed.
I let him stay like that, laying on me, for at least a half hour, because I couldn’t bear to be anywhere else in the world.
When the show ended, I gently moved him, and told him in his sleep-haze that I was going to take him to bed. He half woke up and I sort of guided him to the bedroom, kissing the back of his neck as I walked behind him. Once he was in the bed he snuggled into the sheets, pulling them up all the way to his neck, and smiling serenely as he shifted into a comfortable spot.
I tucked in next to him in bed, at first distancing myself from his warmth. I didn’t know what to do, really—it was odd, because I’d obviously had people spend the night, but this felt different. Everything about Dash felt different. As I lay there staring up at the dim evening light on the ceiling, hearing him breathing lightly next to me, anxiety started to claw at me: what was I doing? Were we in some sort of relationship, or not? The lines between real and fake seemed to be obliterated tonight, and my heart started to race, alone with my thoughts.
I turned onto my side, facing away from him, suddenly feeling strange in my own bed. I tried to breathe deep, to remind myself that everything was fine, but nothing seemed to work. After about a half hour of my mind staying on the same relentless rat wheel, I quietly got up, went out to the kitchen, and had a glass of ice-cold water.
I was fine. Things were fine. To the rest of the world, nothing had changed—they’d always thought that Dash and I were dating, and no one would have to know what happened tonight. It wouldn’t be weird at all, him staying over at my house.
So why was I feeling so weird about it?
I went back to my room, briefly refreshed by the water, and tried to shimmy back into bed and stay undetected by Dash. But as I put my head to the pillow, he stirred, and then suddenly his arm was draped around me, and he nuzzled up to me from behind, flooding my back with an even warmth under the sheets.
And all at once, I felt… better. I sighed and let myself sink against him, finally just allowing it to feel good and trying not to think of the implications.
Because it felt way too right.
My relentless thoughts eventually faded into the background, and I fell asleep, wrapped in him.
I woke when light was pouring through my windows—I knew it had to be well into morning—and there was no one in bed with me anymore.
My first instinct was to feel relieved. Dash had gone home. It was probably better that way, that he had realized we’d done something we hadn’t planned on, that he knew it would make everything easier if we didn’t have to talk about it in th
e morning.
I rolled over to the other side of the bed, the side he’d been on, and nuzzled up against the pillow he’d used. Hugged it to me. And then relief quickly morphed into a sense of loss, as I realized how much I actually would have loved waking up near him, no matter how awkward or strange it might feel.
Eric Ronson. What a “player,” right?
But then I heard a sound from the kitchen. I figured it was definitely possible that it was a burglar who had a strange affinity for pots and pans, but not likely.
A smile involuntarily spread over my face as I padded out into the kitchen, seeing Dash there in only sweatpants, standing over my stove.
“Morning,” I said to him, and he turned to look at me.
“Morning,” he said, “We’ve gotta talk.”
A jolt ran through me. “Really? Now? I mean, I know we have to, but I haven’t even had coffee yet….”
“We need to talk about what kind of ‘food person’ like you wouldn’t have butter on hand in your fridge,” he said, turning to me and crossing his arms. “I mean, Eric, what are you doing? No butter? One of the most essential elements of cooking?” He broke out in a grin.
I hurried over to the fridge and pulled out a little plastic tub, holding it up to him. “Look! I Can’t Believe It’s Not Butter!”
“Key words: Not Butter,” he said to me, pointing his finger. “And why do you have that anyway?”
“Okay, okay, it’s not mine, my friend with cholesterol problems brought it over one night. Do you want me to run to the store and grab butter? I mean, I do usually have it, I swear, I just made buffalo wings the other day and used a lot of it up…”
He clicked his tongue, turning back to the stove. “Excuses, excuses. But no, it’s fine. I’m making do with olive oil. These omelettes will still be fantastic.”
“Wow. Thank you for making breakfast, Dash. I really mean it when I say you totally don’t have to do this.”
He shrugged, clicking on the gas burner. “I want to. It may come as a shock, but I…” he lowered his voice to a whisper, “…enjoy cooking.”
The Sweetest Star: Under the Stars Book 2 Page 14
