Page 71 of Except You

He’s gonna be the death of me.

Chapter Eleven

Max

Ican’t get enough of Bow-tie and his hands on me. To say I’m obsessed would probably be an understatement.

It’s been a week since he wrapped his fist around me, and I need it over and over. At least twice a day. Three, if I’m feeling extra needy.

And he seems down for it too—never complaining when I reach down and cup his junk.

He always comes ridiculously fast, on a scream. Like it’s a shock to his system.

Not sure if that’s a good thing or not, but I don’t wanna know. I just wanna keep doing whatever this is. Sex has never felt this good before.

And we aren’t even doing anything but hand jobs.

I can’t even fathom what blow jobs would be like, or penetrative sex.

It makes me lose the ability to breathe when I think about that. It makes me shiver. Makes me want things I know I shouldn’t.

“Oh my god,” Beau groans as I pull his back against me in the kitchen and reach around to cup his dick. It’s hardening in my palm, and it’s a heady feeling.

“You already had a hand job on your break. I came over just for that.”

“I know,” I say, biting at his ear. “But I want it again. You drive me crazy.”

Beau leans his head back against my shoulder and then sighs.

“Fine, but let me turn the stove off and put Doggo outside. I don’t want him watching this.”

I grin as he does just that and then returns to me, stripping out of his clothes as he always does. He knows the drill.

I’m insatiable.

When he’s naked and propped up on the kitchen table, and I have my shirt off and my jeans and boxers pulled down my thighs, we both reach for one another. I love the groans he makes as soon as my fingers wrap around him, love knowing I can pull those sounds from him.

“Oh god, Max. Yes,” Beau says, his cheeks pink, his abdomen flexing as he fucks up into my fist. He’s barely stroking me, but I don’t care. I love that I can get him to come so easily.

He’s so responsive.

I step in closer to him and my dick bumps his, as it often does when we do this, but then for some unknown reason, I open my fist and pull our dicks together.

Beau gasps, his cock leaking like a sieve.

“Oh my god, we’re—oh my fuck, we’re frotting!” He’s squealing now, and I can’t help but chuckle at his response. He’s so fucking cute.

“Yeah? Is that what this is called?” I ask, leaning forward and pulling him even closer to the edge of the table.

He gasps and holds on to me, his fingers digging into my shoulders as he tries to stave off his orgasm. But I can tell he’s failing. He’s really struggling.

“Oh my god. Oh my god.” He’s squirming against me, his legs wrapped around mine, and I love it. Love the way he feels against me. I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t as affected. I totally am. My balls are drawn up tight, and I want to come so bad, but not until he does.

I love watching him, the orgasm traced across his face.

“I’m coming,” he moans, and then I watch as he, once again, unloads. It’s always an impressive amount of cum. I don’t know how he does it. He must have superhuman balls.

I use his release as lube and break away from him, stroking myself fast and coming just a few seconds later, mixing our mess together.