Worth Waiting For Page 4

  “Easy, easy,” Brandon murmured, pulling back fractionally and pressing their foreheads together. “Too much?”

  “A bit,” Paul admitted. “I want to, but…”

  “I get it.” Brandon snuck a tiny peck against the corner of Paul’s mouth, then another farther back against the curve of his jaw. His beard tickled Paul’s neck. “Not gonna push you further than you want to go tonight, I promise. No matter how tempting you look when you’re all flustered and overwhelmed.” A third kiss, closer to his temple. “Tell me what turns you on the most, and I’ll make it good.”

  Oh God. Paul sucked in a breath, the possibilities swirling in his head. There were a lot of possibilities, he knew, even if he hadn’t personally tried most of them. Christopher had always harped on him for being a prude. And maybe he was, if Christopher’s version was to be believed. Suddenly, admitting I don’t know what the choices are felt like the most humiliating thing Paul could imagine. Why had he gone and bragged about having experience? Maybe he should make up something, pretend he knew more about—

  “Want another suggestion?” Brandon murmured in his ear.

  Paul nodded, his voice stuck in his throat.

  “Here’s what we’ll do, then. You let me strip you out of that gorgeous hot teacher jacket and push you back right here in the middle of the sofa. We can unbutton each other’s shirts as slow as we want, taking our time so we get all breathy and frantic as we’re kissing each other. And then I’ll unzip your pants and settle down right here between your thighs, and I’ll absolutely blow your mind.” One corner of his lips twisted upward. “And your cock.”

  Damn. If Paul hadn’t already been hard, he was now. A completely unauthorized squeak escaped his throat.

  “Is that what you want?” Brandon chuckled darkly, then licked a fat stripe up the side of Paul’s neck. “After I’ve drained you so dry you’re completely boneless, I’ll drag you down on top of me on the floor and you can pull me off too. It won’t take much after all that, I expect.” A sudden wave of cool air against his neck. Brandon blowing on the skin he’d just licked. “Damn, I’m halfway there just telling you about it. I wasn’t lying—I fantasized about you for ages, way back when. Still do, on occasion. So does that sound good to you? Or is that too far?”

  “Hell yes.” Paul blinked. “I mean, it sounds good. Isn’t too much.”

  “Thank God,” Brandon growled, and slid both hands between them to work on the buttons of Paul’s shirt. Luckily they were large and easy to manipulate even without either of them looking, because it seemed like a good time for Paul to try initiating a kiss of his own. Brandon muttered something into the kiss, letting Paul take the lead but not backing down one jot. They only broke apart when Brandon finished and slid his palms over Paul’s shoulders, wordlessly slipping the shirt free.

  “Damn,” Brandon murmured. “Your blush goes all the way down to your collarbone. I like it.”

  Paul wasn’t surprised, but he couldn’t find the voice to answer. Instead he extricated his arms from the sleeves and focused his attention on Brandon’s own much smaller and finickier buttons. Brandon threw his head back as Paul worked, granting full access to his pale throat, and Paul couldn’t resist the opportunity to taste in return. There was a vague shadow of stubble growing in below his manicured beard, barely enough to see but enough for Paul to feel against his tongue. He mouthed a sloppy kiss into the hollow under Brandon’s jaw, and Brandon sucked in a ragged breath.

  “God, that’s—fuck. Okay, so forget what I said about this part being slow—I need our clothes to be off. Now.” Brandon displaced Paul’s fingers, tearing at his cuffs and tossing his shirt over his shoulder onto the floor. Paul used the opportunity to steal another taste of Brandon’s neck, and ten seconds later they were bare chest to bare chest and locked in a dizzying kiss again. Everything was so much more intense now that there was more naked skin in play—Brandon’s pectorals were pleasantly well-defined but not overly muscled, which suited Paul fine. The biceps were a step up from what Paul remembered, as was the hint of defined abs, and somehow Brandon gave the impression of being larger without having gotten physically taller. They’d both changed physically since freshman year and at least in Brandon’s case it was for the better.

  “Gorgeous,” Brandon said, in between all but biting at Paul’s lips. “Christ, it’s criminal for you to be hiding yourself like this. I want to—here, lean back.” He layered kisses along the edge of Paul’s jaw again, detoured down his carotid, and eventually worked his way to the hollow between Paul’s collarbones. “You taste fantastic,” he whispered, and dropped to crouch on the floor between Paul’s legs so he could press Paul back into the sofa and capture one sensitive nipple in his mouth.

  “Oh God.”

  “Mmmm.” Brandon swirled his tongue roughly, then gently, leaving Paul able to do little more than drop his head back against the top of the sofa and pant. “Tell me I can keep going—I need to taste the rest of you. Your stomach and your hip and your thighs and your cock and your balls and everything. Tell me that’s not too fast.”

  “It’s—ah!—it’s good,” Paul groaned. “This is… It’s good.” He buried a hand in Brandon’s thick hair. Should he push? God, he wanted to push, to guide, to drag Brandon’s gorgeous mouth down to where his erection was practically screaming for it. Brandon probably knew more than he did about blowjob etiquette, though, so Paul restrained himself. Barely.

  “You like this, then?” Brandon laved a damp trail down Paul’s ribs with his tongue, tasting each one in turn with little testing jabs before proceeding on to the next. When he reached Paul’s navel, he gave it a filthy, sloppy kiss, darting his tongue in and out like he was slowly fucking the sensitive hollow of it, glorious enough to leave Paul moaning incoherently and his balls aching like mad. Paul had shifted himself forward on the sofa enough to create some delicious friction between his still-clothed erection and Brandon’s naked chest. Brandon slid warm palms up Paul’s thighs, massaging gently before continuing upward to bracket either side of his cock.

  “Yes,” Paul panted. “Touch me, please, just—”

  “Shhh,” Brandon murmured. He indulged in one more dirty swirl of his tongue in Paul’s navel, then sat back on his heels and went to work on Paul’s button and zipper. Paul nearly cried at the sudden relief as the extra pressure on his cock melted away and all that stood between him and Brandon’s glorious mouth was the thin cotton of his boxers. Brandon’s grin was blinding.

  “Lift your hips a sec?”

  Paul did, and Brandon slipped his pants and boxers down in one long sweep. Which was immediately fouled up by the fact that they were both still wearing their shoes. It took an awkward minute or two of frantic lace-unknotting before Paul could kick the offending footwear off—Brandon mimicking the movements as he shed his own—but then they were both wonderfully naked. Brandon was leaning over and breathing on him, and Paul had to close his eyes to avoid coming right there and then.

  “I do still dream about you, you know,” Brandon murmured. “Always regretted not getting to do this before.” And he leaned over that little bit more so he could take the tip of Paul’s cock into his mouth.

  Holy hell. It was better than anything Paul could have imagined. Their freshman year fumblings had been wonderful, amazing, the highlight of his until-then-nonexistent sexual experiences, but neither of them had known what they were doing. And later, for all Christopher had been enthusiastic about Paul performing this particular activity on him, he had never been all that into returning the favor. Now Paul was five seconds into a blowjob and Brandon was already blowing his entire sexual repertoire out of the water.

  “Your mouth, Christ, I…nngh.” There were other words, better ones, but Paul didn’t have access to them right now. He couldn’t see Brandon’s face, but he could feel him hum in satisfaction before he sucked a bit harder and ducked his head a bit lower. And damn, even
just the sight of Brandon’s dark hair bobbing up and down was probably going to fuel Paul’s masturbatory fantasies for years. The reality of the experience was well beyond anything he had expected.

  Brandon did something with his tongue, a little flick timed to coincide with a particularly spectacular bit of suction, and all of a sudden Paul was there. It was all he could do to tighten his grip on Brandon’s hair in warning before his orgasm hit him and he was reduced to incoherent half curses. Brandon pulled off and pumped him through it gently, just firm enough to prolong each wave, until Paul was completely and utterly unable to move.

  “Gorgeous,” Brandon proclaimed.

  Paul opened his eyes—when had he closed them?—and looked down. Brandon’s own erection was still hot and heavy between his legs. He caught Paul looking and smirked.

  “Liked that, did you?” Brandon shifted his hips slightly, getting his balance, but then he grabbed Paul’s hand and tugged him forward until Paul tipped off the sofa and fell over on top of him. “Gonna help me through it?”

  “God, yes.” Handjobs were easy—nothing new, in theory, although in this case everything was new because Brandon was amazing and not at all pushy about it. This was something Paul could be a bit more confident about, though. He may have been left reeling at Brandon’s blowjob skills, but now his head was a bit clearer and he could focus on getting his own back.

  Paul shuffled them around until they were side-by-side on the rug, facing each other, and he could get a nice firm grip on Brandon’s cock. He was tempted to try for another mind-bending kiss, but at the moment it seemed more important to watch the way the head of Brandon’s erection was peeking in and out from his fist as he worked it. Brandon was the one gasping and cursing, now, gorgeous and naked against the backdrop of Paul’s boring beige carpet. They didn’t have any lube, but Brandon was leaking copious amounts of pre-come and it was plenty to work with. Paul smeared it down as much of the shaft as he could and set to making Brandon moan.

  It didn’t take long. The groans and choked curses turned to full-on invectives and then a shuddering sigh as Brandon spilled into his hand. They both lay there for a few minutes, panting, absorbing the experience. Brandon rolled away first.

  “Bathroom?”

  Paul pointed out the appropriate door. While Brandon got himself cleaned up, Paul used the kitchen sink and some paper towels to wash up as best he could. Brandon came back out just as Paul was blotting the last of the stains off the sofa.

  “Knew you’d be phenomenal,” Brandon announced, leaning against the kitchen doorframe and looking absolutely at home despite being totally nude. “I’m so glad you gave me another chance.”

  “I don’t recall having any complaints about what we did freshman year,” Paul countered. The lack of contact afterward, yes, but not the experience itself.

  “Still worth repeating, though, wasn’t it?” Brandon winked and loped over to where his clothes had ended up in a messy pile. He looked nearly as sexy putting clothes on as he did taking them off. “Greatest regret of my life, not getting back in touch with you after we both went home for the summer. I’d pretty much resigned myself to living without knowing what you tasted like, and now I see I was missing out. I wouldn’t be averse to trying something like that again soon, if you’re up for it. I’ll be in town for a few weeks yet.” He paused, then nodded toward the rack of games. “You want me to hang around a bit longer tonight, or should I get going?”

  Paul tried to get dressed as quickly as he could, not entirely sure what to do. Brandon was amazing, fantastic, incredible—and yes, it would be good to have someone to hang out with for the evening. Even though they’d had some spectacular orgasms in each other’s company not ten minutes ago and his brain really wasn’t going to be capable of processing that fact yet. “I’d love it if you wanted to stay,” he finally said.

  “Awesome.” Brandon left his socks and shoes sitting next to the wall and came over to browse the row of jewel cases before planting himself on the floor next to Paul’s leg. “I’m more of a PC gamer—which of these have a good multiplayer mode?”

  “What are you in the mood for?”

  Brandon laughed. “I just got off with the taste of you on my tongue. Believe me, I’m not feeling picky.”

  Chapter 5

  I got off last night. With Brandon Mercer. Holy crap.

  Paul put his head down on his desk and banged his forehead on the scarred wood, the noise echoing in his tiny office. A freaking blowjob. And it was amazing. This wasn’t going to do anything to help him in the “staying in the nice, comfortable closet” department. And worse, the amazing part hadn’t just been the physical aspect—the dinner had been great, the conversation had been interesting, and Brandon turned out to be pretty impressive at first-person shooters as well. The man was a walking pile of Paul’s biggest turn-ons and he represented everything Paul couldn’t have.

  You can have him again tonight if you want to, a voice in Paul’s head reminded him. They’d parted ways with one last lingering kiss and a promise to meet up for dinner (and implied orgasms) again the next evening. Paul didn’t even want to think about how badly he was looking forward to seeing Brandon again.

  It wasn’t that big a deal, was it? Brandon was only going to be in town for the next few weeks. After that, Paul could go back to keeping his head down, to occasionally pulling himself off in the shower or safely hidden under his own covers, and nobody else would ever have to know. He could hold out for tenure and get that raise and work on funding his next research project and then the one after that and the one after that and if he was very lucky, he could stay in the closet for the next forty years until he was ready to retire.

  And do what in the meantime? Should I find a nice, unsuspecting wife somewhere? Settle down and have a few kids? Christmas dinners with the in-laws? Or just be a “confirmed bachelor” for everyone to speculate about? It wasn’t as if he had a whole lot of friends to be spending time with—his life had revolved around St. Benedict’s for the last decade, and most of that was his student years. Now nearly everyone from his undergrad and grad school days had moved on. Paul had never been as enthusiastically Christian as his contemporaries in the psychology department, either, so his relationships there were mostly limited to chats about the weather and occasional campus gossip. The only exception was Grace, and anything more than friendship with her—however much it might fit what everyone expected him to want and however much she might have made it obvious she wanted him—would be built on a lie. No, Brandon Mercer was an anomaly, and it seemed the best thing to do would be to enjoy his presence while it lasted and then forget about it when he left. Best and safest. Paul would just have to make it not be a big deal.

  Relieved to have talked himself through that particular minefield, Paul settled further into his chair and glanced at the clock in the corner of his computer screen. Forty-five minutes until class. More than enough time to catch up on some e-mail, tweak the wording on that proposal due next Friday, and look over his notes before he had to head downstairs to the lecture hall. Freshman survey courses weren’t as much fun to teach as the sophomore and junior seminars, but Dr. Kirsner made a point of divvying up the large lecture classes among all the various non-tenured faculty. At least Paul hadn’t gotten stuck with Grace’s 8 AM section. He opened his grant proposal and university e-mail simultaneously, tapping his fingers on his desk while they loaded. Would be nice to finally hear back from the two juniors in his psycholinguistics seminar who hadn’t chosen their spring paper topics yet…

  The single new e-mail waiting in his inbox had no subject, no sender address, and—apparently—no recipient. Although it had still reached him, so maybe it was something official? There was no text, just a large image file which took a few more seconds to load.

  When it did, Paul slammed his laptop shut and focused on just trying to breathe.

  The picture was of him. Him an
d Brandon, but the only part of Brandon visible was the back of his head and the tops of his very naked shoulders as he knelt between Paul’s legs. In Paul’s living room. In front of Paul’s sofa. And the man sitting with his head thrown back, fisting Brandon’s hair as Brandon choked down his cock, was clearly Paul himself.

  Fuck. Fuckityfuckityfuckfuckfuck. Paul didn’t swear often, but right now it seemed completely justified. What was this—a warning? A message? Blackmail? He glanced toward the hallway to remind himself it was empty—even though his screen faced away from the door—and forced himself to open the laptop again. The picture was still there. It was still of him. He was making the kind of face he usually associated with bad porn, a scrunched-up gasping wince that made him look like he was possibly in pain and possibly just about to let out a moan loud enough to wake the neighbors. With a man giving him head. Fuck.

  Paul’s first instinct was to call Brandon and yell at him for ruining everything. Paul had been very clear that anything they did had to remain a secret, and this was pretty much his worst nightmare come true. That instinct only lasted a second or two, until his more rational mind pointed out that Brandon couldn’t have taken the picture, seeing as he was otherwise occupied at the time, and thus someone else had. He hadn’t closed the blinds before leaving to meet Brandon, and once they got back to the apartment the view had been the furthest thing from his mind. Had that someone else been out there waiting? Or had they just happened to have been wandering around in the dark and decided to practice some casual photography?

  The someone else, whoever he or she was, wanted Paul to know he’d been seen. He took a closer look at the photo, trying to focus on the portions that weren’t himself and Brandon. The picture itself was large, but the resolution was grainy. Cropped from a bigger picture, perhaps? Or a poor quality camera? The color was a bit washed out, but it didn’t look like the kind of chunky grayscale security videos they showed on the news when a convenience store was being robbed. It seemed like a normal, albeit amateur, picture. The kind someone might post to Facebook, if the subject had been different.