13
Mickey woke to the unmistakable sensation of a hot mouth on his dick.I’m dreaming. For fuck’s sake, stay asleep and get to the punchline.
He squeezed his eyes shut, giving in to the heat unfurling with every sweep of Benito’s tongue on his hard length. Because it had to be Benito. Even in Mickey’s dreams, there was no one else who made him feel this way—like he was careening at a hundred miles an hour towards an orgasm so intense it would probably kill him.
I could die like this. Take me. I’m ready.
As if he’d heard Mickey’s pleasured delirium, Benito worked Mickey harder.
Faster.
Deeper.
His throat clung to Mickey’s cock, a tight, wet passage that was almost as incredible as fucking him.
Almost.
Mickey groaned and thrust his hips, but strong hands held him down.
Benito’s hands.
Shit. Am I dreaming about him while he’s right fucking here?Mickey’s eyes flew open. He blinked in the bright light of—fuck, whatever-hell time of day it was—half convinced he’d find himself alone. That Benito would be gone already, if he’d ever been there at all.
Then his gaze fell on the dark mop of hair halfway down the bed, moving up and down as he sucked Mickey dry.
Okay. Not a dream then.
Mickey’s heart leapt, and in the split second it took to come to terms with this strange new world, Benito upped the ante. He tightened his grip on Mickey’s thighs, fingers digging into taut muscle, and turned his molten stare on Mickey, pure fire from beneath his inky lashes.
Fuck fuck fuck. Mickey couldn’t take it. His dick throbbed and pulsed, and a frantic moan tore from his chest. He’d never been blown like this before, by anyone, not just Benito. Mickey loved control too much. Until this moment, he’d honestly believed there was nothing hotter than fucking the mouth of a man on his knees.
But Benito had challenged his beliefs since they’d met. Toppled his resolve and trampled over it. Mickey had gone to sleep with grand plans to keep their friendship platonic—no more kissing.Definitelyno more kissing. But he’d been a damn fool. Benito was the best high he’d ever had.
I can’t give him up.
I—
Release barrelled into Mickey, eclipsing rational thought. More crazed sounds fell from him, and he came hard, shooting every drop into Benito’s willing mouth, still fighting his hold on his legs.
“Fuck.” Mickey shuddered, arching from the bed, jolting with each wave of pleasure until his body gave out. “Fuck.” He collapsed against the pillows, panting, sweat shining every inch of his skin. His heart pounded, and for the first time in days, for all the right reasons.
He gazed down at Benito, watching him pull off and wipe his mouth. In his head, he seized his shoulders and tugged him up the bed, but he couldn’t move. “Come here.”
Benito crawled up the bed on shaky arms. He pressed a soft kiss to Mickey’s cheek, then dropped his head, shoulders heaving as if he were the one who’d just shot brain cells out of his dick. “Man, I didn’t mean to do that. Pretty sure I started blowing you before I woke up.”
Mickey rested a cautious hand on top of Benito’s head. “I’m not complaining. I’ve woken up to worse things.”
“Me too, but...”
“What?”
Benito finally looked up. His eyes were more guarded than Mickey could deal with. “It’s not why I stayed.”
“I know that.”
“You do?”
“It’s not why I asked you either, or we’d have fucked last night.”