Part 8: On Your Knees

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Part 8: On Your Knees

Dylan didn’t say a word. He just spread his legs wide open and grabbed my body and pulled me towards him, dragging me forward towards his crotch like I was his to place wherever he wanted — because I was.My knees slid across the carpet, right up between his thighs, face now inches from his throbbing beautiful cock. He didn’t need to shove me or bark an order. The way he looked at me was enough. That cocky smirk, chin tilted slightly like he knew — like he always knew what I was about to do before I even did it.

“Right there,” he said, voice low and smooth as sin. “Stay. Boy”

His legs caged me in, and the heat rolling off him was unreal. I could smell him — soap, sweat, skin. Raw. Real. Overwhelming.

I dropped my hands to his thighs, felt the tension there, the way his muscles twitched beneath my palms like he was holding back just to see how long I’d drag it out. But I didn’t make him wait long. Not this time.

I leaned in and dragged my tongue up the base of his shaft — slow and rough, just to feel the weight of it against my mouth. He let out a sharp breath through his nose, and I smirked against his skin.

“You always this quiet when you’re impressed?” I muttered.

“Keep talking,” Dylan murmured, fingers tightening in my hair, “and I’ll give you something better to fill that mouth.”

Challenge accepted.

I opened my mouth wide open and let his cock in — slow, steady, dragging my tongue along the underside of his dick, feeling every vein, every twitch. He was heavy on my tongue, thick and warm, and my throat fought the stretch as I took more of him.

Dylan groaned — low, guttural — his hips barely twitching forward. “Fuck, that’s it.”

I pulled back, letting spit coat him as I pumped his base with one hand, then went back down again, deeper this time. The stretch burned in the best way, and his fingers in my hair weren’t just holding anymore — they were guiding, controlling, setting the rhythm and pushing me closer towards his cock every time I went up for air.

His other hand came down to cup his balls, lifting them just slightly as he tilted his hips. “Lick ‘em,” he said, voice rough now, not a request but a command.

I shifted lower, tongue tracing along the soft skin beneath as I let my hand keep stroking his length. I could feel him pulsing, twitching against my palm.

“Yeah,” he breathed. “You like that, don’t you?”

I looked up, spit shining my lips, tongue still working him as I gave a muffled hum — half smug, half wrecked.

He grinned, head tilting back just slightly, eyes half-lidded and cocky. “God, you’re filthy. And I like you that way.”

I looked up, spit shining my lips, tongue still working him as I gave a muffled hum — half smug, half wrecked.

He grinned, head tilting back just slightly, eyes half-lidded and dripping arrogance. “Damn, you’re a natural at this,” he muttered, voice low and wrecked. “Didn’t think guys could suck like that.”

When I finally pulled back, his cock slipped from my lips with a wet pop, and a line of spit clung between us, trailing down my chin. My mouth was glossy, jaw sore, breath coming fast—but the heat in his eyes made it worth it.

Drool dripped from my lower lip, catching the corner of my mouth, and Dylan just stared. Like he was watching the best thing he'd ever seen.

“Messy,” he said, almost fondly, thumb swiping across my cheek but not bothering to wipe anything away. “But I like you like this.”

I leaned in towards his cock again, slower this time—deliberate. My lips parted as I took his dick back in my mouth, tongue tracing along the underside, catching every vein, every twitch. He tasted hot, heavy, and I could feel the way his thigh muscles tensed under my grip, how his breath hitched even if he tried to hide it.

A low sound rumbled out of him—part groan, part laugh, like he was trying not to enjoy it too much. His hips tilted forward, slow and controlled, not pushing, just letting me know he could fuck my face if he wanted. That he would, when he was ready.

The room filled with the slick sound of movement—wet, rhythmic, impossibly loud in the silence between us. And when I pulled off with a gasp, a long string of spit hung from my lip to the base of him once again. My drool flowing down Dylan's cock all the way reaching his balls. At the same time, drool trailing down my chin, sticky and slow.

Then his fingers curled around my jaw, tilting my face up slowly. And without a word, he leaned in and kissed me—hot, deep, and unapologetic. Like he didn’t care where my mouth had just been.

He leaned in close, lips brushing the shell of my ear, voice dropping to a dark whisper.

“Bend over the couch, Troy. I’ve got a surprise for you.”

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