Unraveling Josh

by Edie Danford

  “Looks to me what you need is just some guy with a big dick.”

  I raised my head. Shook it once. “No. I need you.”

  He tossed the box on the bed and palmed his package, rubbing slowly. “Me? Or my cock?”

  When his hand dropped, I saw his dick had hardened enough to attempt a getaway down the left leg of his shorts. I licked my lips and answered him honestly. “I want you. All of you.” I stepped toward him. “Your cock and your arms and your ankles and shoulders and ears and toes…” I got close enough to see the flare of his nostrils, the moisture glistening on his upper lip. I smiled. “To share.” I brushed a wave of hair from his forehead. “And your thoughts. I want those to share too.”

  His gaze rose to the ceiling for a second before it came back to mine. His mouth scrunched up on one side—a sort-of smile that seemed to say, “Man, you kinda suck at playing this game.” But I wasn’t a total failure. I loved the way his breathing had begun to sound raspy and how a flush was slowly rising on his cheeks.

  “I don’t want to hear your words,” he said, still using that deep, I-own-your-soul voice. “You’ll have to prove yourself worthy—service my dick to my satisfaction and then we’ll see about sharing.”

  I nodded and reached for the box of condoms he’d dropped on the bed. Before I could pick it up, his hand came down on my forearm. Not a hard clasp, but definitely firm. “You don’t move until I tell you.”

  “Okay,” I said. “Sir,” I said, giving him a side-eye but keeping my face cast downward.

  He made a noise that sounded like he was holding back a laugh. “Good. And you’re not to speak unless I say.”

  I nodded again.

  “Undress me,” he said. “Shirt first, then shorts.”

  I took steps until I was a few inches away from him. I clenched the bottom of his shirt in my fists. I really, really wanted to touch his skin—his hands, his forearms, his neck and his hair. Jesus, I wanted to kiss him too.

  But I was a good sport and this game of his was producing a zillion beautiful endorphins in my endorphin-deprived body. I raised his shirt, waiting for his arms to rise along with it. He complied—thank God, because I had no idea how I would force him to help me. As I worked to tug it over his chin, his scent hit me. I’d been smelling the same herbal-Nick-sex aroma on my sheets for the last few days. Having it waft over me now, concentrated by his body heat, made my mouth water. Oh fuck. I felt dizzy with need. I took a faltering step, but corrected myself before I toppled into him.

  When I finally got his shirt off I felt ridiculously proud that I hadn’t kissed him or licked him or bit him or touched his skin in any way.

  “Drop it,” he said, his gaze taking in how I was clenching his shirt. It held his body heat and I didn’t want to let it go. “And then drop to your knees.”

  I let the shirt fall and as I knelt on it, the motion pushed a moan from my throat.

  “Hey.”

  I gazed up at him. He put his hands on my head, his fingers tangling in the hair above my ears. “You’re doing good,” he murmured. He bent and brushed a kiss across my lips.

  His praise warmed me in surprising ways. I could feel it in my chest and the back of my neck and the tips of my ears. And that warmth made me want to please him with more than just a blowjob. I wanted to get him off, for sure, but I wanted to show him how happy it made me to be doing this with him, how happy he made me, showing up here at this crazy tower to play this dirty, amazing-feeling game with me.

  “Shorts,” he murmured, dropping his hands.

  I could see why he felt the need to remind me. His dick was testing the limits of the shorts’ thin fabric. I thought about mouthing him through the faded denim, making the outline even more pronounced by dampening it—a private exhibition of a very personal sculpture. But I wanted skin on skin more. After popping the button and jerking down the zipper, I stuck my thumbs in the waistband and tugged. No briefs, thank God. The shorts pooled at his feet and he stepped out of them, kicking them aside along with his flip-flops.

  I swayed on my knees as I looked at his cock. My mouth was watering and my jaw was already aching. I ran my tongue over my teeth, thinking about how all his textures were going to feel inside my mouth.

  “You want this?” he asked, palming his shaft, his fingers playing delicately, highlighting everything I wanted to explore.

  “Fuck yeah.” I looked at him through my lashes. “Sir.”

  He tipped his head toward the bed. “Get a condom. Put it on me. No mouth and no playing.”

  My knees creaked and my fingers trembled as I reached for the box and extracted one of the fancy-ass condoms.

  I carefully opened the wrapper, withdrew the condom and, with my left hand drawing his shaft toward me, placed the circle of plastic over his slit.

  As I slowly rolled it down with both hands, I looked up at him.

  His eyelids were drooping, but the dark brown of his eyes was intense enough to send a shudder through my chest. The condom didn’t do anything to make his dick look more tame. If anything it made it look wilder—a beast in a cage and it was my job to tame it.

  I tipped his shaft gently but purposefully—I didn’t want him to bust me for playing—toward my mouth. I licked my lips first, not trying to be coy, just trying like hell not to drool too much, and then licked his cockhead in a slow, thorough circle. I softened my lips and tongue, opened wide and drew him in. I closed my eyes and moaned at the heat and heft of him. I’d wanted this from the first moment I’d seen him naked. Hell, probably before that—when I’d seen him at that party walking toward me, his swagger demanding that I watch and want.

  “Gonna fuck your mouth. Just how you want it.”

  I nodded—please—and opened wide.

  His hands came up to the back of my head, his fingers biting into my scalp. He started up with a slow, shallow thrust. And when I showed him with my lips and tongue and jaw that I could take it, he went deeper, faster. I closed my eyes, letting my other senses take over. He nudged the back of my throat and I sighed, keeping my jaw loose, letting him work me.

  He made a noise, like a sigh or a hiss, and I quickly glanced up at him as he eased off on the thrusting.

  Everything seemed quiet and I realized that I’d been humming and slurping and probably breathing like I was on the last mile of a race. I thought he’d bust me for going at him without waiting for a command. But his expression didn’t seem stern or scolding. His lips were parted, his cheeks were red and his eyes, although still intense, were glowing. He swayed forward, just slightly.

  I reached up to clasp his hips, pressing wet, open-mouthed kisses all along the ridge of his glans and still he didn’t scold.

  “Feels sooooo good,” he rasped. “Not gonna last.”

  God, he was good at disarming me. Never knew what he was gonna do. Keeping me on my toes…and on my knees.

  I raised my brows at him in question.

  He nodded. “Go for it.”

  He didn’t have to tell me twice. I let my hands rove and explore the awesome curves of his ass and I let my tongue lave and twirl and loop around the equally awesome curve of his cockhead.

  My cock bobbed as I worked, smacking against my abs wetly, wanting in on some skin-to-skin action. My whole body ached to meld with his.

  Groaning, I pressed my fingertip against his hole and suckled hard on his dick’s mushroom cap. He tensed, inhaled sharply. Then, with a surprisingly loud shout—“Fuck!”—he thrust forward and up, working himself against my lips. I clasped his shaft with my right hand—leaving my left to continue to play with his pucker—and pumped along in time to the pulses sending liquid heat to the condom’s reservoir.

  My mouth kept watering as I continued to groan along with him. God, I wanted to taste him so bad.

  When the grind of his hips began to slow and his fingers’ clench on my head loosened, I pulled back. I needed to breathe and I needed to come, not necessarily in that order.

  He looked down at me
and smiled. The pleasure in his expression—so many different kinds of pleasure—made me laugh. Without thinking about it, I started working my cock. I was about to pop and waiting might kill me. “Kiss me while I do this,” I begged him.

  “Mmm. No, baby. Gotta let me.” He clasped my shoulders. “Up.”

  I whimpered and he laughed softly. “I’d suggest down on the floor,” he said. He took off the condom and tied it off. He dropped it carefully to the floor. “But it’s stone and the bed is a foot away.”

  With his help, I clambered to my feet. He immediately tumbled us sideways onto the bed. Apparently we had the same idea about desperately needing kisses, because our mouths came together like colliding locomotives. I swear as our teeth clashed and our lips smashed, I could feel the steam and hear the screech of whining brakes. Yeah, because I was whining big time as he took me in hand, helping me along as I thrust against his soft, warm skin, the hard jut of his still-erect cock, the bony knobs of his hipbones.

  “God,” I moaned. “Nick…”

  “That’s it, babe. Let it go.”

  His words shot me through the gate and, as I spurted again and again against his belly and his abs, I let my whole self go, writhing against him, laughing into his kisses, blasting through everything that had ever held me back from feeling pleasure as good as this, as freely as this, shuddering and gasping as I at last shot through the finish line.

  Chapter Ten

  Nick

  WE WERE BOTH busy as hell with work for the rest of the week and when Friday came around we were both feeling…inspired.

  We decided to “christen” every floor of the tower with our awesomely sexy sexing. Well, not every inch of all the stone floors—just floors one, two, three and four. We couldn’t both fit on the attic floor together, and when we’d considered taking turns wanking up there, we’d cracked up when discussing logistics and couldn’t make it up the ladder we were giggling so hard.

  Floor one had yoga mats, so we did it with Josh on his knees and me behind him. After some experimenting, we’d discovered he was a true slut for prostate pleasure and if I worked his hole with a couple of fingers on my left hand while I worked his cock with my right, I could get him to come multiple times on one go. Rubbing off on his ass and thighs was almost—almost—as good as being inside him. Also, his super-ecstatic, multi-orgasmic writhing and groaning and jizzing made it impossible not to follow him to the excellent summit of Climax Mountain.

  Floor two had the bed and the couch. But floor two was also where we’d come up with the “Christen the Tower” idea and we got hot enough while plotting our path that we ended up making out leaning against the wall by the stairs and then watching each other come when we realized we wouldn’t make it to the bed. The stone floor was the goal, but I got a little messy and ended up getting most of my blasts on my shirt instead of the stones.

  Floor three’s episode was my favorite. Josh got all his blankets and spread them on the floor. We hung out there, lying down side-by-side, our legs and arms touching as we watched the dawn light transform the walls and ceiling and books into something truly magical. Maybe it wasn’t the light. Maybe it was the way I was feeling—true happiness a warm, sweet, golden light in my belly, like I’d swallowed the gorgeous glow from Josh’s eyes because when he looked at me he turned that glow into something I could consume and carry inside me and use for sustenance.

  As the soft gray light became more yellow and powerful, the rays pointing like the sun’s friendly fingers at various spots on our bodies, we kissed. Everywhere. Our mouths lingered on places that were already favorites—lips, ears, throats, nipples, dicks—and found new spots they wanted to know better too. The inner swell of Josh’s left bicep became a fave of my tongue and the soft skin on the inside of his knee was good for biting. Josh couldn’t stop nuzzling the space just beneath my armpit and he’d developed an insane talent for lightly tracing the points of the star tattooed above my left ankle. We ended up sixty-nining and, after an orgasm that felt like it went on and on and on, shooting shafts of light inside me the same way the sun was working to heat my skin, we dealt with the condoms and then fell asleep curled together like a sexy yin-yang symbol, my head on Josh’s flank and his head on mine.

  It was on the fourth floor that things got uncomfortable. It was the wee hours of Sunday morning and we were gathering supplies for spending some good times on the top of the tower, when my phone vibrated. I’d had it set to vibrate since arriving at the tower on Friday afternoon, but my backpack had gotten jostled and, in its new position, the little buzzing sound echoed loud enough to be heard across the room.

  “You need to answer that?” Josh asked. In his arms were bundled a bunch of super-soft fleece blankets. I wanted to pull him into my arms and squeeze all of the irresistibleness as a single unit.

  “Nope.” I was thirsty—again—so I walked to the sink to refill the water bottle we’d been keeping close all weekend.

  “How come you never answer your phone while you’re here?”

  I shrugged. “I’ve checked it a couple times.”

  “Yeah,” he said. “I noticed. You checked yours when I checked mine. But I also know you must be ignoring a lot of stuff too. I don’t want you to feel…cut off when you come over here.”

  I screwed the cap on the bottle and walked toward him. I leaned up to kiss his cheek. The skin there was stubbly and bristly and a little bit splotchy. I gave one of the splotches a small lick and then pulled back to look at him. “I want to feel cut off. Here is better than”—I waved my hand toward the stairs—“out there.”

  He smiled. “You don’t like it out there?”

  “Yeah. It’s okay. But when I’m here I don’t like to think about anything else.” I put my arms around him and squeezed what I’d been admiring earlier—Josh’s hard muscles, smooth skin and his fleecey blankets. “Here there are orgasms galore. Insanely awesome books. I get to service the lonely prince in his beautiful tower. It’s the stuff of dreams.”

  It sounded like I was feeding him romantic bullshit, but it was pretty much the truth. Plus, there were other benefits. I’d been getting in a lot of quiet study time and good conversation here. Eating well. Not smoking. Not worrying about maintaining my player rep—

  “It does kind of feel like we’re dreaming when we’re together like this.” He laughed and then pressed his lips to my hair and said, “And that’s why…”

  “That’s why?” The tone of his voice and his hesitation had tension crunching my nerves for the first time since I’d left campus on Friday afternoon.

  I let go of my Josh-blanket bundle and looked into his eyes. His gaze caught mine for a second and then it traveled around the room rapidly.

  “Why I think we should go out more. Maybe on some dates. Or something.” He laughed self-consciously. “Smooth, huh?”

  The nerve crunch in my neck and shoulders loosened and I let out a slow breath. Jesus. For a horrible moment I’d been afraid he was going to kick me to the curb, tell me he was tired of playing Prince in the Tower games with me. I felt like I’d been handed the whole fucking kingdom when I realized all he was saying was that he wanted to spend more time with me.

  I was new at this spending-lots-of-time-with-one-guy thing. And, because of my past history with Josh, I was also a little unsteady about my abilities to…to…

  God, I didn’t even know how to think about it.

  My abilities to be on equal footing with him, maybe? My abilities to be what he needed outside his bed, outside these stone walls?

  I was relieved he wasn’t cutting me off, but as I mulled over the idea of a date—or dates, plural—with Josh, I felt the nerves begin to tighten again.

  I knew he was into me sexually—hell, I could make him come like there was no tomorrow. I loved proving that to myself and, most of all, proving it to him. But “like there was no tomorrow” was the concept I was struggling with. Because if Josh wanted something more than just an amazing fuck from me, I wasn’t
sure there was any tomorrow for us. I didn’t do dates. Most people I knew didn’t do dates. We went to parties or clubs where we found a willing party. We fucked. Or fooled around. We hit repeat with a different party.

  If I tried to picture me and Josh hanging out at some frat house basement, or even hanging out in my room at Vegan House, the image just didn’t gel.

  He shoved hair off my face, sliding his big, warm hand over my jaw and neck. “Did I freak you out again? It’s been a bunch of days since I managed to do that.”

  His smile was crooked and cute and hot. It made my chest ache.

  “What kind of dates were you thinking?” I asked. “Because I don’t, um…”

  “You don’t go to restaurants or parties or parks or movies or take midnight walks or go to concerts—”

  “Okay, okay. I get it. Yes.”

  “Yes, you do those things? Or yes, you’ll do them with me?” His fingers tightened and then released on my neck.

  I sighed. “Yes, I’ll do them with you.” I pressed a kiss against the inside of his forearm.

  His smile sparkled. “Good.”

  “But we don’t have to go to a restaurant or a party or a concert right now, right?”

  “No.” He inhaled sharply when I found his dick hiding underneath the blankets he held.

  “Because I know both of us would be hanging our heads in shame if we didn’t manage to christen all four floors of the tower this weekend.”

  He laughed, his hips starting up a slow grind as I began to stroke his cock. “I can deal with the shame—I know there’s always a next time. But I’d hate if you were disappointed.”

  I reached behind him to cup his ass, smashing the blankets between our bodies, the softness an awesome counterpoint to our hard dicks. As I massaged the taut globes of his perfect butt, I kissed his neck, with lots of teeth and tongue, the way he liked it. “I knew you wouldn’t let me down, baby.”

  Nick—five years ago

  THE LAKE WOODS College field house stank like sweat, rubber and industrial cleaner. Not a scent that typically bugged me, but over the past couple months just a whiff of it made me nervous enough to feel like puking.