IRL: In Real Life (After Oscar, #1)(43)

Trace: And would you do it?





Conor: Without question.





Trace: Then what?





Conor: You’d tell me to unbuckle your pants. To pull out your cock. You’d already be hard. Straining against your pants and I would let the knuckles of my hand brush against you as I took my time with the zipper. And you’d curse under your breath for me taking so long because you’d want to feel my fingers wrapped around you, my palm cupping your balls.





Across from me Wells cleared his throat and shifted in his seat. He’d been so still, the only movement his fingers on the keyboard, that the sudden sound startled me. His eyes met mine, and I quickly glanced away, afraid that somehow he would know if he studied me too long.

I started to push from the table. “Sorry,” I said, holding up my phone. “It’s my uh… work… and there’s a thing I have to—thing. It might take a while, so I’ll just go to the lobby so I’m not distracting you—”

“No.” The sharpness of his response seemed to startle us both. He let out a tense breath. “Stay. You’re not bothering me. Please.” He gestured for me to sit.

I hesitated before sinking back into my seat. Standing would have exposed my raging erection, and I was glad to keep it hidden under the table. “Okay. Thanks.”

He nodded, focus back on his computer. Leaving me forgotten once again.

Trace: You mean the way I’m currently cursing at you taking so long to tell me what’s next?





I bit my lip in an attempt to keep my smile in check.

Conor: I haven’t… been… with many men. I’d want to take my time with you. With your cock. I’d want to explore it. With my eyes. My lips. My tongue. I’d start soft and slow. Maybe the first thing I’d want to do is taste. Just with the tip of my tongue sweeping across your slit. Just to see if there was anything to taste yet.





Trace: There would be.





I couldn’t stop my eyes from flicking toward Wells. He sat, staring at his screen, a frown pinching the space between his eyes. His fingers hovered above the keyboard, whatever he was reading having captured his attention completely.

I wondered what he would think if he knew that I was currently sitting here imagining what he tasted like. My mouth watered at the thought, and I clenched my phone tighter, wishing it was Wells’s cock I was gripping.

Conor: You’d want to put your hands on my head and push me down, push yourself into my mouth. But you wouldn’t.





Trace: I wouldn’t?





Conor: Not yet. Because I like the idea of your nails biting into the armrests of your chair. And I like the idea of your frustration. I like knowing that it’s me causing that.





Across from me Wells shifted, a hand moving to the armrest of his chair, knuckles burning white from clenching it. I smirked. If he only knew how perfectly he was playing into my fantasy of him.

Conor: I like to tease so I’d run my lips down the side of you. So lightly you’d probably feel it more as breath than anything else. And when I got to your base I’d have a decision to make. Do you like having your balls cupped? Sucked? Licked? Ignored?





Trace: Sucked and licked.





Conor: Then I would take one of your balls into my mouth, feel it heavy on my tongue as I sucked, my fingers dancing back up your cock. I’d keep going until I could hear you groan, until you thrust against me, desperate for more. But I wouldn’t be done teasing.





Trace: If I had my way you would be.





Conor: But this is my fantasy, remember? I’d run my tongue back up your cock, circle it under the lip of your head to see if you’re sensitive there.





Trace: I am.





Conor: Good. Then I’d wrap my lips around you, teasing your tip, letting you get a hint of the wet warmth of my mouth. Make you crave it.





Trace: I would be. I am. Why are you not here doing this to me?





I smiled, liking that he wanted me there. Enjoying the fact that I was turning him on. It was taking everything I had not to slide a hand under the table and press it against the bulge straining my pants. I was so fucking hard, almost painfully so. I wasn’t sure how long I would be able to last before excusing myself.

I glanced again toward Wells. He was flipping through a thick stack of documents, searching for something with focused determination. He’d loosened his tie even more and unbuttoned the top of his shirt. His cheeks were flushed, a light sheen of sweat visible at his temples.

I watched him a moment out of the corner of my eye. Wondering what it would be like if I ever acted on this fantasy. What Wells would do if I stood up and came around the table toward him and dropped to my knees. Placed my hands on his thighs and pressed them apart.

I let out a soft sigh at the thought and realized only belatedly that Wells had gone still. He stared at me, his eyes a storm-tossed sea. That hunger was back with an intensity that caused a shiver to race down my spine, that made my balls contract with desire.