Heart Knot Mine

by Lily Velden

  “NICE. VERY nice. You’re a handsome man, Noah Daniels. I think I’m going to be the envy of quite a few women, and maybe a few men, this evening.”

  A pleased blush stole into my cheeks—I’d taken more care than usual in choosing my outfit, wanting him to like what he saw. I’d opted for black dress slacks, teaming them with a light-gray shirt that I’d left open at the neck and untucked. I looked good. I knew it. If I looked good, however, Robert looked spectacular. He’d also chosen black trousers, but instead of a shirt, he’d gone with a gunmetal-gray V-neck pullover. It looked incredibly soft, and the way it clung to his shoulders and chest before draping just so over the waistband of his pants made my cock twitch.

  “You clean up pretty good yourself, Callinan,” I joked in an effort to hide my reaction to both his words and his appearance.

  “I’m glad you approve,” he said with a chuckle. “Come, I have a taxi waiting for us.”

  “So where are you taking me?”

  “Tut-tut, sunshine. You’re just going to have to be patient. I told you; it’s a surprise.”

  “Well, then, lead away, stud, before I expire from curiosity,” I replied, matching his playful tone. He quirked an eyebrow at my use of the word “stud” but said nothing before ushering me out the door and into the waiting cab.

  The early-evening air was balmy, and I wondered, as I slid across the backseat of the car, if I should have left the leather jacket I was clutching in my room. Still, Robert had one in his hands too, and he probably had a reasonable idea whether we’d need them later.

  We sped through the streets, and it took but a few moments to realize the cabbies in Paris were as insane as their American counterparts. Perhaps it was a universal thing, a cabbie job requirement, I mused.

  Robert sat a little closer to me than necessary. Not that I minded. No, I didn’t mind at all—in truth, I wished the jerking of the steering wheel our driver seemed to feel was necessary in order to zip in and out of the traffic would cause Robert to be jostled against me, but it didn’t. God, how I wanted him to touch me, brush against me, lean into me.

  Not knowing Paris at all, I had no idea where we were headed, and it was only as we pulled up in front of the venue that I turned to Robert and grinned. “The Moulin Rouge?”

  “Cheesy, and a tourist trap, but it truly is a must. You can’t visit the City of Light and not experience the Moulin Rouge!”

  After handing our tickets over, we were led past the long line of waiting people, and I realized he must have bought us VIP passes.

  Robert used me to carve a path through the crowd, and at last he placed his hand on me. It was all I could focus on, all I could think about. My world had narrowed to the warmth of his palm seeping through the thin layer of my shirt as it pressed against the small of my back, propelling me forward. I was almost sorry when we reached our table and there was no reason for him to keep his hand on me. When he only removed it temporarily, in order to drape his jacket over the back of the chair, before returning it to rest between my shoulder blades, my heart sang. I was beyond glad we’d been seated side by side rather than facing each other. That it had been done to afford us both a good view of the stage was self-explanatory, but I was just pleased since it meant he could keep touching me.

  A waiter appeared out of nowhere to pour the champagne, which I now noticed was already on ice on all the tables. It must, I decided, come with the show.

  “To new friends and joint adventures,” Robert toasted, clinking his glass to mine.

  “To partners in crime,” I returned, the champagne warming my belly in the same way his hand warmed my back.

  The evening had barely begun, but already I was having the best night of my life. Our entrees arrived, and my only complaint was it necessitated Robert removing his hand from my back.

  “Is it a set menu?” I whispered to Robert after the waiter departed, having placed a dish of paté in front of me and some salmon in front of Robert.

  “Ah, no,” Robert replied, grinning. “They have a few menus to choose from, and I took the liberty of ordering for us both.”

  I raised my eyebrow teasingly.

  “Hey, it was the only way to keep the secret. I made sure to order us different things so if you didn’t like what they put in front of you we could swap.”

  I winked, smearing some paté on a minisquare of toast. “Thanks. Good to know.”

  The rest of our meal passed in a pleasant blur. I felt warm all over from his thigh brushing against mine, from his open palm, which he placed on my shoulder blade between courses, and his hot breath fanning my ear when he leaned in to make a comment.

  My cock remained at half-mast throughout the entire show. And it wasn’t because of the multitude of beautiful women filling the stage wearing elaborate costumes that revealed more than they concealed. As an observer, I registered they were, indeed, gorgeous, with the lithe, graceful, yet muscled bodies of trained dancers. But their teasing displays of naked or near-naked breasts and asses did nothing for me sexually, and neither did their high-kicking scissoring legs.

  The bare-chested male dancers, however, did.

  Robert, in that first home movie, had flicked on a switch inside me that refused to be turned off. The change it created was permanent—I liked men.

  The male dancers might have captured my interest, but their effect was nothing compared to that of the fully clothed man beside me. He had me distracted and on edge the entire show.

  The evening was wonderful—unforgettable, an extravaganza of color, music, light, and athleticism. Between the wine and Robert, I was intoxicated and flying high—a feeling that continued unabated during our cab ride back to the hotel, where he sat with his arm across the back of my seat. Once again, he wasn’t touching me, and yet my skin tingled as if he were. Every nerve ending in my body felt him, reached for him.

  By the time I stood on the sidewalk waiting for him to pay the cabbie, I was quivering in anticipation and praying I hadn’t read the signals wrong. Part of me still wanted to take flight and put as much distance between us as possible. I was fully aware I was the moth and he was the flame, but that sensible—cowardly?—part of me, which thought about fleeing, was small and fading fast. If I was right, and my Lord, I hoped I was, I was about to go up in flames… hot glorious flames.

  As we waited for the lift, he turned to me and reached out to caress my cheek. Touch me, yes, touch me, I thought.

  “Fancy a nightcap, Noah?”

  “Yes.” My voice was low, barely above a whisper, but I knew he’d heard me by his small smile.

  The elevator doors opened, and I stepped inside on shaky legs. I leaned against the left wall, watching as Robert followed and took up position against the opposite wall. The air between us crackled with tension. We faced each other, staring. Warm brown bored into cool blue, and I felt as if the heat of his gaze was melting what little remained of the icy uncertainty in mine.

  The doors slid apart, and I followed him the short distance to his room. I waited, barely able to breathe, as he opened the door. He stood aside to allow me to enter first, and as I passed, my shoulder brushed against his chest. I wanted to stop, turn, and have the contact between us be from top to toe. Instead, I carried on into the room.

  He quietly closed the door, then leaned against it. Once again, we stood facing each other, a mere six feet separating us.

  Our voices might have been silent, but our eyes spoke volumes, and what I read in his gaze gave me the courage to take the initiative.

  Tooth by tooth, I pulled down the zipper of my dress pants, the sound loud in the silence of the room. Not taking my gaze off Robert, I toed off my loafers and let my trousers fall. They made a soft wooshing sound as they fell, pooling at my ankles before I carefully stepped out of them. With surprisingly steady fingers, I unbuttoned my shirt, then with a shrug let it fall behind me. As it floated to the floor to join my pants, it brushed against the back of my thighs, and I shivered.

  So there I
stood, clad in only my socks and boxer briefs, watching Robert watching me. His breath quickened, as did mine. Hooking my fingers into the waistband of my underwear, I slowly dragged them down my hips and over my buttocks. A little wiggle had them at my feet. I stepped out of them, then faced him naked, aroused, and unashamed.

  “I wanted to hate you,” I confessed quietly, my words at odds with my obvious excitement. “I’ve certainly tried to. Because of you… because of you, I feel things… want things… fuck, I ache for things I never knew. You’ve made me question everything I thought I knew about myself. But then I look at you… talk to you, and I can’t. I can’t hate you. I want you too much.”

  “Are you sure you want this, Noah? Your brother described you as such a ladies’ man. Are you sure you want to take this step with me?”

  I couldn’t answer, my mouth too dry to form any more words, but what I couldn’t express verbally my animated dick expressed for me, and it was far more eloquent than what my addled brain or feeble tongue could have managed.

  Looking down at my erect cock, Robert smiled. “Why, yes, I think you do.”

  He took a step toward me. And another. And then with one final pace he was so close I could feel the heat of his body warming my bare chest.

  He leaned in, his eyes open and gazing into mine. I waited breathlessly for him to kiss me at last.

  But he didn’t.

  He hovered, his lips but an inch from mine.

  And then I understood.

  He needed me to make the final choice.

  I didn’t hesitate.

  I stepped into the flames, eager to burn.

  The moment my lips made contact with his, I felt a weight lift from me. Years, a whole lifetime of expectations and disillusion fell from me, and I knew I’d done the right thing to wait until now to share my first kiss with a man. I was so glad Robert was my first. I felt light. I felt free. I felt innocent, open, and eager again, like I’d been as a child when everything had seemed an adventure.

  Robert’s lips might have been soft, but they demanded things from me. They wouldn’t let me hide. His taste in my mouth told me I’d never run from who I was again. His tongue, which he used to gently lick and probe, enticing mine to play, wouldn’t allow me to hold anything back. And so I answered his call and returned his kiss with all that I had.

  Excitement quivered in my belly when he opened to me, allowing my tongue to slide along the warm velvet of his. He tasted of mint and coffee, of wine and cream, of caramel and salt. All of those things mixed together probably shouldn’t have tasted good. But they did. He did. He tasted better than good. He tasted divine. Sinfully so.

  That one kiss was the best sex I’d ever had.

  For the first time in my life, I realized just how erotic a tongue could be. How deep the sensual pleasure was in sharing the moist heat of an unrestrained kiss. Finally, I knew what it was to experience a hunger with the one person able to satiate it.

  I groaned my pleasure into his mouth. He pulled away, a question in his eyes.

  “More,” I whispered.

  He chuckled quietly but leaned down to kiss me again, and the second kiss was as life-changing as the first.

  “You’re one beautiful man, Noah Daniels,” murmured Robert against my throat.

  I dipped my head—my lips, having experienced their first two kisses with a man, now seemed to have formed a mind of their own and wanted to follow him down to capture his again. They wanted a third and a fourth kiss. A fifth and a sixth. They wanted thousands.

  Lower and lower went his kisses. To my nipples. Over my abdomen. My belly button. I trembled and arched and ached.

  He sank to his knees and looked up at me, smiling, as he wrapped his hand around my straining shaft. “I can’t wait to taste you, Noah.”

  At his words, my penis jerked within the circle of his fingers. Robert’s gaze left my face and traveled the length of my body before settling on my twitching erection.

  “Beautiful,” he whispered.

  Looking down at him kneeling before me, I shuddered, longing for him to draw me into his soft mouth.

  Instead, he drove me to distraction with his tongue, licking and laving me, probing my slit and robbing my dick of its tears. With his sweet torment of my cock, I finally knew what it meant to be in heaven and hell at the same time.

  The sounds of my groans seemed to be coming from a distance, drowned out by the blood buzzing loudly in my ears. I could scarcely believe the moment was real, that Robert was on his knees before me, making love to my dick—only the exquisite sensations radiating out from my groin confirmed the truth.

  At last, he took pity on me and drew me into his mouth, and when I clenched the cheeks of my ass in an effort to refrain from thrusting into his warmth, he lightly slapped my butt. I whimpered in relief and began rocking my hips. Deeper and deeper I went, and still he caressed my shaft with his tongue. I was past his tonsils, and he was humming and swallowing, making his throat work me like a fist, squeezing and milking me.

  It was good. Better than good. It was glorious. Deliciously divine. My orgasm rushed up on me too fast, but I was powerless to halt the tidal wave.

  “Robert, oh Jesus, Robert! I’m gonna come!”

  He gripped the cheeks of my ass firmly, and I nearly sang my joy at knowing he wanted me to fill his mouth with my seed. Never in my life had I wanted someone to taste me the way I wanted him to. I wanted to mark him as mine. Mark him from the inside.

  I spasmed, sending a jet of juice down his throat. He took it, looking up at me with smiling eyes. Again and again, I jerked, and with each shudder I sent another shot of my cream down his gullet. With the final wave my knees buckled, and I’d have fallen had Robert not kept his arms wrapped around me. I felt as weak as a newborn kitten. He supported me for God only knew how long before I regained some semblance of strength.

  I pulled him up with shaky hands and gave him a gentle shove backward, forcing him to sit on the edge of the bed, and with half-spoken sentences and garbled pleas, I managed to convey my desire to reciprocate. I undressed him like I was peeling a grape—carefully, delicately—savoring each inch of flesh I exposed. When I’d lowered his trousers to his ankles, I was unable to help myself—I flattened my face onto his cotton-clad groin, turning my head from side to side, rubbing his cock over first one cheek and then the other. I pressed my lips against his covered shaft and felt him swell beneath me.

  “Noah…. Noah, please,” he sighed, pushing his hips more firmly against my face.

  Reluctantly, I pulled away and lowered his underwear, dragging them and his pants the rest of the way off, and then dropping them on the floor beside me where I knelt. He was hard, his cock tapping his belly, pointing north and totally obscuring his belly button. I swallowed—he was hung, close to an inch longer than me and with a bit more girth. I knew he was well-endowed from watching his movies, but seeing it up close and personal, knowing it would soon be inside me, added a whole new level of awareness.

  When I wrapped my hand around him for the very first time, my breath exploded from my lungs in a loud burst at the feel of its heat, its weight, its solidity. It was so hard—like a satin-sheathed steel bar. His soft moan at the way I squeezed and fondled him was barely audible above the pounding of my heart.

  I leaned in, wanting, needing him in my mouth. In that moment, it was all that mattered to me. I had to know the feel and taste of him. As I swallowed more and more of him, I used the flat of my tongue on his shaft, groaning at the sweetness of his skin, tasting the sweat, the salt.

  I was a man possessed. I wanted to make him feel so good—better than any previous trick he’d had. Opening my mouth as wide as I could, I tried to relax my throat to take him ever deeper. Again and again, I swallowed, breathing through my nose. Each time my throat protested, I pulled back and dragged my tongue over the head before trying again.

  The rhythm helped me center myself, and all the lessons I’d learned from my bathhouse stranger came back to
me. I used them. I used them all. And I finally got to do something I’d only dreamed about—I poked my tongue into his foreskin, eagerly, greedily swirling it around his crown within the tight protective sheath, while using my fist to stimulate the rest of his shaft. From above me, Robert groaned loudly and put his hands on my head, gently caressing my scalp and tugging my hair.

  Faster and faster I moved my tongue, craving him so badly I ached. I yearned for him to want me—to want me more than he’d ever wanted anything or anyone. I longed to make him as desperate as me, to feel as overwhelmed as I did. With the needy thrusts of his hips and the almost continuous moans erupting from him, I dared to hope.

  I pumped him more urgently, using my saliva as lubricant, and when I felt his shaft swell, heralding his orgasm, I closed my eyes to better concentrate on the feeling. I wanted to remember the moment forever. I wanted to be able to recall sucking him, pleasing him, but most of all I wanted to remember the feel and taste of him shooting off in my mouth for the very first time.

  Knowing what was coming, I closed my lips even more firmly around him and used one hand to grasp his hip to tell him I wanted it. Wanted him. Thirsted for all he had to offer.

  His cock spasmed hard. Once, twice, three times, and against my fingers, I felt the vein that ran the length of his shaft pulse, sending more of his come spurting deep into my mouth. It shot out of him with such force I nearly choked, and I swallowed desperately, trying to keep up with the flow. I couldn’t bear to waste so much as a trace. I wanted every last thick, salty drop of him.

  He groaned and grunted, his hips jerking, while I moaned in distress at feeling the ever-weakening spasms of his cock—I didn’t want the moment to end.

  But it did.

  After one final tangy bead dripped onto my waiting tongue, it was over.

  Slowly, reluctantly, I let him fall from my lips. His foreskin was pulled back, exposing the head, which was shining and wet and still a deep rosy pink. I looked at it, mentally willing it to harden and fill my mouth again.