Page 65 of Saving Pookie

And by wanting more, I mean... well, you know.

I swallow dryly, and I must stop pumping Pookie's cock because he glances at me with longing eyes.

"What?" he asks breathlessly, as he continues to stroke me with learned perfection. He's gleaned everything there is to know about my cock. Knows exactly what to do and when to do it. Knows how to make me fucking lose my fucking mind. He palms his slick hand over the slit and my chest spasms, to which he responds with a devilish grin. "Were you going to say something?"

"I..." I stammer, unable to fully speak because I'm on the verge of painting my stomach in cum. "Fuckkkk." I groan, shooting hot ropes of cum all over his fist and my chest. He pumps me through my release, chewing into his bottom lip as he watches me intently. He fucking knows how sensitive I get after coming and revels in the way he turns me inside out as he continues to torture me. I spasm beneath his touch as random sounds are thrown from the back of my throat like loose rocks.

When he's done toying with me, he pulls his hand to his mouth and licks it clean. "You were saying something?"

It's so much easier to not say it. Instead, I'm just going to do it. I shuffle backward on the couch and lay my head in his lap. I think I'm being coy, but when he grabs his cock and holds it still, I realize he's sniffed me out. He knows I'm about to suck his cock for the first time, and by the way the crown throbs, he's going to enjoy it.

What if I bite it?Oh my god, could you imagine the pain? Tamra used to scrape her teeth on the head, and that was bad enough. Fuck, what if I scrape my teeth on his cock and he thinks I'm a beaver? Does he know I've been practicing on bananas for the last few weeks in a desperate attempt to gear myself up for this? Does he know all those bananas were thrown into the trash after our encounters with teeth marks in the peel?

Just fucking do it.

I grab the base of his cock and squeeze it, which elicits an elongated gasp from Pookie. I give his shaft a few strokes and lower my head to his cock, but don't quite take it in my mouth yet. Instead, I watch it carefully, watching as the slit throbs, precum pooling in the void. He brushes a hand through my curls, as patient as always. I wouldn't begrudge him one bit for shoving my mouth down on his cock like I've done so many times before, but he doesn't.

He caresses his hand through my hair, gently working up my confidence to do this very gay thing. This very gay thing I want to do. This very gay thing I needto do.

I lap my tongue over the head, and I'm met with a salty taste that doesn't quite wreak havoc on the senses. And when I take him into my mouth, I'm more aware of the way his body reacts to me than I am the taste.

And the taste? Neutral. Tastes like skin and salt, and my Old Spice body soap he swears he hasn't been using. Busted.

I'm not a professional, and so I take a quick break, removing my mouth from his cock. I continue to stroke him, though. His cock is slick from my spit, and his entire body rumbles every time I stroke over his crown. The television steals my attention as the spin the bottle scene begins to play out. I remember it vividly.

First, Pookie kisses Maverick, and I have to say, no bueno.I won't let Pookie know the sight of this fills me with jealousy because I'm acutely aware of the way jealousy has affected him in the past. And then, as he crawls across the circle of friends and kisses me, I can't help but think about how far we've come.

Also, there's this look on my face that I hadn't realized was there. It's almost like a reckoning in my eyes as Pookie retreats, leaving me wanting more. Watching myself on television is going to be an experience like no other. I think I'm going to learn a lot about myself. For example, I didn't know it then, or maybe I simply couldn't understand it, but there's no way in hell that version of myself I'm looking at on the screen didn't want Pookie that night.

Now that the good shit is over, I take Pookie's cock back in my mouth. Sucking dick is easier than I expected it to be. Knock on wood, I haven't scraped Pookie's wood with my teeth yet, and honestly? It's really fucking fun to know I have this much power over him.

He cries out with the sexiest moans, his fingers continuing to dance in my hair. As he nears release, he begins to thrust upward, which is a little bit of a challenge. I gag the first few times, but quickly get the hang of it.

Then, I hear my voice on the screen—a confessional. "So, apparently this loser could use a friend in this group. Here comes Braxton to the rescue, like always."

"I do not recall saying that," I mouth around Pookie's dick, but it comes out all mumbled.

Apparently, those words on the screen do something to Pookie because he's no longer gentle. He grabs the back of my head and forces me down to the hilt, my lips melting against his groomed groin.

Totally fair.

I deserve this.

He twists his fingers into my curls.

"Fuckkk," he screams, bucking his hips upwards and shooting his release against the back of my throat and tongue. It's easy enough to swallow, but it's also a lot. The taste is kind of pleasant, kind of not, but is also irrelevant because nothing comes close to how this feels.

I continue sucking him like a lollipop until he's spent and I'm left gasping for air.

I'm starting to think I might be gay.

Our lives changed after the first episode aired. Suddenly, we were all recognized on the street. Despite this, I still convinced Pookie to head out to the tracks after the airing of the third episode. We snorted a few lines of our favorite party drug and hopped on the train over to Brooklyn.

While standing in line, we heard it all:

You're the guys from that show!

My condolences for having to deal with that crazy ex-girlfriend of yours.