by Ivy Oliver
“Where is everybody?” he says.
“Damned if I know,” I say. “Let’s look around.”
Half an hour into the search, it occurs to me that they left without us. The fucks.
I snarl, gritting my teeth as my fists clench.
“They fucking left us behind,” I snap.
“Shit,” Julian mutters. “Did anybody tell you where they were going next?”
I shake my head. “I know as much as you do. They probably planned on this. We were dragging them down. I swear if that little shit fucks around on my sister—”
Julian rests a comforting hand on my arm. “Easy, easy, big guy. I’m not best buds with Alex but he’s a standup guy. He’s not going to do anything stupid.”
“I don’t know,” I growl. “The stupid strip club was already walking the line. He’s getting married.”
Walking with me for the exit, Julian muses, “I know, right? I get the joke of ‘freedom’ and all but some guys take it a little too seriously. If getting married is something you need to get drunk to commit to, maybe you ought to reconsider it, don’t you think?”
I nod. “Yeah. I think.”
“So, what do we do?”
“Work our way back to the hotel, I guess,” I say. “Fuck it, I’m rich. I’ll get us a limo.”
Julian checks his phone. “Nobody will be back for hours. We can always go do something else.”
There’s a delectable lilt to his voice, and a subtle heat in his glance, as if he’s testing the waters. Whether it’s lust or a gambling high or liquid courage, he’s throwing down the gauntlet.
I look over at him. “Good point. You’re more interesting than I thought. I have an idea. Let’s go downtown.”
“Downtown?”
“Freemont. The real hardcore casinos. This bullshit is all tourist traps. Kids casinos.”
I motion to the clothing boutiques inside the lobby. “I hate playing games in a fuckin’ mall.”
Taking his arm in my hand, I guide him over to the concierge’s desk and bark orders for a limousine. When I flash my black card—made of a thin layer of stainless steel, not plastic—the woman at the desk jumps to do as I say.
I’m a bit of an asshole, but I have fun with it.
Not ten minutes later, there’s a limo out front for us. I slip the driver a tip and tell him to take us downtown. This is no junior prom limo. Inside is lush and plush, like sinking into a big recliner. Julian climbs in after me and flops down next to me, a little woozy.
His head taps my shoulder as he starts to lean over, only to jerk back like he’d touched a hot stove.
“Sorry,” he mutters.
“It’s okay,” I say, yawning.
Julian is staring at my crotch. For good reason. I’m hard as a rock. I trace my eyes down his body and find him aroused too, a nice bulge in his khaki shorts. The limo is absolutely crawling. I reach over and flick the button, raising the glass partition that obscures us from the driver.
Julian laughs quietly to himself.
“What?” I say.
“I was just thinking I’m glad we don’t have a black light to shine in here. I bet this limo has seen some shit.”
I laugh. “Like what?”
“I don’t know,” he says. “Haven’t you ever been tempted to stand up in the sunroof of a limo?”
“And look like an idiot? I’d probably get us pulled over.”
“Just stand up and yell ‘I’m king of the world.’ I dare you.”
I reach over and open the sunroof. Baking Las Vegas air, that wonderful dry heat, comes blasting in like I’d opened the door to a furnace. Shakily, I stand up, rising through the opening.
It loses some of its effect when we’re not moving. I glance down, ready to motion for Julian to stand next to me.
Except he’s not. He’s sitting on the floor of the limo. He looks up at me with his big eyes and licks his lips. I plant my hands on the roof and stare at him. The moment builds, a silent pressure at the back of my skull. My dick is fucking throbbing. Playfully, Julian flips a single finger along the outline of my cock.
A shudder ripples through my entire body. He starts stroking me through my jeans.
“Stop it,” I blurt. “I’m going to cream my fucking pants.”
“Wouldn’t want that to happen,” he says, staring at my throbbing dick. “I wonder what would happen if I did this.”
I almost stop him. My whole body is tingling, like I’m standing in a cold wind even though it’s ninety-five degrees outside. Julian undoes my belt, loosens my pants and I gasp in shock as his cool fingers wrap around my shaft. He tugs and my dick comes loose, springing in his face. My balls fall out, dangling in front of him. He stares, wide-eyed.
“Holy fucking shit,” he mutters.
This can’t be happening. It can’t be real.
It is. The world slows and I devour every second of this, savoring it. The feeling of his hand wrapped around my shaft. The air on my cock and balls. His hot breath before his lips make contact. They close lightly around the head and he presses forward, stroking me with those soft, pillowy lips, enveloping me. A hot urge, almost pain, tightens in my balls and legs and ripples into his mouth. I groan, then look around and realize I’m surrounded by people. If I sit down, he might stop.
Jesus Christ he’s blowing me, and he’s fucking good. No one has ever had this kind of skill with my dick. His mouth feels amazing, warm and hot, and his tongue strokes over my shaft. As he bobs his head, he takes me deeper, deeper, I hear him cough, he struggles…
Holy hell, his tongue is tickling my balls. They tighten up and I instinctively grab his head and keep my cock buried in his throat. When I look down and let go, he pulls back, my shaft still caught between his lips, and stares up at me, cheeks hollowed from sucking.
I’m in heaven. My legs are starting to buckle.
I sink back into the seat, dropping out of the sunroof. Julian crawls between my legs and goes back to work. I like it better this way. I stare, slack-jawed, like this is happening to someone else, crying out when the pleasure he gives ripples through my body. I let out a long, ungodly sound, half moan and half something else I don’t even have words for, as I grasp his head in my hands. His hair tickles my fingers while I work my hips as he pumps his head.
I can’t take very much of this. I’m going to explode. I moan something that sounds like a warning, and he ignores it. Somehow, he manages to smile with a mouthful of cock as I give him a mouthful of cum, exploding in the wet heat of his sucking lips. He plunges me down his throat and strokes more out with the muscles of his neck as he swallows, then draws back.
When he finally lets go and my cock sags in front of him, he grins. He hasn’t spilled a single drop.
I hike my pants up, staring at him. He kneels patiently in front of me, hands resting on his thighs, an excited look on his gorgeous face as he gazes at me, grinning.
“You have no idea how long I’ve wanted to do that,” he says.
I jerk forward. He yelps as I grab him and pull him on top of me. My hands fumble, then I have his pants open. I throw him on his back, push his knees apart, and grab his cock. I’m not used to this. I don’t leap on it with the same eagerness he did when he took mine. He slouches in the seat and stares down at me.
Gingerly holding his shaft—he’s bigger than I expected; skinny guys always seem to have the biggest dicks—I stare at it. I always thought this would feel submissive, but I have the power here. I’ve got him in my hands, as it were. What would it feel like to suck him off?
Let’s find out.
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About the Author
Ivy Oliver is an author of LGBTQ
romance, living (currently) outside of Philadelphia, Pennsylvania. In a former life she was a middle school English teacher, and a lifelong romance fan. She discovered the joys of m/m romance after reading another author’s work last year, and became smitten with the idea of writing her own.
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Copyright © 2018 by Ivy Oliver
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