For the 100th My Sexy Saturday, I have a Sexy Hot Scene from my upcoming Male/Male romance Between the Notes (and let’s give it up for SCOTUS!).
“I said, get in!” Damon hadn’t intended the vitriolic note in his voice, but it brooked no argument from Michael, who hustled around and jumped in the car as Damon shut off the engine.
Michael had just closed the door and opened his mouth to speak when Damon leaped over and captured his mouth, releasing weeks of pent-up passion and years of unfulfilled need. Michael had flinched at the sudden intrusion but recovered in a split second, grabbing the back of Damon’s head and bringing him closer as their tongues wrestled in consumption more than kiss. Damon wrapped his arms around him in complete surrender, shattering any vestige of deniability.
While not the most comfortable of conditions, with the console between them, Damon’s own rod—harder than the gearshift—caused him further discomfort as it strained against the denim; but even more than wanting to free his own dick, he had an overwhelming desire to touch Michael’s. He had never had such an impulse, protecting his anonymity to the detriment of any other concerns and making him a selfish lover, if he could call himself that, always the recipient in those lurid encounters in men’s rooms or dark alleys. With his hands on Michael’s face and neck, deepening the kiss—as it could only be considered one kiss since they had not parted since his initial attack—this bore no resemblance to those rash and rushed blowjobs he received with the bass from some retched techno-music seeping through the walls.
No, this was Michael, with eyes so deep he could drown in them. Michael, whose pulse beat wildly against Damon’s hand just as his own heart thundered out of control. Michael running his hands up Damon’s shirt, touching his skin and leaving a trail of flames wherever his fingers met flesh.
Michael’s hands continued their journey downward, unbuttoning and unzipping Damon’s jeans—freeing him both literally and figuratively—then taking hold of his dick. The release and relief forced Damon to break away from Michael’s mouth just long enough for a gasp and a guttural moan. Michael gripped Damon’s shaft in his fist while running his thumb over the head, sending shockwaves up Damon’s torso and setting off fireworks behind his eyelids. Damon reached for Michael’s crotch, the hard length of him begging for attention, but here his inexperience made him falter, and heedless of his longing to hold that cock in his hand, his trembling hands fumbled with Michael’s jeans.
With dexterity, Michael unfastened his jeans while still tantalizing Damon’s cock and exploring his mouth with a tongue that tasted of wine and promise. How much better is thy love than wine—the verse emerging unbidden from the recesses of Damon’s mind as he reached into Michael’s open fly to pull out his thick, hard dick, much bigger than Damon had thought each time he tried not to think of it. His fingers traced over the fully-engorged shaft before running around the ridge and teasing the velvety head, causing Michael to groan into his demanding kiss and pull Damon closer, delving into his mouth with a thoroughness that stole his breath away.
Damon wrapped his hand around Michael’s girth and rubbed his thumb around the head with the moisture that had formed there. He circled the ridge, each touch only deepening his need. As much as Michael’s fingers caressing the top of his dick thrilled him, he could think of nothing but wanting Michael’s cock in his mouth, as if his life depended on it. He hungered to run the tip of his tongue over its head as he did with his thumb now, to feel that ridge on the roof of his mouth as his shaft slid across his tongue and deep against his throat. And his desire frightened him.
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