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He huffed. “I’ll be fine, dude. I’ve been driving for years. And we’re not that far out of town.”

“Alright.” I didn’t move as I watched him descend the porch steps and head for his car. He gave me a little wave after turning his car around, and I stayed where I was until his tail lights were no longer in sight.

The sudden silence felt stifling as I stepped back and closed the door. Turning, I stared at the couch for a long moment, then made my way upstairs to take a shower. I needed one, even though I would have preferred to keep the little traces of his scent on me for as long as possible.

The bathroom was humid from Larkin’s earlier shower. I tried not to picture him getting undressed in here, still jumpy and nervous about what was to come. I tried not to imagine him naked and wet, standing in the exact same spot as I got into the shower. I tried not to think about how it’d felt to touch him, to see his face scrunched up with pleasure, to feel his hands on me and his body against mine and hear his sweet, desperate little sounds in my ear.

His first lesson had almost wrecked me. I had absolutely no fucking idea how I was going to survive lesson two.

Chapter Nine

Honourable Post-Lesson Jerking

Larkin

Well.

That was totally freaking awesome.

My body was, like, humming or something as I drove home. Tingling. I kept replaying everything that had happened, reliving my first sexual experience with another person—that very first moment Seb had touched my dick. His hand was so big, fingers long and strong, his nails short and neat and clean. I’d catalogued every single aspect of the moment, storing it all away in my brain. The sight of him touching me. The brain-melting pleasure as he brought me to the brink over and over.

In the history of first handjobs, that literally had to be the best.

And the one I’d given him had seemed to be pretty good, too. I mean, he’d come a lot, and he’d been groaning like it’d felt amazing. I’d almost come in my pants at the sight of it. And his dick was…

I gulped, gripping the steering wheel tighter.

Bigger than the one in that video with Asmo.

It was, like, actually beautiful. Majestic or some shit. Big and thick, with cool veins winding up the length, and a head that was a little more tapered than mine. And it’d been crazy hard. I couldn’t really believe I’d made him so hard, but he had mentioned that he hadn’t jerked off yet today. I’d be a total mess if I skipped my morning jerk sesh for sure.

I was practically strutting as I walked into the house and dropped my keys in the lopsided clay bowl my mom had made years ago, when she was going through her pottery phase.

“Is that you, my little flower?” Her voice came from the living room over the sound of some old-timey song my parents loved. They still had a freaking record player, for god’s sake.

I shuffled to the door and peeked my head around, because I was a bit of a mess. She’d probably guess that I hadn’t come straight from work, and I really didn’t want her asking what I’d spent the evening doing. My mom had this weird, gentle way of pulling information out of people just by sitting there and gazing at them with the big blue eyes I’d inherited.

I definitely hadn’t inherited her ability to be a good listener, though. I talked too much for that.

I huffed in amusement when I saw my parents dancing in the living room like a pair of total dorks. Dad was spinning Mom under his arm, which made her long, sage green kaftan float into the air. It was almost the exact same shade as her skin. I had my mom’s bright pink hair, and her eyes, but my dad’s skin tone and build. He was tall and lanky like me—I used to curse the gene that somehow prevented me from bulking up and being a ripped gym god—and his hair was a pale mauve. His human customers loved it. They thought he was just a kooky old dude who liked to dye his hair interesting colours.

“There he is!” Mom beamed at me, swaying languidly in Dad’s arms. “How was work, sweetpea?”

“Work was good.” I fidgeted a little, suddenly extremely aware of the dried cum all over my chest and stomach, and the stickiness of lube in my underwear. “Gonna go take a shower—”

“Come and dance with us, flower!”

I made a strangled sound in the back of my throat. “Oh my god, Mama, no.”

“You used to love dancing with us when you were little.” Dad chuckled, spinning Mom again. “Bopping up and down like a little grasshopper.”

“Oh, you were so cute.” Mom rested her hand on Dad’s chest and gazed up at him with glimmering eyes. “Do you remember the time he marched into the yard when we had friends over for dinner and demanded we watch his new dance? In his little daffodil pyjamas.”

Dad gasped dramatically, covering her hand with his. “Let me find the photo album.”

I groaned, checking my phone to make sure I hadn’t accidentally butt-dialled any of my friends and they were hearing this. “We do not need to find the—”

“And you just jumped up and down, yelling some song from your bedtime CD—oh, what was it again?” Mom asked as Dad wandered off. “Something about a ladybug.”