Ben Esra telefonda seni bosaltmami ister misin?
Telefon Numaram: 00237 8000 92 32
Tara: another late night. Sorry 🙁
Me: It’s ok moms got me running around
Tara: *kiss emoji* tomorrow I promise
I’m starting to get frustrated with her constant cancellations, even though I have absolutely no right to–Every night she’s worked late these past few weeks has been a night I have spent balls deep in Asa. It’s not her fault I suck; literally and figuratively.
I just can’t explain what happens when I see him. There’s this tension like a joint that has to crack but won’t, and the only relief is touching him. Ugh, it sounds so stupid.
And I think it’s mutual, too. When I get to his house, there’s never any preamble, just clothes off, dicks out. Then, after we’ve emptied our balls and his roommate comes home from work, we just shoot the shit, as if I didn’t just make him cum so hard he couldn’t stand.
My plan to end things is obviously going really well, thanks for asking.
This most recent Sunday, with his roommate and his crew howling at the game in the living room, I watched Asa come all over his own chest, cock untouched, with his knees by his ears from the pounding I was giving him. I had my hand clamped over his mouth to prevent him from being heard over the game. Truly, I’ve never enjoyed Sunday football more.
“Ok, now you never told me Vivi was dating Andre the mu’fuckin’ giant,” Rob said, peering out the window into the street, a twizzler hanging out the corner of his mouth.
“Right?” I said with a mouthful of cookie.
“You also did not say he was absolutely delicious, why would you not share that with me?” Rob sucked his teeth and gave me a dirty look. I almost cough cookie through my nose.
“He’s a farmer’s son, too,” I add.
Rob sighs, “Mm, lemme get that Brokeback Dick. I wonder if it’s proportional to the rest of his body.”
I crow with laughter.
“Don’t act like you don’t wanna know. All dudes wanna know, whether they suck cock or not.”
“You should ask him,” I suggested.
“I just might,” Rob gives me that over the glasses look without the glasses. I laugh. “Where y’all going, anyway?”
“Mom has us dropping off donations at St. Vincent’s, and then we have to drive to fucking Westchester county to pick up a couch and dresser set,” I chew on my lip. I am dreading this–unfortunately for me, my dick is not.
“Westchester? Goddamn why? Y’all know we have perfectly good furniture at home, right?” he looks at me, aghast.
“Yeah, but do we have Titi Magaly’s couch and dresser here?”
“Oh, it’s like that.”
“It’s like that.”
I swing open the door just as Asa has his hand up to knock. He fills up the whole damn doorway and freezes like a deer in headlights. I love catching him off guard. I turn to Rob.
“ROB,” I declare. “This is Asa, Veronica’s man, Asa this is Rob, my roommate.”
Asa’s face hooks into a smile. I know this. I can feel it. I don’t look though. Asa offers his hand. I don’t look at that either. Just the scent of his cologne is enough to make the hairs on the back of my neck stand up.
Take it easy.
“Yo, wassup, man,” Rob slaps his hand to give him dap, and Asa fumbles along.
“Sorry, ah,” Asa’s face flushes with heat and he awkwardly sticks his hands in his pockets. “I don’t know any cool handshakes.”
Now I’m looking. I don’t want to miss this.
I find him with the corner of his lip sucked in his teeth. He glances at me from beneath his lashes and blushes harder. Why is this turning me on? I want to shove him into my room right now.
“Aw shucks, Juilliard!” I grin. I yank him in by his sleeve so I can close the damn door. Rob’s face lights up.
“Nah, c’mon, I’ll show you.” I wander into the kitchen to pull my boots on while Rob shows Asa how to shake step by step. I lean back and watch Asa slowly grab his wrist and slide his palm down to hook thumbs with the goofiest grin.
“Yeah you got it, you got it. Watch the elbow. My man is a natural!”
Asa huffs out a laugh. I look him over. He looks like a farmer today in his jeans and black and white flannel. He’s left it unbuttoned; it’s pretty mild out for December. It’s crazy because he’s just wearing a black tee shirt underneath but with his rolled up sleeves it has the same effect on me as seeing the chicks on the shore in the summer.
I take in every detail. The black leather cord necklace at the base of his neck, the hoops in his nose and ears, the thick silver fígaro chain around his wrist, and his rings. His dark hair is pulled back hastily in a bun that looks as though he was going to make a ponytail but he quit halfway through. He manages to make all of this look rugged.
“Jonny,” Rob says in a tone that sounds like maybe this isn’t the first time he’s said my name.
“Wassup,” I blink and grin at Rob. He’s looking at me with that calculating look I don’t like.
“When are you going?” Yeah this is definitely not the first time he’s asked this. Shit.
I clear my throat. “Right now, right now. Ready, Juilliard?”
Asa nods, but he’s bahis şirketleri looking all around my living room, and it occurs to me that he’s never been here. We’ll have to change that. Uh, platonically. Because I’m healed. Thank you, lord, amen.
“A’ight well, let’s go.” I hop up from my seat.
Asa grins adorably at Rob, practices his new “cool handshake” and heads down the stairs.
When it’s my turn to bump Rob’s chest with our hands clasped between us, he grabs me by the back of the neck and in my ear quietly says, “You and I are going to have a conversation later, you feel me?”
My blood runs a little cold but I roll my eyes and grin. “Okay bye, Robert, te quiero, mua!” I declare and immediately jog down the steps.
I hop into (scale) the beat up GMC. It’s surprisingly neat inside. I don’t know what I was expecting. Corn, maybe.
“How do you get this monster around the city?” I start setting up the GPS on my phone.
“I don’t. I park it and take NJ transit.”
“That makes more sense.”
Titi Magaly is 53 minutes away. In theory. In practice? Well, we’re about to find out.
He smells so fucking good. He turns the key in the ignition and the music comes on. He slides on a pair of aviators, and I fucking hate aviators, and but he looks even better.
He hums along to Dave Matthew’s Band as he starts to drive and I sigh in relief and laugh. Thank God.
“What?” he glances at me.
“I have been searching for a flaw in you since I met you. Literally any flaw–I was starting to get worried you didn’t have any, but here it is,” I explain gesturing to the stereo.
Asa laughs, a belly laugh, and my face hurts from smiling. I love his laugh.
“I can put on Aventura or Calle 13 if you’d like,” he’s also grinning cheek to cheek. God, you could get lost in his dimples. Really, though, like you’d need a flashlight to get out.
“Okay I listen to more than that,” I scoff.
“Daddy Yankee?” he teases.
I’m quiet for a moment.
“Okay, yes,” I admit. “But more than that ok. I’ll have you know I listen to classical.”
His eyebrows almost touch his hairline. “Really.”
“No, but I do like 90s alternative rock and that’s basically the same thing. Well,” I peer at the stereo again and wrinkle my nose. “Most of it.”
Making him laugh is so easy and it’s quickly becoming my favorite pastime. The first hour and fifteen minutes of our 53 minute trip passes easily with bullshit, music, and a stop for coffee. We fall into a comfortable silence listening to music. Asa, surprising absolutely nobody, has a very pleasant singing voice. I spare him mine.
But of course, five miles before our exit, traffic grinds to a halt.
“Shit,” says Asa.
“Told you,” I shrug.
We drive a foot.
We wait.
We drive an inch.
We wait.
And wait.
And wait.
It takes a minute before I realize he’s looking at me. He reaches over and brushes one of my wild curls away from my cheek. The featherlight touch of his fingertips is enough to make the heat rush to my face. He brushes his knuckles down the side of my face, along my jaw and ends with his thumb outlining my bottom lip. I let him open my mouth.
“It is so hard not to look at you,” he murmurs, and then slides just the tip of his thumb into my mouth. I close my lips, biting down just enough to hold him there, and his eyes darken. I flick the tip of my tongue against it and he lets out a quiet groan. He adjusts his pants. I can hear my heart beating in my ears. I adjust my own pants.
“Do you know how good you look right now?” His voice is low, rough.
“Me??” I raise my eyebrows. I’m wearing a shitty shirt with engine grease on it, jeans with a hole developing halfway down my thigh, and my work boots. Not my best look. In my defense, I am here to move furniture.
“Yes, you,” he growls and his hand, which had since moved from my mouth to the pulse point in my throat slides further down onto my pecs. I say pecs, but I really just mean chest. I am not swole. Cut, yes, swole…no.
He flattens his palm over my pounding heart, and holds it there for two or sixty beats, then drags his hand down to my belly. I watch him push up the hem of my shirt. I reflexively tighten my core as he runs his fingertips along the angles of my abdomen. Abs? Those I have.
He’s watching my face.
I wonder what my face is doing.
He looks like he’s going to say more, but he doesn’t and instead takes his hand back and rolls the car the next several inches forward.
Focus. Business, business, business. I got this.
Tell that to my dick.
Before I know it my hand is on his thigh, quickly advancing to the growing bulge. His eyes flutter and I see his breathing get shallower and I work to open his belt one handed. It’s not as easy as it looks.
“Jonathan,” he warns, despite my clumsiness.
“What?” I murmur. Belt’s open, button’s next. In a second he’s going to be hard enough that it’s going to make getting him out, well, hard, bahis firmaları but thankfully, the button yields and I pull down his fly.
“Don’t make me pull over,” he bites out. I see him working his jaw, his temples flexing.
“Why not?” I ask so softly, I’m surprised he heard it.
“Because,” he grits out. “We will never get to your aunt’s house.”
“What if I don’t want to go?” I whisper.
He clears his throat.
I reach in his jeans to free the hard rod struggling against the denim. Expecting to find my next fight to be with his boxer briefs, I suck in a breath when immediately my hand finds his hot flesh instead. My attention snaps to his face with my gasp.
He is flushed and he starts to stammer, “Okay, wait, I can explain–“
He’s embarrassed, and it’s charming, but I have found my treasure. His cock is out. It’s throbbing steadily in my hand. Whatever bullshit story about why he’s commando trails off, replaced with shallow breathing. Fuck, I can’t stand the way he looks at me.
I lick my lips and take a quick glance around. Am I doing this? His truck is so high up there’s no way anybody can see into the cab. Am I really fucking doing this?
The answer is yes. If the question is Asa, the answer is yes.
He shifts a bit, and I can see the reluctance warring with the lust in his expression but he drops his right arm and holds the wheel one handed with his left, leaving me plenty of space. An open invitation if I ever saw one.
I begin to stroke, long and languid, carefully watching his face. My heart is racing, I am so fucking nervous. His eyes flutter and I take stock of those long lashes again. I unfasten my seatbelt. Realization dawns on him and his eyes widen. I see him tremble as I lean across the center console and take him into my mouth.
I can confidently say that my first experience with road head isn’t exactly how I’d always pictured it.
His hand comes to rest on the back of my head.
I revel in his taste and scent, I can smell the sharp spice of his body wash, the sourness of his sweat, the thickness of his natural musk. They mix together into a heady cocktail that drives me wild. I sink down and angle my head to try and fit more of him in my throat. I bob down as far as I can, working my tongue back and forth as I go. I work the base of his cock by hand down to his balls and back up again and a quiet moan escapes his lips. He brushes my hair back out of my face, glancing down every so often in the stop and go traffic.
“My god, that fucking mouth,” he gasps and it fills me with smug pride.
I want to please him, I want to hear more of his sweet sounds, but I don’t want to rush this. I want to savor it.
By this point I have worked all of my drool into my fist, stroking steadily. I open my mouth to let more spit roll out and work my hand up to spread it up and down his cock. There’s a trace scent of coffee from my breath.
Bathing the tip of his cock with my tongue, gathering any and all of his precum into my mouth, I press two fingers against his taint, and indulge in the broken moan and the feeling of his fingers digging into my hair. A horn sounds behind us and I feel the truck abruptly move forward. I smile around his cock.
I suckle the soft flesh under the ridge and continue down his veiny cock, working my mouth, lips and tongue down, down until I reach his sack. I use my left hand to take over on his shaft, and suck on his balls. I wriggle my right hand further into the tight space, the zipper biting into the back of my hand. He tries to make room but we’re limited, and his thighs are threatening to crush my fingers.
I find my mark. I press into that little rosebud and he moans proper now, the sound rich and filled with lust. I’m making a mess in my own pants. I pick up the pace on his shaft, roll his balls with my tongue and play that motherfucker like a one man band.
The truck jerks forward. The hand that was gently holding my hair back is now gripping my hair tight, pulling and pushing and my body flushes with heat. I could almost come just from this, from the sounds in his chest, the scent of him, the unreasonable and absolute lust I feel around him at all times. Almost.
I moan on his cock and he echoes, straining to stop himself from rocking his hips. I let the spit that has collected in my mouth dribble down his balls and swipe it over his taint and asshole. I start to work my finger in his asshole right as I come up and plunge his whole cock as far as it will go down my throat, just like he likes it. I can get more in now. I am determined to work myself up to taking it all.
“JONATHAN,” he roars, pushing my head down and the truck takes the next several feet a little fast. He slams the brakes and the truck lurches forward. I gag hard enough, I’m nervous that I’m going to yak on his cock, but I don’t. More drool. So much drool. His hips are stiff, his entire body coiled tight like a spring.
I think I can make him cum before that exit. Scratch that. I am going to kaçak bahis siteleri make him cum before the exit.
I redouble my efforts, making it half an inch deeper than I have ever before. I massage his taint with the heel of my palm and work a second finger into his ass. He slides his hand down my back reaching for my ass, which he grasps, hard, before abruptly bringing it back to cling to the steering wheel. I’ve got him. I know it.
“You c-c-can’t–” he stammers but I can already feel him tightening like a bow being drawn as far as it can go, taut with anticipation. I want him to cum. I need him to. I vibrate his cock with a guttural growl and I can feel the change in him as he prepares to blow his load. He’s losing control.
Suddenly, he’s pushing my head down and rolling his hips up and I am choking on his cock like I always do and he moans and the truck suddenly accelerates and his body locks and I-
“You are now on the fastest route.” My phone chirps.
I jerk my head up in time for Asa to cum all over my fucking face. I scramble to clamp my lips over his spurting cock head to try and stem the flow and he cries out, but it’s too late–he’s nut all over my face. I manage to squeeze my eyes shut in time, by the grace of someone. Ugh, it’s in my hair too, I just fucking know it.
I realize we’ve started to move at a steady clip but I can’t open my fucking eyes without risking Spunk Eye.
I hear a rumble from my left. I turn my face toward it even though I can’t see. The sound starts to pick up and I realize that this motherfucker has started laughing! I sit up feeling around for a box of tissues, paper towels, a fucking McDonald’s bag, literally anything that is not my shirt and this chucklehead is laughing hysterically driving 45 mph, his limp dick hanging out of his pants.
“Oye pendejo, quit laughing and help me out!” I holler but he is breathlessly cackling. I feel him press something soft against my face and I immediately grab a hold of the fabric and bury my face in it. It smells like his cologne, woodsy and rich.
I don’t have to look to know that he has tears on his face from laughing, the absolute douchebag, I can tell by his laugh. His laugh is so infectious, though, that even as I’m wiping down my fucking cum covered face, I find myself laughing, too. I open my eyes, finally, to see that he had taken off his flannel for me to use as a cum rag, leaving himself in just the black tee shirt, his sleeves clinging to his biceps for dear life.
He is miserably good looking. I sigh irritably.
He looks at me with glittering eyes full of affection. He tucks himself back into his pants and buckles his belt. I watch him struggle through it one handed instead of helping with a smug smile. It makes him laugh. I love hi–
His laugh. I love his laugh.
He pulls off at our exit and reaches over to run his fingers through my curls. I think he thinks he’s fixing it. He’s definitely making it worse. I’m the lesser known movie sequel to There’s Something About Mary, ‘Algo Pasa con Maria’.
“Make a right at the light and your destination is on your left.” Thank you, Siri. So much.
He pulls over and puts the car into park. I look around and point further up the street.
“Nah, she’s the yellow house, you can drive up closer.” I point, but when I turn to look at him he takes my face in both hands and draws me in for a kiss, deep, slow, and hot. His tongue probes my mouth, and I am completely at his mercy. My body is alight, and I feel my arousal work its way back up.
I don’t know how long the kiss lasts, I just know that instead of getting rougher and more intense like we always do, he forces me to surrender to him and it’s tender, drawn out, and leaves me completely breathless.
When it’s done, he leaves another small kiss on my lips like a punctuation mark and rests his forehead against mine. He strokes my cheekbones with his thumbs and arrests me with his gaze.
“Thank you,” he murmurs. My eyes flutter closed. I can’t–I can’t handle this. This sweetness. It’s just sex. It’s not a big deal.
Right?
I’m afraid. I squeeze his wrists but he doesn’t let me go. He holds me there until I open my eyes again, and when I do it feels like there’s a vice grip around my heart.
He doesn’t say anything else. He doesn’t have to, it’s all there in his eyes.
“Shit,” the word tumbles out of my mouth as I pull back. He nods, dropping his hands, his expression both pained and…something else. Something else I’m not ready to face.
Silence reigns.
He puts the truck back in gear. “Let’s go get your mama a dresser.”
But I’m not listening. I’m running my fingers over the ghost of his kiss on my lips with a sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach.
I am in deep, deep shit.
***
Titi Magaly is my Mother’s younger sister and a Realtor. I have a handful of cousins that are also realtors but Titi reigns queen. She’s one of those Realtors. This woman could sell a cardboard box to the sidewalk.
Okay, that analogy doesn’t make any sense but I feel like the point comes across.
Titi Magaly waves at us from the stoop, and beckons us into her gorgeous house, all of her jewelry clinking and jangling.
Ben Esra telefonda seni bosaltmami ister misin?
Telefon Numaram: 00237 8000 92 32