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“I’m coming…Nandy…. I’m…”
His response is to clamp down even harder. I thrust in one more time and let the throbbing take over. I burst into Nandy’s mouth, and he swallows, still sucking, inhaling. Determined to take every drop, Nandy pulls away just enough to take another breath and then lick anything off of me he hasn’t yet swallowed, my cock still letting out tiny pulses as it deflates, and my entire body threatens to collapse with pleasure.
Chapter twenty-five
I haven’t ceded control to anyone in a very, very long time. The last time was Lawrence. I hate to even have that man’s name in my head when I’m with TJ. I never thought I would ever want anyone to control me again. And TJ didn’t really take control. Not the way I was prepared to let him. And maybe, just maybe, I’ll do it this way again sometime.
That would require that TJ remain in my life and dammit…I’m trying so very hard not to allow myself to want that. Not to allow myself to entertain the thought, even. That’s how hearts get broken. How hearts get torn out, ripped from the chest, the arteries bled dry and the whole thing tossed to the ground and stomped into shattered bits.
TJ isn’t the man who did that to me. He was right tonight when he reminded me of that. Maybe it is time to give him a chance. He was here tonight, and I loved having him by my side. It surprised me how much I needed it.
And having him watching me play…seeing the pride in his eyes at the concert. I’ve never had that from anyone other than Fynn and my parents.
He’s come twice now. Once at the literal hands of Fynn and then my mouth.
“Shower?”
He grins. “Recovery shower?”
I grin back at him. “How about some water and then shower and it can be any kind of shower you want it to be.”
“I’m still in charge?” he asks, bending over to pick up his briefs, and then thinking better of that idea. Better because I prefer him naked. Especially when I’m not.
“You are,” I say. “For as long as you want to be.” I’d be willing to say he can always be in charge in this apartment if he wants. The club. The club will always be my domain. Always.
He eyes me, and I chuckle, heading to the kitchen. He may not be thirsty, but I am.
I pour him a glass and he chugs it down, as do I. He’s gone quiet.
“Are you okay?”
“Huh?”
“You, TJ, are you okay? Was that not what you expected? Wanted?” I’m momentarily concerned that maybe he isn’t up for this. Maybe the man thing isn’t for him. He’s going to tell me he has changed his mind. Experiment over. But he stayed naked. He chose not to cover up. That means…. what?
“I’m way better than okay,” TJ says and slides up next to me, pressing his naked body against my still mostly clothed one. “But is it okay if I’d rather not be in charge? Not tonight anyway?”
Oh my.
“It’s just, well, this is all new to me…and I like letting you take over. There is something very freeing allowing someone else to take control of this. Take control of me.”
I exhale, my cock hardening by the second with his words. He didn’t fully take control of the blow job. I encouraged him to fuck my mouth, and he did, but I could tell when the sensations took over and he could no longer think. So, my mouth fucked him. And oh man, was that a pleasure I haven’t ever felt. When was the last time I gave a blow job?
Certainly, I’ve given Fynn one or two recently, right? But I can’t recall. I don’t recall a lot of the things I do with Fynn, not because I don’t enjoy being with him. I very much do. I like how well he knows me. How little instruction I have to offer and how willing he is to cede to whatever type of submission I require on any occasion. But Fynn and I are just friends with benefits. It’s transactional. He has Derek for the really fun stuff.
I take TJ’s hand in mine and kiss his shoulder, working my way across to his collarbone and then throat and up to his ear. I nibble on the lobe, and he lets out a soft moan.
“I could get very used to those lips all over me,” he says.
I grin and nibble again.
“Let’s go shower.” I pull him away from the kitchen island, fingers twined together, and lead him into the bathroom.
“Undress me,” I order.
He does not hesitate and the flare in his eyes at the sternness in my voice tells me this really is what he wants. He wants to be given instructions. Not instructions. Orders. And he very much wants to comply.
His hands unbutton my shirt—his shirt and he floats it down my shoulders. To my surprise, he follows it down to the floor, so he is on his knees before me. Kneeling before the tent barely contained in my pants—his pants.
