Page 77 of Down Bad

“Diego,” I moan out, unable to hold it back.

He says nothing. How can he? His mouth is full of me, his soft tongue gliding up and down my cock with rhythmic perfection. I don’t know when I do it, but my hands are on his head, grasping whatever I can of his hair, buzzed so short as it is.

And he won’t stop.

Neither will my heart, racing with joy as he continues to show me a talent I wasn’t even remotely aware of him having.

Nothing outside this room matters.

I feel as big as a meteor hurling toward Earth.

Maybe with a similar inevitable countdown to doomsday, too.

And when I start to make some real noise, Diego’s other hand presses over my mouth, muffling it.

And he doesn’t know it yet, but that is the sexiest goddamned thing he could’ve possibly done.

And the closer I get to the edge, the less capable I am of doing anything about the bottomless moans I’m letting out through his squeezing fingers.

I try to tell him I’m close.

His fingers squeeze harder.

I buck against him, squirming, teetering on the absolute brim of ecstasy and chaos. I want this feeling to last forever, and yet I can imagine nothing else I desire right now than to come all over the place without a fucking care.

His fingers breach my lips.

I almost bite, groan, and manage, “Coming, coming, coming …”

A hand replaces his mouth. From the depths of my soul comes a moan that has no beginning or end, filling the enormous room from one corner to the other, maybe the hallways outside too, or the whole damned estate. Every stroke of his hand sends me to the brink of insanity with how sensitive my cock has become.

I come so hard, so completely, and with such pleasure, I’m not even sure it’s over when I stop moving. I’m tingling everywhere.

Breath after breath, I come back.

I feel weightless and grinningly happy.

Diego’s face is hovering over mine when I open my lazy eyes. “What … was that …?” I get out, almost laughing.

He still doesn’t smile. He just stares at me with his head partly tilted to one side, like he’s studying me, drinking in the expression of unbound bliss on my face.

Finally, he says, “That’s what I wanted to see.”

I lift my eyebrows. “What?”

“The human trapped inside you.” He strokes the side of my face, stuck in a thought. He looks so uncharacteristically sweet for a second, despite the permanent iron-hardness of his eyes.

I decide to just go along. “You prefer the human …?”

“I prefer the guy who doesn’t apologize as much. Who’ll fuck my face because he wants to. Who would let me finger him ‘til he comes all over some rich lady’s rug.”

I’m about to laugh when that last part hits me. “What? Did I … Did I just …?” I try to sit up to look. It’s too dark to see clearly. “Did I just make a mess on the—?”

Distant laughter rings out from the hall. Someone’s nearby in the house. Their footsteps are coming closer.

We’re off the floor. I’m tripping over my pants as I’m pulling them up. The pair of us manage to get our clothes on but nothing buttoned or fixed before Diego whisks me with him behind one of the nearby curtains with a hand over my mouth.

We stare at each other.