Too Stupid to Live(Romancelandia) (10 page)

Ian took the last three steps in one. He walked up right behind Sam, forcing his body into the alcove of Sam’s front door. Pressing his front all along Sam’s back, arms bracketing him, palms on the door. “Oh, yes you do, kiddo,” Ian said into his ear. “From me you do.”

Well, he’d set that up nicely, hadn’t he? Gave Ian the perfect opening to go all dominant alpha hero on him. If Sam didn’t know better, he’d think his subconscious mind had planned this, but that didn’t seem possible. He’d never seen evidence of any part of his mind displaying this kind of intelligence in the past. Of course, his subconscious had never had Ian for motivation before.

He closed his eyes as Ian pressed in closer and spoke again in that threatening, thrilling tone. “You like to fight it, don’t you? You try to pretend you aren’t submissive, but you like it, kiddo.” He started rocking his hips slowly, pushing against Sam’s ass.

Oh, God, he’s already hard.
Sam’s forehead thudded softly against the door. He couldn’t stop himself from pushing back against Ian. Except . . . something was a little off. Sam struggled to turn around in Ian’s hold.

“I don’t do that anymore,” he said into Ian’s face. “I don’t take orders.” When Ian looked at him with raised eyebrows, Sam amended, “Unless I feel like it.”

Ian looked at him from under his lashes. It was a strangely flirty look that threw Sam off-balance. Well, further off-balance. “Do you feel like it tonight?” Ian pulled one hand off the door, sliding it down Sam’s arm, then his hip, across his jeans to cup Sam’s groin. He even moved in a slightly menacing, completely exciting way. Slowly. Controlled and planned.
Foreplay aforethought
. It made Sam’s heart race, and the back of his head hit the door.

Ian’s hand found his erection pushing against his fly through the denim. His fingers traced the shape of him while Sam watched in the porch light. “Wanna come inside?” he croaked.

They didn’t make it past the entry. Ian shut the front door behind him with a soft
click
and pushed Sam against the wall, forcefully enough that it made his knees weak. Ian stared at him, hand splayed on Sam’s chest, so close but not kissing him—Sam could read the indecision in his face, and then the moment when he decided not to.
That
firmed his knees up again.

So it was like that.
Of course it’s like that, idiot. It’s always been like that
. Sam nearly shook his head at his romantic self. Ian wasn’t some gothic, tortured, romantic lead; he was just some horny guy in real life.

Besides, in tortured, gothic romances it took the hero
way
longer than this to give in to his heart’s desires and kiss the heroine. Therefore, Ian couldn’t be that type of character; Sam’s proof was in the way Ian’s thumb started slowly stroking his chest, smoothing and pulling the fabric of his shirt across his sensitive skin. He was totally giving in to his urges, just not the ones involving his lips.

But say Ian
was
a TGH (Tortured, Gothic Hero). The timeline for Main Character One to accept the love of Main Character Two was really long in those old-school romances, so Ian not kissing him was putting them right on track. Sam (as Main Character Two, of course—he preferred that to “heroine”) couldn’t expect the salve of his love and tenderness to heal the wounded heart of Ian (Main Character One) for at least two hundred pages. So it was
possible
, right?

Okay, genius, if he’s the tortured hero, what does that make you
?

That was a tough question, one he was having difficulty working out the answer to with Ian gently kneading his chest, staring into his eyes, his rapid breaths falling on Sam’s mouth as he leaned closer. Sam could see each whisker on Ian’s face, and not only watch but
feel
Ian’s lips part. He tilted his head a tiny bit, preparing for the kiss he might get after all, telling Ian he
wanted
it.

Then Ian’s face veered slightly to the side, his cheek rasping across Sam’s like an iceberg grazing a cruise ship.

“I want you to suck my cock,” Ian whispered in Sam’s ear before biting his lobe. And that’s when it hit Sam. If Ian was a TGH, that made Sam . . .

Too Stupid to Live
.

Sam closed his eyes in resignation. He was TSTL. Stupid enough to investigate the locked fourth story of the manor house, where the human screams originated; stupid enough to run out onto the moors at night to find the howling wolves. Stupid enough to want to suck Ian’s cock again. And the whole time, he’d be thinking he could somehow further the plot via his stupidity.

They stood there in some kind of sexual stasis while Sam thought it over. The problem was he loved sucking cock.
Loved
it. Could almost come from it alone. He wanted to know more about what it felt like to suck a guy with foreskin, but even more, he wanted the chance to get Ian’s bull nuts into his mouth. If he could do that . . . roll Ian’s balls across his tongue and fist his dick, stroke him until Ian came in his hair . . . Sam hit his knees, still shivering from the image.

He’d opened Ian’s slacks and was mouthing him through his briefs before Ian could finish sucking in a surprised breath. He pulled Ian’s pants down just past his hips, then his plain white underwear. He had to get those out of the way; just tucking them behind Ian’s scrotum—
guh
—wouldn’t give him the kind of access he’d want later. He wrapped his fingers around Ian’s cock, watching the skin slide back on his shaft and then cover the glans again. Then he felt Ian’s hand grip his hair. Shit, should he have asked before touching?

Sam stopped and looked up at Ian.

“You can explore.” Ian’s voice sounded strained. “Feels good.”

Something was missing. Sam slowly stroked Ian’s cock again, watching his face. Glassy eyes; check. Parted, wet lips; check. Breath coming faster; check.
Hmmm
. “Where’s your tie?”

“What?” Ian asked. “My what?” His slitted eyes widened.

“That tie you had on earlier. The red one. Put it on, please?”

“You want to suck me while I’m wearing a tie?” Ian looked befuddled. Sam lowered his head to avoid smiling in Ian’s face, and watched his own hand smoothly stroke down and up Ian’s cock, the blunt tip appearing and disappearing, slightly wet and glistening. It was so tempting, but . . . Sam looked back up. Ian had stopped breathing.

Sam made himself meet Ian’s eyes. “Yeah,” he whispered. “Please wear the tie?”

Ian started fumbling in his suit pockets, then his coat pockets, finally pulling it out of the parka. “This tie?” He ran his hands along it. Sam could hear them smooth across the fabric.

“That tie. Please?” If Ian wrapped that around Sam’s dick, would he be able to feel the difference? Know when Ian had his hand on silk or on skin?

Ian brought the tie around the back of his neck, almost dropping it. “You have a fantasy about being on your knees in front of a guy with a tie on, don’t you kiddo?” He was trying to knot it, throwing one end around the other in a way Sam knew wasn’t going to work.

Sam swallowed and tilted his head back a little more, continuing the slow stroking rhythm. “I do now.”

Ian’s fingers looked like they were doing more harm than good to the tie. Sam ducked his head quickly, hiding another smile. He had a feeling Ian wasn’t in this position very often—the one of being unsteady and possibly flustered. Sam let go of his dick, stood up, and reached for the tie. “Let me tie it.”

“I know how to tie a tie,” Ian said in a breathy but sharp voice.

“I figured, since you manage to dress yourself in the mornings. Just let me do it. It’s part of the fantasy.” That last bit was supposed to be a way for Ian to save face, but Sam realized it was true. The only thing he’d like better than knotting Ian’s tie and kneeling to suck his cock would be to have Ian wrap the tie around his wrists and bind them together.

Sam looked up from the red fabric. Had Ian heard that noise he’d made? He was still watching Sam’s hands.

He concentrated on the knot again, but his fingers now shook. He might, kinda sorta, want Ian to tie him up
someday
, but not tonight. He didn’t know Ian. Couldn’t actually trust him. Maybe if they saw each other a few times . . .

He dropped back to his knees, gripped Ian’s dick again, and let himself taste—slowly, in small doses, licking every part of his head. When he slid his tongue under Ian’s foreskin, Ian gasped and gripped his hair tighter. He had no idea what that hand was doing to fuel Sam’s fantasies, like the one of Ian grabbing his hair while fucking Sam’s mouth . . .

Sam sucked Ian in by millimeters, looking up to see his eyes were closed and his teeth were clenched.
I put that look on his face
. Sam took all the little victories he could. He knew he wasn’t the best cocksucker in the world; Marley had told him so enough times. He just really, really liked to do it. Liked the flavor and the noise and, yes, liked being on his knees.

If this was just sex between them? Ian could damn well suffer through a mediocre blowjob, because that’s what Sam wanted to do.

He focused on learning all about foreskin. He discovered he could slide it back, and it would turn itself inside out and cover Ian’s cock in sensitive, almost raw-looking skin. Sam formed his mouth into an “o” and slid his spit-slicked lips up and down the pink, all the way to where it ended at a rougher patch. Ian grunted, yanking on Sam’s hair, which sent messages like “action imminent, prepare the troops” straight to his nuts. He moaned, looking up, and Ian’s slitted eyes met his for an instant.

Some circuit completed itself when they locked gazes. A current traveled through Sam and flowed into Ian’s body, but then Ian closed his eyes and it ended.

Sam’s own aching dick clamored for attention, but he let the tension build. Ignored his complaining knees and closed his eyes and sunk himself into the feel and sound of bringing Ian off. He sucked cock mostly by sound. The sound of his tongue sliding over skin, the sucking noises, but most importantly the sounds Ian made. Little involuntary noises, the feels-so-good
mmmmm
’s and vocal exhalations. Soft
uh
’s and surprised grunts when Sam got creative. Moans stifled in the back of his throat. Sam felt each little sound like a drop of water hitting his body.

When the feel of Ian’s fingers gripping his hair ached as much as Sam’s dick, and Ian’s hips were rocking fast, Sam grasped him with a hand and used his tongue to follow a vein down Ian’s shaft until Ian’s balls were bumping his chin.

Fuck, it smelled so good right there, like concentrated skin and that sweat smell and musk unique to Ian. Ian’s scent was so thick in this one perfect spot that Sam could taste him in the air. It made his muscles weak and invigorated him at the same time.

Straining his eyes, he could just see the shaking tip of his tongue reaching for Ian’s balls. His first
real
taste of Ian was almost sweet. Sam brought the flavor into his mouth and savored it. Was it his imagination that men in their thirties tasted differently? Aged like fine wine.

“Sam?” Ian asked, still breathing heavily.

Sam was beyond caring what Ian wanted. He jacked his hand up, slipping foreskin over the head of Ian’s cock to keep him busy while Sam gave into temptation and ate Ian’s balls. Sucked them in and rolled them around, dragged the broad flat of his tongue across soft skin and hair. Worked his way behind them to taste the flavor right there, because that’s where the gold was.

And thank God for wide mouths, because he could fit both of Ian’s nuts in at the same time. Barely, but he’d gladly look like a chipmunk to suck on them like this. He felt Ian’s hand close over his on Ian’s dick, forcing Sam to stroke him faster, foreskin slipping back and forth. Sam could see Ian’s red tie at the edge of his vision, knuckles flying past, and Ian’s thighs tensing and trembling.

He gorged on testicles until he was gasping, drool running down his chin, the sound of skin on skin loud in his ears. Ian yanked on his hair, but didn’t really care what the message might be.

Sam almost gagged from stuffing too much of Ian into his mouth and down his throat, but then he found that secret, concentrated taste he was looking for: the caviar of ball fetishists. Licking him there was a full-on mouthgasm. Sam moaned and kneaded his own dick roughly, happy to find his hand already on it.

“Fuck,” Ian groaned, and then he was coming. His scrotum pulled up, fighting Sam for possession of his nuts. His hand yanked on Sam’s hair and then he shot cum into it, and with Ian’s flavor on Sam’s tongue, it was too much to resist. Sam came in his jeans, moaning and fighting to keep his prize in his mouth right until the last second.

When he finally pulled off and collapsed on the floor, Ian fell against the wall, gasping for breath. Sam shut his eyes and did the same where he lay.

That was so worth debasing myself for
. If he was going to let some guy use him, at least he got what he’d wanted out of it.

Except for the rapidly cooling wet patch on his jeans. He could have done without that.