Page 49 of These Secret Years

He inches my t-shirt up, revealing the trail of hair leading to the dark, trimmed thatch of it above my cock. He runs his fingers through it as he lowers himself to his knees. I turn to put him between my legs.

“Can I touch you?” I ask.

He gives me a small frown. “You want to?”

I nod.

“How much?”

“Enough to take all your quizzes.”

“Damn. I thought I’d have to work harder, but if you wanna be easy, I’ll take it. Touch me all you want. But don’t be rough. You have to pass one of the actual tests for that.”

“I’m not rough,” I tell him and then bite off my words as he sucks my cockhead between his full lips.

Immediately, I bring my hands to his cheeks, thumbs hooked on the upper edge of his cheekbones and my little fingers cradling his jaw as he opens it wide.

“Oh, fuck, I’m not gonna last.” I say that every time, I think. I need new words. New lines. It’s just—he’s just—so good at this. I sink deep inside his hot mouth as his wet tongue worries the underside of my shaft with firm rubbing movements that feel like nothing a hand can do.

His cheeks hollow, and the powerful suction he creates has my hips lifting off the chair. He must not want me to last because goddamn. Pleasure shoots up my legs, down my spine, centering itself deep in my pelvis. I drop my head back, mouth slack and eyes unseeing, my hands moving with him as he bobs his head. His hair is down, tickling my knuckles, and his hands are pressed to my abs.

The gate unlocks, and sensation floods me. “I’m fucking coming,” I grunt.

He grabs me by the waist as I do, my stomach muscles jerking and contracting as a hundred other contractions send cum out of me and into him. It exits in startling, electric bursts. I came so fucking fast. It’s a small humiliation, but I feel it. Easy is an understatement. I’m a joke.

“Do you think I’m pathetic?” My words slur a little they come out so fast.

With my cock still in his mouth, still ejaculating, Sullivan gives his head a slight shake. He makes a dismissive sound, indicating he does not think I am, but I still wonder.

And I wonder, too, why I’m still shuddering through an orgasm when I feel so fucking small. Before he goes too far, I run my hands through his hair. I like how long it’s gotten. How clean it feels. The warm vanilla notes rise up and bathe me in his scent.

His hands close around my wrists and stop me from stroking his hair again, effectively making me stop touching him. He sits back on his heels and looks up at me. My cock is still hard and wet between us. “Pathetic?” he asks.

“Isn’t there some rule that what you say while you’re coming doesn’t count?”

“It counts the most. So do drunken confessions. Speaking of which. Did you bring anything for me to drink while you ace algebra for me?”

“I’m not gonna ace it for you. You have to answer two questions.” I mean to sound authoritative, like I do in a huddle, calling a play. But it comes out like a beg.

And of course he snorts another laugh. Using a hand on his chair to leverage himself off the floor, he sits back down next to me. His eyes are a little glazed, and I’m sure mine are a wreck. At least I didn’t cry this time.

“I’ll just leave them blank,” he warns.

“Jesus.” I pull my pants back up to cover myself and readjust the laptop. “There’s vodka and orange juice, and I don’t want to hear anything about it. It’s what was available.”

“I’d never complain about a screwdriver.” He gets up and goes around the table into the kitchen. I work on focusing on the first word problem. It’s the kind of thing an eighth grader should be able to answer, and Sullivan’s no idiot, so I have to assume he didn’t even read it. “You want one?” he asks.

“Sure,” I say. “I’ll do drunken confessions if you will.”

“I might. Oh. You brought chicken. Are you cooking?”

“I can, but you don’t eat meat, so…”

“I should shut up and let you concentrate.”

“Sullivan, this is easy shit. You could take this quiz.”

“I’m gonna let you believe that.”