Fierce & Fabulous (Sassy Boyz) (8 page)

Chapter Twelve

“Holy fuck,” Fitch said.
Best blow job ever.
And not for one second had he thought about Ansel’s gender as anything other than a blessing. Because no woman had ever sucked him that hard, that deep, before.
Christ.
He tried to catch his breath, but his whole body shook like a goddamn earthquake.

Ansel, still on his knees, nuzzled into Fitch’s bare hip and moaned.

“Just give me a second,” Ansel said, his voice strained.

Fitch opened his eyes. He’d been so turned on he’d lost all control. Had he pushed too deep? Had he hurt him? He tipped Ansel’s head back and stopped short. Ansel was stroking his own shaft.

Holy hell.

His cock was long and slim, just like Ansel. And his balls were completely hairless. The sight sent a zing of excitement all the way down to his toes. Fitch was so shocked by the sight, and the feeling, that he grunted.

But Ansel didn’t stop. His eyes were squeezed closed, his bottom lip tortured by teeth. A veil of rapture transformed his beautiful face, and the air in Fitch’s lungs evaporated.

Hot
,
hot
,
hot.

So much better than the porn he’d been watching.

Then those beautiful made-up eyes popped open and Ansel’s desire pierced him. All of a sudden, Fitch was overcome with a need to put that look on Ansel’s face himself. He wanted to be responsible for Ansel’s pleasure, not just a witness.

This was what he’d been waiting for.

Nerves suddenly came to life in his gut like a hive of angry wasps. He swallowed with a sandpaper tongue and focused on Ansel. Christ, he didn’t know how. But he wanted—no,
needed
—to try.

“Stop.”

“Hold on, just a little more,” Ansel said.

“No. Stop, now.” He used his gruffest, most commanding voice and added an extra tug on Ansel’s hair, but it only seemed to spur the guy on, if his delighted gasp was anything to go by.

“Don’t worry, I’m still young enough to go again. I promise,” Ansel said, but the words sounded like they were being forced out with every gasping breath.

“Please.” Fitch changed tactics, gentled his hands and cupped Ansel’s cheek.

Ansel’s desperate strokes slowed and he sighed. “Damn, I didn’t take you for a sadist.”

Choosing not to reply to the taunt, he hooked Ansel under the armpits and helped him stand. Because Ansel had kicked off his heels they were finally the same height. Fitch smoothed a few stray hairs off Ansel’s glistening face, trying to get a grip on the swirl of thoughts and emotions twisting his insides. His stomach was a chaos of nerves. His heart was beating way too goddamn fast. He was still coming down from the best blow job of his life and his brain was suffering from lack of blood and oxygen.

But still, he wanted more.

Silently, he gripped the hem of Ansel’s T-shirt and, with great patience, slid it up to expose pale skin. Obediently, Ansel raised his arms until Fitch could tug the shirt over his head. His necklaces cascaded out of the tangle of arms, hair, and cloth and fell into place on his newly bared chest.

Fitch’s fingers trembled when he reached out to trace the shallow dip and curve of a well-developed pec. He wanted to learn all there was to know about his dancer’s body. Ansel’s nipple pebbled under his scrutiny and he found the reaction exquisite. He did the same thing to the other side. Ansel let out a breath but didn’t move, didn’t speak, no doubt sensing his need to explore, to understand. He lifted one necklace and placed it on the counter, a long gold chain with a cross. He did the same for the second piece. But when he tried to remove the third and last—a worn metal ball chain with a pair of scarred dog tags and an ancient-looking key—Ansel caught his wrist.

“Not that one. I never take it off.” His voice was hushed and serious.

Fitch released the chain. There was a story there, something important, but now was not the time to start digging. He smoothed a palm over his dancer’s slender shoulder, down his firm biceps, over his muscular but still elegant forearm, to his bangled wrist. God, the man was so solid under all that grace, so strong. It was some kind of weird deception that from a distance Ansel seemed so delicate.

Sliding the whole group of metal bands off, Fitch gave them a home near the necklaces. It was the same for the bracelets on the other wrist and the three rings Ansel wore on his left hand.

With every item he removed, another part of Ansel’s armor fell away. If Fitch was going to do this, he wanted there to be no hiding. No running from the truth, no trying to trick himself later that the whole encounter had been with a female. He didn’t want there to be lies or mistrust, regrets or worry. So when he finally allowed himself to look down, past Ansel’s toned stomach to where the tight black pants hung open and his long, slim cock jutted up from a hairless sack, he couldn’t deny the instant heat the sight produced, the twitch of interest from his tired dick.

Nor could he deny the tiny flash of fear.

* * *

Ansel couldn’t remember ever having a lover take so much pleasure in undressing him. The way Fitch studied his body with hungry eyes and gentle hands, he felt like a piece of clay taking shape before a master artist. Even though he itched to stroke what lay beneath Fitch’s clothes, he remained still under the scrutiny, some part of him unwilling to lose Fitch’s attention. His dick leaked and his balls hurt from denied pleasure, but when Fitch ran a work-roughened fingertip up his length, he was glad of the ache. Otherwise, he might have shot his load right then.

He guessed there was something to be said for denied gratification.

“I’ve never done this before so tell me if I’m doing it wrong.” Fitch’s eyes never wavered from their focus on Ansel’s dick.

“You’ve never touched your own cock before? I find that hard to believe.”

“I’ve never had one in my mouth.”

At his words, Ansel sucked in air. He hadn’t expected a blow job, not from a formerly straight guy, not the first time. His reply was automatic, barely a whisper. “You don’t have to.”

Fitch looked up and Ansel was caught by the dark hunger in his gaze. He absently registered the slow, steady slide of thick fingers over his cock until he was held in a grip so easy and sure, all he could do was blink. Then Fitch leaned forward and kissed him.

He trembled and opened his mouth to invite Fitch inside. He flicked his tongue along Fitch’s full bottom lip and tilted his head. Fitch took the bait and deepened the kiss, cupping his head with one hand while the other leisurely stroked his length. Damn, why was this making him dizzy? It was like his blood didn’t know which way to go, south to his pounding cock or north to his throbbing lips. He moaned and tilted his hips toward Fitch. More, more. Tighter. God. He was so close. Fitch pulled away, his warm breath fanning Ansel’s cheek.

“Good?” he asked.

“More than good, don’t stop now.”

“Where’s your room?”

Another stroke up and a squeeze to his crown. Ansel had to swallow a few times before he could form the words. “Down the hall, on the left.”

With a quick peck to his lips, Fitch released his hold and stepped back. “Show me.”

It took him a minute to remove his feet from the floor and another to shake the fog from his brain enough for Fitch’s words to make sense. Fitch had pulled up his pants and started unbuttoning his shirt before he could move. The sight of those thick fingers making quick work of tiny buttons should not have been such a turn-on. Ansel shook his head and hurried to his room.

Besotted idiot was not a good look. He took a moment in the darkness to put himself back together. Tonight was just like any other night. Fitch was just like every other guy he’d fucked. That didn’t stop him from kicking the dirty clothes into the closet, straightening the sheets, and checking the bedside table for condoms and lube.

Yes. Thank the lube gods, he had supplies.

Fitch came in as he was closing the drawer, the green dress shirt hanging from his fingertips revealing a chiseled chest covered with soft black hair. A scrumptious little trail followed the deep hollow of his abs to disappear into the waist of his pants.

Ansel stood rooted to the ground so Fitch closed the door and hooked his shirt on the doorknob. At some point, he’d kicked off his shoes. He was dressed only in his jeans and socks. With a nod, Fitch pushed them off. Following suit, breath shaking, Ansel did the same with his jeans and lace shorts.

Naked, Fitch came forward. “You’ll tell me if I do it wrong.”

Fitch maneuvered him until he was sitting on the edge of the bed.

“There is no way in hell you could do it wrong. I’m ready to burst from the thought of your lips around me.” Ansel swallowed and closed his eyes. He couldn’t look at Fitch. The guy was too fucking hot with his chest hair, and his furry legs looking like goddamn tree trunks. But then Fitch’s hands were sliding up his legs and he couldn’t
not
look.

Fitch lowered to his knees between Ansel’s legs and then caressed him from thigh to nipple. “You’re so smooth.”

“Part of the image,” he said, wondering what Fitch would think of him after he’d gone a few days without shaving. He was naturally blond. Any hair he was able to grow was fine and almost invisible. However, if he didn’t shave his face every few days he’d have a decent five o’clock shadow. He guessed Fitch needed to shave twice a day—he still hadn’t seen the guy without the scruff.

Fitch just hummed and pressed a kiss to Ansel’s belly, while those thick, dastardly fingers tweaked both his nipples. Ansel sucked air through his teeth at the jolt of lust that tightened his balls.

“Still good?” Fitch asked.

“Yeah, great.”

Another hum and tweak, but this time the kiss was to his dripping cockhead. He held his breath and waited. Should he have warned him? Fitch was straight, after all. He’d probably never tasted his own come, let alone that of another man. He was just about to open his mouth and apologize when Fitch looked up and swiped the precome off his mouth with his tongue. His deep groan could have been a fist for the pressure it stoked in Ansel’s balls.

“Not what I expected,” Fitch said, smacking his lips.

“What does that mean?”

“I don’t know. It’s kind of fruity.” He licked Ansel like a lollipop.

“Shit.”

Fitch chuckled. “You’re impatient.”

“Yes. Yes, I fucking am. And you are a cruel bastard.”

There was that hum again. Fitch licked his shaft from balls to slit. At the same time, Fitch pushed Ansel’s knees wider and adjusted position between them. Finally settled, Fitch took a firm grasp on the length and met his eyes before sucking on the head.

A string of curses came pouring out of Ansel’s mouth. His abs tensed as his hips came off the bed, but he never looked away. Not when Fitch palmed his balls, not when he swirled his tongue around the head. Not even when he started fisting the base in rhythm with his mouth.

Ansel wanted to remember every fucking moment of this night because he was pretty damn certain it would be the best night of his life.

Chapter Thirteen

Fitch could get used to cock-sucking if it meant listening to Ansel’s chorus of sex noises while he did it. He knew he was being clumsy, and his grip was probably too rough. He didn’t have nice smooth hands like Ansel—his were calloused and scarred from work. But the way he panted, Fitch must be doing something right. He peeked up to get a good look at Ansel’s flushed cheeks and parted lips. Ansel’s hands fisted the sheets on either side of his hips, eyes locked on his. Then, Ansel’s tongue swept out to wet his bottom lip.

It was hard to deny the urge to split himself down the middle so one half could continue feasting on cock while the other kissed those incredibly tempting lips. Hell, while he was at it, he might as well separate into three because his dick wanted in on the action too. It was twitching like mad between his legs. Rather than distracting, the pleasure only drove him harder. He redoubled his efforts, moving his fist over Ansel’s slicked shaft and following the movement with his mouth and tongue the way so many women had done for him. Who knew he’d soaked up so much knowledge about giving head?

Ansel’s guttural groan came just before a full-body tremble.

“I’m gonna come.”

Fitch only had a second to react. He pulled back enough for the first jet to hit him on the chin.

“Oh fuck, oh fuck.” Ansel’s body trembled as he painted his own stomach.

Ansel’s load dripping down his face, Fitch tried to catch his breath, waiting for some kind of revulsion to swamp him, but it never came. Yes, he was shaking, partly from nerves but mostly from excitement. Watching Ansel come was better than any porno Fitch had ever seen, and the only thing on his mind was how quickly he could make it happen again.

When the trembles stopped, Ansel blew out a breath and collapsed backward on the bed, with a breathy, “Goddamn.”

Fitch smiled, filled with a kind of terrifying reverence for the man—for the act. He hadn’t expected to enjoy giving head. But he had.

It was weird, sure. But also fucking awesome.

Fitch wiped some of the spunk off his chin with a finger and tested it with his tongue. With a little practice, he could probably work up to swallowing a load.

“I don’t think I can move. You’re going to have to fuck me like this because I’m dead.”

Fitch chuckled and maneuvered so he could spread out next to him. “I did okay, then?” It was a rhetorical question. It was pretty fucking obvious Ansel had enjoyed himself. He turned his head so he could watch Ansel’s profile in the glow of the streetlight.

The corners of his lipstick-smudged mouth tipped up just a little. “Yeah, it was good. You know, for your first time.” He rolled to his side to face Fitch. “You’ll get better with some proper training.”

Fitch altered his voice to imitate Ansel. “Oh fuck, oh fuck. Jesus Christ. Holy fuuuuck.”

Ansel laughed and punched him in the shoulder. “I did not sound like that.”

“Okay, if you insist. Whatever you sounded like, it was lewd. I loved every note.”

Ansel’s smile turned sultry and he blinked in a feminine way. “Why, Mr. Donovan, you say the sweetest things.”

“My mother taught me to be a gentleman, what can I say?”

Ansel traced a finger through the hair on Fitch’s chest, around one nipple and then the other. “You could say you’re ready for the next round.”

Fitch grabbed Ansel’s hand where he’d been brushing his fingers over his heart. With a single move, he rolled until Ansel was flat on his back and Fitch was leaning over him. “I was born ready,” he rumbled with a flex of his hips, his erection prodding Ansel’s thigh. “I’ve just been waiting for you.”

Ansel parted his lips on a gasp. “Impressive.”

He leaned down, but just before their lips touched, he whispered, “I aim to please.”

As soon has he swept his tongue along Ansel’s bottom lip, he opened, not just his mouth but his legs and arms as well. They moved until Fitch was settled on top, their cocks straining alongside each other, arms gripping and clutching at bare flesh. Ansel wrapped his legs around Fitch’s waist and thrust his hips up. Their mouths fused together in a carnal lip-lock that could probably make the devil blush, it was so fucking vulgar.

Fitch couldn’t remember ever being this turned on, especially after he’d already come. The fact that this was happening now, with Ansel—a man, blew his mind. But he was beyond caring, with every nerve begging for a touch of Ansel’s skin and every taste bud aching for a taste. The only thing on his mind was satisfying the hunger.

“Damn, this is crazy,” Ansel panted when they unsealed their mouths.

Fitch moved to suck on Ansel’s Adam’s apple. Between licking the bump and grazing his teeth down Ansel’s neck, he managed to ask, “What is?”

Ansel’s fingers dug into his ass and he trembled beneath him. “I just fucking came, like, five minutes ago.”

“Yeah, it was hot.” He moved to suck on Ansel’s earlobe, and finally inhaled a whiff of the perfume he’d missed. Growling into Ansel’s skin, he burrowed into the scent.

Ansel cursed. “Lube. We need the lube right fucking now.”

* * *

Ansel struggled to get out from under Fitch, but the guy had his mouth on his earlobe and wouldn’t let go. The sparks shooting down his spine were too tempting. But he wanted Fitch inside him, needed it. His ass was practically fucking purring at the thought. He pushed hard at the giant shoulder above him.

“Lube, Fitch. Or I’m going to go off from the friction alone.”

Fitch grunted and bit his ear. It shouldn’t have sent a torrent of pleasure to his toes, but it did. They curled. Stupid toes.

He pushed again, even while his hips tipped up to get more of what Fitch was offering. Not only could the guy suck dick like a motherfucking pro, but he could also get him hard again in minutes.

Too good to be true.
He’d better remember that or else he’d be lost down a sinkhole of pesky, crippling affection. No one wanted that, especially him. Maybe, with luck, Fitch would be the worst ass-fucker in the world.

In a move he rarely used, Ansel hooked his foot near Fitch’s knee, grabbed his elbow and tugged while rotating his hips, toppling them over. He ended up on top. Fitch blinked up at him in shock.

“How’d you do that?”

Ansel ignored the question. “Fuck me now or die.”

Fitch chuckled. “Damn, you really are impatient.”

“It’s your fault. I’m not usually raging so hard.” He leaned over to the bedside table and got supplies from the drawer. He set the foil condom packet and a tissue on Fitch’s chest, and pumped a couple squirts of lube onto his fingers.

“I can do that,” Fitch said when Ansel reached around to stretch his own hole, but he looked a little worried at the thought. Ansel didn’t take offense—most heterosexual guys had no clue about how to prep for anal properly and they tended to have a hang-up when it came to buttholes.

“I can’t handle more of your teasing,” Ansel said to set Fitch at ease again. It worked. When he met Fitch’s hooded gaze the guy looked like he was holding himself back from his new favorite snack. It was kind of intense, and scary hot. “This won’t take long.”

“Don’t rush, I like watching.” Fitch gripped his hip with one big palm and ran the other down Ansel’s chest and stomach. Ansel’s cock sprang up between them like one of those bobble-head dolls. Bounce, bounce, bounce, every time he twisted his finger to spread the lube. Hissing, he pressed a second digit inside and scissored. He might be a slut, but it’d been a few days since he’d had something up his ass.

Fitch took Ansel’s cock in hand and gave it a firm stroke, which worked as a distraction from the slight pain.

“Next time, it’ll be my fingers opening you up.” Fitch sounded confident now, like within the last minute he’d talked himself into wanting it.

Ansel gasped at the words and the punch of pleasure they caused. “What makes you think there will be a next time?”

At his question, Fitch surged up into a sitting position so they were face to face. His burly arms tightened around him, one big hand cupped the back of his head.

“This,” Fitch said, before devouring his breath in a core-searing kiss. Fitch had such a solid hold on him, he couldn’t have fought it if he’d wanted to. With his fingers still jammed up his ass and his free arm trapped at his side, he was awkwardly stuck. To his eternal and forever private humiliation, he loved it. He basked in the restraint, in knowing he could do nothing but surrender. So for a few brief moments, he just let go of all his barriers, his denials, his worry. He gave it up and flew into the heat of Fitch’s kiss.

As the strong minty flavor mixed with the taste of their mutual passion, Ansel’s dick gave a desperate twitch. The kiss was too all consuming, too dangerous. If he forgot his head for one single breath he’d be lost forever. It was the edge he knew so well, the fine line he’d been walking his whole life. Everything he’d ever secretly desired, wished for, ached for, bled for, was all suddenly within reach. He just didn’t know if he had the courage to reach out and grab it.

And if he did, he was pretty sure it would suffocate the life out of him.

When he finally pulled back, Fitch stared into his eyes.

“There will be a next time.” Fitch’s deep, lust-filled voice tickled all of Ansel’s fantasies.

He swallowed. Every time he’d let a man believe he was a girl he’d gotten this same rush—the high giddiness that poured through him and made his limbs lighter than air. The unknown danger, the deception, the challenge, it was all intoxicating. But there was no deception here. The only challenge was with himself. The only danger would be holding on to his heart.

With a shuddering breath, he nodded, even though he already knew he could never see Fitch again after tonight. Not if he wanted to keep his world intact.