When Irish Eyes Are Sparkling

by Tom Collins

  She went over and gave Liam an equally warm hug, thanking him again for the flowers. Liam and I shook hands with Dom, then waved good-bye until their car was out of the lot and turning the corner.

  Arms around each other, we headed for the subway. Maybe it was being drunk on good food—as I hadn’t had any wine—or maybe it was Sandy’s ease with Liam and her good wishes, but I didn’t mind when Liam slipped a hand into my back pocket. My own arm stayed around his back as we boarded the subway and rode on home together.

  We stepped through the door and I set my gift on the dresser. Liam came up behind me. I felt his breath on the back of my neck, which always threw me. As he seemed so much younger than me, I always expected him to be shorter. I kept forgetting that he had a few inches on me.

  He kissed the back of my neck, raising the hairs there. Heat sparked all the way down to my ass, to my cock, to my damned inner gland, which, I swear, started to salivate for him.

  “I’d like to give you a belated birthday present, too,” he said, kissing and nipping at my earlobe. My breath quickened, and my palms started to sweat.

  “I think you are my present,” I heard myself murmur.

  “A gift that keeps on giving,” he chuckled, reaching around to unzip my dress pants. “Will you let me give you what I want to give you?”

  His tone was playful, sending chills up my spine, but there was just enough of a plaintive edge to it that I knew what he was after; my consent to let him explore me as he had during that first blowjob. He had to be wondering why I kept hesitating on that score, and how could I explain to him that I feared he might try something he didn’t like and stop, or grow tired and bored with me, like past lovers?

  Or that I was scared of losing control and driving him away?

  His breath was still there, hot on my neck, his warm touch finding its way through the opening in my pants, melting my resistance. Maybe it was an excuse to give into temptation, but I convinced myself that it wasn’t fair to keep on denying him. I was older and far more experienced; there was no reason I shouldn’t be able to handle this.

  I leaned back into his embrace, surrendering. “I’m in your hands.”

  *Liam*

  I had my hand inside his zipper, palming his package through his shorts, when he said the magic words, “I’m in your hands.” I took them to heart, interpreting them as, “Do whatever you want.” I retrieved my hand and pulled him over to the couch because he was already beginning to plump and I loved too much the feel of him hardening in my mouth to let a floppy dick get away from me. I opened his pants, looking down to see what I was doing, and started shoving his slacks and shorts down together.

  I crouched, balancing on the balls of my feet, and scooped him into my mouth with my tongue, making him gasp a little at the unexpected sensation. I breathed him in, filling my head with the musky, citrus scent of his cologne mixed with the scent of his warm, clean skin, and moaned. He groaned and grabbed my head. I felt a sudden increase in his length and girth. Moving slowly, I savored every instant, my tongue sweeping over his glans in languid strokes. I concentrated all my attention on him, his smell, his taste—a bit more tart than usual—the constantly changing texture of the skin on his perfect cock. I loved how different he was from me, shorter, but almost twice as fat.

  I flicked the tip of my tongue over his seam, dug it into his slit, dusted it over the helmet, swirled it under the ridge, windshield-wipered on his circumcision scar and made the hottest, sloppiest sounds as I did it. He was up and hard as hell now. I didn’t want him coming, and he was starting to puff and hump, so I forced myself off. My mind echoed his groan of disappointment. Standing, I caught his mouth and soul-kissed him, while caressing the small of his back and the upper swell of his sweet bubble-butt.

  Breaking away I said, “You get undressed while I get some towels.” I turned to go into the bathroom, but turned back to say, “That’s mine, so keep your hands off it,” pointing at his hard-on. He laughed and started undoing the little buttons on his dress shirt. I went and got a couple towels from the bathroom and collected the condoms and lube from beside the bed. I dropped the box and bottle on the cushions and spread his towels over the loveseat. He didn’t scrimp on towel quality, that’s for sure. They were huge, fluffy and soft and they felt great against the naked skin; fine, silken Egyptian cotton.

  Oliver helped me get as naked as he was and started to go down, but I stopped him, pulling him back up and into another kiss. He tried to go for my cock with his hand and I blocked him. I didn’t want him getting me excited because I wouldn’t be able to pay attention to what I was doing. He was getting frustrated; I could feel it, so I distracted him by smoothing my palms over his glutes, squeezing them hard. Pulling them apart, I grazed my fingers along the bottom of his crevasse from top to bottom, found his pucker and rubbed it up and down. He shuddered and forgot about my cock; too busy clutching my shoulders to stay on his feet.

  I helped him to sit and straddled his lap to explore his neck and shoulders with my mouth. I was at the curve of his shoulder when I gravitated toward the upper, outside edge of his pectoral muscle, right where the arm met the torso. I’ve always found that spot, on man or woman, sexy as all hell—there and the small of the back. I stroked the flat of my tongue over that edge, up to where it curved into his bicep, with a murmur of appreciation.

  He lifted his arm and I didn’t even think about it, I dove in and ate out his pit like I would pussy. If it would make him feel good then I wanted to do it, it was as simple as that. He groaned like a motorboat and rolled his hips against me, gripping my ass with his free hand to pull me against him. When I came up for air from under his other arm, he was breathing like a bellows and his nipples were hard. I started torturing them with my tongue and teeth.

  He had a death grip on my ass with both hands, was trying to slip a finger in my hole and was full out fucking my stomach by the time I was ready to move on. I slithered down to the floor, pushed his legs farther apart and leaned in for another deep breath of Hugo Boss Eau De Oliver. I went over his hips and legs, inch by inch with my mouth and fingers until his balls eased down and stayed down for a good half-minute. I moved in, got under them and let one drop into my mouth.

  I sucked and rolled it around with my tongue, pressing it against the roof of my mouth. I switched to the other, humming with pleasure at the way he sucked air through his teeth and rocked his pelvis. I looked up at him and we locked eyes.

  “Ah, yeah, suck my balls,” he hissed through clenched teeth.

  A sharp ripple of excitement rolled down my inner thighs from my groin. I worked his balls until he became restless, his hands insisting I pay attention to his cock. Standing, I flipped him over and got him up onto his knees so he knelt bracing himself on the back of the loveseat. I treated his reverse side to the same inch-by-inch attention I had given his front, beginning at the top and lingering the longest over the small of his back. He undulated under my hands like a stroked cat. My face, neck and tongue were all aching like mad by the time I finished with his toes, but I loved every minute and still had the piece de resistance waiting for me.

  Until now, I’d avoided the area between his back and legs, but now I ran my hands over his high, firm cheeks, kneading them like bread dough. His pink eye winked at me, inviting me in. I ran my thumbs up and down the outer edge of his crack, down to circle his hole then back up to the edge again. I was stalling until my tongue felt like it could take on another job. I remembered again him saying rough was ok, even good and wondered how rough I could get. Drawing my left hand back, I gave his glute a stinging slap. He gasped loud and whipped his head around to stare at me with incredulity, but he also fucked air and groaned. I gave him my most innocent smile. He watched me with hooded eyes while I massaged the pink handprint I’d left on his creamy skin.

  He kept watching and my innocent smile morphed to a leering grin as I leaned in and licked the path my thumbs had been caressing seconds ago. His motorboat moan started up
at once and got louder the closer I got to his pucker. By the time I got to the outer edge of crinkle, it was quivering—almost gasping—in anticipation. I gave him a thorough slathering before latching my lips around. I treated it like I would a clitoris, sucking and licking it with random flickers of both the rough and smooth sides of my tongue, sometimes circling it or rubbing in concentrated strokes right over the center. He was shaking wildly, humping my stiff tongue and howling into the sofa cushions. I was echoing his sounds of pleasure all the while, sending vibrations into him through his sensitive sphincter, as my cock responded to his pleasure by plumping a little more.

  I could have gone on forever, but my mouth on him had let slip the sexual beast he kept trying to hide from me. He turned and grabbed me under the arms and lifted me up onto the couch, giving me a first hand example of what it means to be “man handled.” I knew he was strong, but he lifted me as if I were made of paper. When he saw I was only half-hard he looked at me accusingly.

  “I was busy,” I shrugged.

  He growled and slid down between my legs to get me up. I didn’t intend to stop him, considering the fire I’d seen burning in the whisky pools of his eyes. The animal inside was loose and pre-verbal thanks to my prolonged foreplay. I wasn’t worried about being hurt, I knew what he needed most right now was to have free reign. He was down on me, nose in my pubes, sucking and grunting and swallowing. Closing my eyes, I tangled my fingers in his hair and let myself start to fall into the sexual stupor the least of his touches induced in me. I felt a cool, slick finger probe my backside and I spread my legs further apart, welcoming his exploration. I loved his fingers in my ass more than anything else he liked doing, even though he’d never given me more than two.

  He surprised me by inserting two fingers straight away. When he hit my prostate, it felt like he shot a silver bullet up my spine and along all my limbs. I’d never felt anything like it; my body convulsed, I yelped, “Wow-huh-wow,” and my hips did a hula. To my delight, he slipped a third in and worked them hard while sucking my balls. I was stiff as a girder now and ready to fuck, but not the way he wanted. I pulled him up while I slid down so my hips were hanging off the cushions. He stood to climb on. I caught his hip with one hand to hold him back and pulled my nuts up out of the way with my other hand, pleading with my eyes. I wanted him in me so bad, but he always seemed so reluctant, I was scared to come out and ask; what if he outright said no? I saw understanding light his eyes, the fire flaring higher than ever, but he hesitated.

  “Please, Oliver,” I croaked, “I’m losing my mind from waiting for you.” This was as close as I could come. He fell to his knees and grabbed the condoms.

  “No,” I said too loud, making him jerk back from the box as if it were hot. I sat up, getting right up next to his face, hovering my lips over his and looking into his eyes.

  “Just you…” I kissed him, sweeping my tongue over his teeth, “just me…” our tongues danced, “nothing between us.” I stopped his protest with another assault on his mouth. “This first time, at least, I want your cum inside me.”

  I knew I’d won when he shuddered, shoved me prone once more and reached for the lube. He was nothing like gentle, but he wasn’t brutal either. He pushed as hard as he had to, to get past my body’s natural resistance, and then pushed in slow and steady. I think he was working on the band-aid principle, just get it over with and it’ll hurt less in the long run. I agreed, so I chewed my lips, clutched the cushions and tried not to make it sound like it hurt as much as it did. The burning, stretching sensation was so intense I lost focus on everything else and just endured it, knowing it would stop hurting. It had to or no one would ever do this again.

  Oliver started jacking my now flaccid cock with the hand he’d used to lube himself. A tingle of pleasure shot down to my stretched and fiery hole. I sucked in a breath and shifted. He growled and thrust hard, slamming past my prostate and seating himself fully. I cried out in both pain and pleasure as his hand worked my stiffening cock.

  He must have decided he didn’t like our position because he let go of my cock and shoved me further up onto the couch with his hips and hands until he was kneeling on the cushions between my spread legs. He lifted me up, handling me as if I weighed no more than a rag doll, so my shoulders were braced on the back. I got my heels on the edge of the couch for extra support, and he held me up by my cheeks. All the moving about had hurt, but each jostle had hurt less and felt better. Once he had us positioned to his liking, he started moving inside me. Easy at first, with a little care, but when I didn’t protest he relaxed and eased into a steady rhythm of long smooth strokes. He interspersed this with short, hard jabs. Both were interrupted by balls-to-cheeks grinding, which caused intense waves of fire to rush through my guts and over my skin.

  My entire being had four points of reference—his cock riding inside me, so hard and fat, his hand on my cock, jacking me fast, his mouth latched onto the artery in my throat, sucking and grazing his teeth over the skin and the thumb he was kneading my nipple with. He’d reduced me to insensate writhing without even seeming to try and I was hitting notes I’d only ever heard from Brendan while he was performing.

  He was biting my shoulder hard enough to leave a mark and growling deep in his chest as he humped into me, feverish and jittery. Knowing he was getting close increased my excitement to such an extent that I had to take his hand off my shaft because it was too much. His head came up from my shoulder and his arms wrapped around my back so his hands could clutch my shoulders. I slid my hands up his chest and neck and into his hair. I brought him down to me to suck on his tongue. He brushed his tight abs over my shaft and the camel’s back snapped.

  The lights in the room went stroboscopic and I shot myself in the chin. I think I got him too; he jerked and hammered into me. I must’ve blacked out because the next thing I knew we were spooning on the couch with me in the front and Oliver was holding a towel between my legs. Oliver saw my concern over the towel.

  “You’re fine, I checked, just leaking,” he said with a grin and I relaxed against him.

  “Fuck a duck…” I breathed. “We’re doing that every day from now on!”

  Oliver laughed, sounding relieved for some reason, but then sobered. “You should have let me wear a rubber. This wasn’t safe.”

  “Safe enough,” I replied, snuggling back against him. “You’re always careful on the job. I know you are. I’ve used protection with the few others I’ve been with, and trust me, none of those condoms broke. I checked them obsessively, though more because I didn’t want her coming to me unexpectedly with one of those sticks they pee on, than because I was worried they were diseased,” I laughed.

  We moved to the bed, taking up the same position as we’d been in on the couch with him wrapped around me from behind. I drifted in and out after that, feeling his breath in my hair and his lips on my neck. He petted me with soft hands, like he never had before, not to arouse, but to love. I sighed with utter contentment, my ass still humming, and let loose of the last few strands of consciousness.

  *Oliver*

  Wednesday morning at five a.m., I left Liam deep in exhausted sleep and looking irresistible in my bed. I couldn’t help glancing, guiltily, at the livid hickey I’d left on his neck. I was willing to bet no girl had ever handled him so roughly, nor marked him like that.

  “Damn waiter keeps earning bigger tips,” I muttered setting the key he’d returned to me atop the dress clothes he wore last night. I was half elated, half my usual self, meaning fretful and worrying.

  What I’d feared might happen last night almost had. Almost. Liam had done such a good job driving me crazy,—where the fuck had he learned to rim like that?—heating my blood until it blazed, that my damned masculine libido had just about snapped its chain. Hell, all I had to do was remember him lying on the couch, spread and willing and I got carnal flashbacks.

  His voice had quavered as he asked me to take him and those great, green eyes had pleaded. And I’d cr
acked like an egg. It was why I’d selfishly and recklessly given into his request to go bareback, even though I knew better; why I’d pumped into him, and damn it! I hadn’t been careful enough! I’d heard him catch his breath in pain. I ought to have stopped. Slowed down. Used more lube for Christ’s sake!

  I was supposed to be the responsible one here.

  I’d managed not to hurt him, thank God. He might be a little sore this morning, but it’d been his first time. That wasn’t unexpected. And he had enjoyed it. He’d grinned in pure bliss afterwards. That’d been a relief. He hadn’t shied away from me; he’d wanted to do it again.

  Truth was, he’d given me one of the best fucks of my life. No man had ever taken that much time and effort in giving me pleasure. A birthday present, naked as naked can be, and confounding. I was used to sex being fast and furious, not fluid, like water, ebbs and flows from one partner to the other. I couldn’t figure out how he’d done that, made the ecstasy seem to pass between us.

  Thinking about how magical it’d been, remembering how hot and tight Liam had felt around my stiff, throbbing cock, his sounds of pleasure, eased my anxieties. I cast my mind back over the splendid dinner, and back to the cactus I’d passed this morning on my dresser. He probably didn’t know how moved I was by that stupid plant.

  Gradually, my mood shifted from self-deprecating to mushy-romantic. By the time I reached work I was floating. I had a wonderful lover, and it was turning into a wonderful summer, and this was going to be a wonderful day.

  Even “Fire Week Madness” couldn’t dim my feelings of enchantment with, well, everything. While seeing to minor burns at a block-party barbeque that had gone up in flames, I cheerfully complimented my patients on the beauty of their shady, tree-lined street. Immediately after that we were sent to an alley fire where kids had set off fireworks in the trash bins; two old ladies were suffering from smoke inhalation. They were both wearing oxygen masks, but they nodded as I sat with them in the back of the rig and talked about the importance of kids having grandmothers.