Getting Lucky

by Daryl Banner

  Then, finally: “You want to lick the sweat off my body?”

  I swallowed hard. I had literally, all my life, never been asked that question before. And certainly not from someone who looked as devastatingly gorgeous as Lucas. “I … I didn’t … I-I meant …”

  World’s Worst Stutterer Award goes to James McKinney.

  He bit his lip, still looking dubious. Despite all my sincerity (and making a stammering fool of myself), he seemed to think that there was a possibility I was actually messing with him.

  Did Lucas expect me to convince him?

  Do I want to?

  I may never know what came over me in that moment. Maybe I was tired of waiting and agonizing. Maybe I convinced myself that Lucas wanted me to prove my statement beyond a doubt.

  Maybe I literally lost my damned mind and wanted to risk it all for a chance to take advantage of a situation I was certain I’d never find myself in ever again, no matter how the stars aligned.

  I leaned forward, closing the measly three or four inches of distance between his sweaty chest and my longing face.

  I opened my mouth.

  And for a solid, glorious second or two, my whole being was consumed by the very intense aroma of Lucas’s hard labor.

  My nostrils filled to the back of my throat with his warm, thick, masculine scent as my tongue came out and dragged itself along the wet, warm skin of his sweaty chest.

  What in the fuck was I doing?

  And why in the hell isn’t he stopping me?

  It was like a goddamned drug. I couldn’t help myself, even if I wanted to.

  And I don’t want to.

  My heart was up in my throat and my lungs and my mouth were filled with nothing but him.

  I could have died happy right there.

  The second I regained my senses, I pulled back. I withdrew my tongue so fast, the back of my head bumped the glass behind me.

  Then our eyes were locked on one another’s.

  And I had no idea what he was thinking.

  I couldn’t close my mouth, and I couldn’t look away from him. I needed to know that I didn’t just make a horrible mistake.

  Slowly, a look of amusement softened his expression. Then a crooked half-grin spread his lips. “You liked that, huh?”

  I think my heart just stopped.

  I couldn’t answer him.

  He took one more small step toward me, like an experiment. I had no more room to give him; he took it all. His mere presence now pinned me to the window. His body was right there, emitting wave after wave of his manly heat against my expectant, drunken face. If I so much as stuck out my tongue, I’d be tasting Lucas’s sweat-dripping pec for the second time.

  “I don’t get you, James.”

  His words came out in a curious tone, adrift in thoughts. I met his eyes nervously. “What do you mean?”

  “I don’t get what you want.”

  “I …” How do I answer this? What does Lucas want? “I … I … just want to make you happy.”

  “But why? What’s so special about me?” His hardened gaze trailed down my face, then back up to my eyes. “And if you make me happy, then who the hell’s gonna make you happy?”

  “You,” I answered too quickly, then clenched shut my eyes, wishing I’d chosen to swallow that word instead of spit it out.

  “Me.” He chewed on that for a bit. “Me and my sweaty self.”

  My face flushed. I don’t know if it was from the literal body heat that raged like a bonfire between us, or if it was because of the almost mocking way in which he said “my sweaty self”.

  “I’m not gonna lie to you, James,” he murmured, having no idea what it did to me when he said my name while standing so close to me. “I’m pretty damned hard right now.”

  That was the last thing I expected him to say.

  I was getting lightheaded in the most exciting way possible. Way too fast, Lucas was claiming his power over me. I doubt he even knew what he was doing to me—the fantasies racing past my mind, tormenting me, taunting me—and how quickly my pants were beginning to stretch from my own hardness.

  Was he seeing how much he could get away with? Or was he just testing the waters?

  You know … to see where else I might want to put my tongue.

  “Me too,” I caught myself responding.

  I couldn’t even begin to describe how overwhelming it was to have Lucas that close to me for such a long period of time. I just desperately wanted to kiss him. I wanted to be all his. I wanted him to own me in every way without a damned care for my stupid feelings or what did or didn’t make me happy.

  He was all I wanted. Every inch of him. Every drop of sweat. Every mischievous grin and knowing smirk.

  “You wanna lick me again?”

  I knew right then that he was a telepathic sex demon who needed to get out of my head before I lost my mind. “What?”

  “You heard me.”

  If he kept this up, I’d be all melted on the floor and he’d have no more James to torment.

  Of course, it had to occur to me that we were still getting to know each other. Lucas was only nineteen and had little to no experience with other guys. This was very new territory to him.

  I had to teach him. I had to give him permission.

  Which I found to be an ironic circumstance, considering that I wanted him in complete control of my pleasure.

  So I lifted my chin to him and gave him the push I thought he needed. “Why don’t you make me?”

  His eyes flashed with surprise. “Make you?”

  “Yeah, tough guy.” I was totally goading him.

  “You mean … make you lick me?”

  “Yeah.”

  Watch me press all his buttons.

  The tough guy came out in him right then, clumsy and new to the role as he was at first. He slipped a hand almost gently behind my head, then pulled my face into his chest. I melted right against him, unable (and unwilling) to lift one finger to fight him off. I was his ragdoll as he smothered me with his masculine scent.

  He didn’t say a word. Maybe he’s nervous, too. Maybe he has no idea what he’s doing.

  I parted my lips and let my tongue out to play. As if tasting to make sure a soup isn’t too hot, I tentatively let out my tongue. I felt him stiffen at the wet touch of my tongue, but he didn’t pull back or recoil. Instead, he seemed to hold my head firmer against him, as if encouraging me.

  I wouldn’t need any more damned encouragement.

  I angled my face better and dragged my tongue up and down his pec, slowly and smoothly.

  A deep, resonant moan issued from within his chest.

  Holy shit, he’s getting into this.

  My tongue made a short journey across his chest to his nipple. I wrapped my lips around it, sucking lightly as my tongue danced and teased it. I heard Lucas open his mouth above me, letting his breaths out jaggedly one at a time. He was enjoying it.

  I moved to the other pec, fresh with new slick sweat and ripe with his virile aroma. Lucas kept his firm hold of the back of my head, forcing me to continue doing all the work with my tongue.

  Well, I wouldn’t quite say “forced”. It’s difficult to claim that I was forced to worship his chest, especially when I realized that I wasn’t resisting him in the least.

  And then something happened. Something unexpected.

  Something that came from a deep, desperately starved part of my soul. Something primal. Something animal.

  Something that held absolutely no regard to what Lucas—or anyone else—would think or say about my actions.

  Something uninhibited and free.

  I pulled up off of his chest, opened my mouth, and planted my lips upon his.

  He gripped my head now with both his hands, plunging into the kiss and matching my desperate, ravenous vigor.

  I let out my tongue, invading his lips, and then he followed suit, our tongues introduced to one another as they wrestled. I tasted him. I craved him. I gorged on the sweet,
inviting flavor of Lucas, hungry for every morsel of strength he gave me in that kiss.

  God, I couldn’t get enough of him. Not in that moment. Not in the middle of every tortured night that week when he held me against him in my bed. Not in my daydreams at the bank when I thought about when I’d get to see him next.

  Not ever.

  He pulled away from the kiss, then gripped both sides of my face with his powerful hands.

  I opened my eyes to the sight of his flushed, excited face as he stared at me, long, hard, and greedily. I couldn’t have predicted at all what he was about to do. Considering his expression, I was prepared for him to do one of about a hundred different things.

  Instead, his face pinched with uncertainty, and he asked, “Is this what you really want?”

  I wasn’t expecting the more sensitive approach. “What?”

  “You enjoy this?” Lucas was asking sincerely, not mockingly. “Kissing me? Licking my chest? This is what you’re into? This is what you really want?”

  Why did he pick right then to ask that, after already having mashed my face against his pecs like a locker room washcloth?

  “I’m enjoying this. Y-Yes. Very much.”

  “Me too,” he said right back. “So you wanna keep going?”

  I was still catching my breath, and he was actually asking me if I wanted to keep going. My hunger for him is so insatiable, I might suffocate in his intoxicating sex before ever admitting that I don’t have the strength to continue.

  With the last breath I had left in me, I let out a word: “Yes.”

  “Good. I’m so fucking hard.”

  His words, coupled with my fantasies, and further coupled with the powerful authority I wanted him to have over me, gave me the idea. “I want to suck your cock.”

  Lucas’s eyes glazed over with shock and excitement. “What?”

  “Make me,” I begged him. “Make me suck your cock.”

  His face was flushing. I had totally caught him off-guard. “You want me to—?”

  “Yes,” I blurted. “Please, Lucas. Take charge. I want you to take charge. Put me on my knees. Make me do it.”

  He was still trying to catch his breath after our fevered kiss. I doubt my sudden demand made it any easier for him.

  But after only a brief moment of hesitation, in a voice that was almost gentle, Lucas leaned forward, his beautiful face a mere inch from mine, and said, “On your knees.”

  There was so little room between us that I had to spread my legs slightly to kneel. His feet were between my knees now, as if his presence kept my legs apart, my swelling crotch exposed to him. He could kick me right in my balls if he wanted.

  I looked up at him, my eyes locking with his. Despite the look of curiosity in his eyes, Lucas was like a king staring down from a mountain of shirtless, glossy, rippling muscle. His hands were balled up into fists at his sides, and his abdomen slowly expanded and contracted with each of his patient, controlled breaths.

  Did he need more guidance? “I’ll do anything you say,” I told him right then, even as he turned into the man from my fantasies before my hungry eyes. “No matter what. I’ll do it. I’m yours.”

  He squinted slightly, as if mulling over my words. That made me just as nervous as it did excited. What’s he thinking? It tortured me, not knowing.

  My hunger for him to dominate me was insatiable, and watching him think and not knowing his thoughts was too much to bear. “Tie up my hands,” I blurted out, completely incapable of controlling my mouth.

  That request really surprised him. “You serious?”

  I pulled off my tie at once, unraveled it, then lifted it up to him like an offering. My heart pounded with excitement.

  And after a second of hesitation, Lucas actually took the tie.

  I offered him my hands. “Tie them up. Make me helpless.”

  My heart was racing so fast, I could barely get out the words.

  At last, my ceaseless sexual desire outweighed my fear. I was desperate for him to own me in every way.

  Without saying a word, he grabbed hold of both my hands. I was so fucking ready to be bound up for his pleasure.

  Then, unexpectedly, he pulled both of my hands behind my back. With a smart-ass smirk on his face, he bent me downward for access, then wrapped my own tie around my wrists—twice—and tied it into a tight knot, binding them together.

  When he was finished, he let go of my bound-up hands, which fell behind me, and grabbed hold of my chin, lifting my head back up, but keeping me on my knees. With just two little tugs of my wrists, I discovered Lucas did a very notable job with his tying; my hands weren’t going anywhere.

  Then he spoke his first order: “Open your mouth.”

  I opened my mouth at once, as commanded. My nerves were a wreck, having no idea what he was planning.

  When his hands went for his shorts, I about lost all sense. He slowly pulled the front of them down, revealing the sizeable bulge in his boxer briefs.

  “Damn, you’re thirsty,” he taunted me.

  My face flushed red as I closed my mouth.

  “Open.”

  I opened my mouth right back up. His voice was so strong and commanding, there was no way I couldn’t immediately obey. I was compelled utterly to do whatever he said.

  That made him chuckle, the instantaneous way in which I obeyed. “Shit, James. You really weren’t kidding. Tied up and at my total mercy.” He scrunched up his face as he stared down at me like his new pet puppy who just performed a little trivial trick to impress him. “You’ll really do anything I say, huh?”

  I nodded, my mouth hanging open.

  “Anything at all?”

  I nodded again.

  “Okay. Keep your eyes up here, on mine,” he told me.

  While he stared down at me, his sexy power emanating and beating down on me like rays of sunlight, he pulled out his cock—which, of course, I couldn’t see, since I had to keep my eyes on his.

  My peripheral vision did not lie: Lucas was huge.

  “After such a long, hard day at work,” he went on, verbally toying with me as he held his big cock, “I bet you were looking forward to kicking back, relaxing, and enjoying a nice, calming evening with me, weren’t you? But instead of that, I’ve got you on your knees and following my every command like a little pet.” He tilted his head. “My little pet. Keep that mouth open.”

  I opened my mouth a little more.

  A tension-filled moment passed between us, eye-to-eye.

  To my equal parts agony and excitement, he laid the tip of his massive cock on my lips, then let go, letting it rest there.

  My mouth quivered beneath it, unmoving, still as a statue, as I stared up at Lucas beseechingly. With just one shift of my face, his cock would slide right into my warm, wet, awaiting mouth.

  He crossed his arms, studying me for a while. I felt like he was deciding how far he wanted to take this. “You like my dick?”

  I nodded carefully, keeping his cock balanced on my lips.

  “Go ahead,” he coaxed me, almost sweetly. “Go ahead. Give it one little lick. Show your new favorite housemate how much you love it with one little lick from your tongue.”

  Every word he uttered worked to melt my insides. With a sultry, smooth, yet forceful voice like Lucas’s, which dripped with youth and maleness and cockiness, it took very little effort on his part to make me squirm.

  Still looking at only his eyes, I brought my tongue to my lips. It touched the underside of his cock immediately. Even with just barely a taste of it, the skin of his cock was heaven to my tongue.

  I dared to lick—slowly, slowly—one long lick up to the head of his cock, then stopped, leaving it still balanced on my parted lips.

  My heart was pounding, and it took every bit of my resolve to keep from opening my mouth more and letting him inside. Damn, did I want to let him inside.

  Whether he was hard already or was just made more hard by the tease of my tongue, I felt him flex on my lips right t
hen.

  And I could see the look of yearning in his eyes.

  He wants this as badly as I do.

  He let out another amused chuckle as a thought occurred to him. “You know, all I have to do is thrust my hips a little, and my dick would hit the back of your throat. You realize that, right?”

  I swallowed hard at those words.

  I want it so bad.

  “Just a little thrust …” he teased, then shifted his hips ever slightly forward.

  His dick slid half an inch into my mouth.

  I opened wider.

  His lips curled upward. His eyes had a playful glint in them. He was having fun, learning all the boundaries and experimenting with this whole new hot dynamic that was developing between us by the second—as was clearly evident by his steel-hard cock.

  And my stretched-open mouth, hungry for him.

  And my bound hands at my back, which aren’t going anywhere.

  He placed his hands on the window over my head. That put his body in a particularly powerful pose over me with the tip of his dick pressed right at the entrance to my mouth, ready to thrust in at any moment, ready to have every inch of it swallowed.

  It was overwhelming, the amount of power he exerted over my kneeling, hands-bound, expectant form.

  And then he thrust inside.

  I shut my eyes with a wince and gagged at first, then opened my throat right up for him. He stretched my mouth with that first shove, sending my mind into a spiral of hysteria.

  I couldn’t believe he actually did it. I thought I’d never get to taste him—not like this.

  Then he began to slowly fuck my mouth, drawing his cock out halfway, then driving it back in. I gagged a second time, but found my pace as I acclimated to his. Steady thrust after steady thrust, I put all of my love into sucking his cock.

  That’s what I called it: I made love to his cock with my mouth right there. I made sweet, sweet love to it. I was in the clouds.

  Normally, I hate gagging. It’s the worst damned sensation in the world, feeling like there’s something in your mouth or throat that’s too much to handle.

  But when the reason for your gagging—or your sore knees, or your slightly-overstretched thighs, or your aching mouth muscles, or your bound hands, or your discomfort at having your gag reflex tested every five seconds—is because you’re at the mercy of a beautiful, demanding hunk standing over you, you enjoy every pain and every pleasure, good and bad and all that lies between.