Page 26 of Rent: Paid in Full
Miller’s chuckle is low and throaty. Unfairly attractive. He sits on the sofa and leans back, beckoning for me to come closer with a single crook of his finger.
“Factually untrue,” he murmurs. “You’re about as far from a sure thing as I’ve ever met.”
That buoys me a little. At least it would if I wasn’t currently attempting to crawl seductively across the floor. Let me tell you, it’s a lot harder than porn would have you believe. It’s hell on the knees, and if I wasn’t already feeling stupider than ever before, this would certainly do it.
Miller watches with interest, eyes traveling down my face and arms and back up again as he undoes the top button of his pants and eases his zipper down.
By the time I’m at his feet, knees supremely grateful for the thick pile of the rug under them, he’s scooping his dick and balls out of his boxer briefs.
I swirl my tongue around my mouth and swallow the pooling saliva. It’s one of those swallows that doesn’t go down all that easily.
Miller is hard. Fully erect. Swollen and straining up toward his navel. He’s uncut. His foreskin is almost fully retracted to expose a dusty pink head. An emotion I cannot name washes over me. It’s like a splash in the face, but instead of sobering me, it makes me drunk. It hits me in the face first but runs down my limbs until I feel it in my hands and feet.
Miller watches expectantly. Gray eyes glitter like metal in the sun, laughing at me, daring me. I can tell he doesn’t think I’ll do it, and God knows, I wish he was right. But I can’t stand it when people underestimate me, no matter how much their opinion of me is born in truth, fact, or prior experiences. It drives me insane.
Instant fury in less than a second.
I guess you could say it’s a trigger for me.
I watch, removed, as my right hand floats through the air and circles his cock at the base. I have that feeling again. The splash. But this time the water is hot. It hits me in the chest and trickles over my skin, burning a trail down my body and settling in my groin.
He’s thick and warm in my hand. Impossibly warm. Hot. It feels wrong. Very wrong. It’s obviously madness to do something like this to someone like Miller. Anyone could tell you that. I should stop. I should definitely stop. I should give him the money back, drop out of college, go home, and never think about this again. That’s what I should do.
Instead, I drag my fist up, tugging the loose skin on his shaft up so only a glimpse of his head peeks out, then sliding it down again to expose it completely. I do it again. And again. I can’t look away. I’m mesmerized. Hypnotized as silky skin slides over solid steel.
Dick-matized. That’s what I am.
Ordinarily, it would take a lot more than this simple act to fascinate me to this extent. In many ways, I’m the kind of person who struggles to stay on course, to focus. But holy shit, I could play this lewd game of peek-a-boo all day.
Years of wondering, of inquisitiveness, of burning curiosity are powerfully sated. Having someone else’s dick in my hand feels just how I thought it would. Exactly how I thought it would. But better. Better because when my hand glides down over taut muscle and veins, Miller MacAvoy shifts in his seat. When it slides up, his jaw tenses and his eyelids droop when I get near the tip. My entire body is twitchy, but my mind is unusually relaxed.
“Ryan.” His voice is soft and hoarse, but it jerks me out of my stupor. “I paid for your mouth.”
God!
He’s right.
I lean forward tentatively, not wanting to give him the satisfaction of seeing me hesitate.
Can I do this? Can I actually do it?
My heart races when I get close to him. Beating so hard it’s making it difficult for me to get a good breath. My eyes don’t leave his dick. It’s harder now, even harder than it was when he took it out of his pants. The head is dark pink, and there’s a tiny glint of precum leaking out of his slit. I swallow hard. Nerves flurry, gathering together, attracting each other like magnets and turning into something big and scary.
My belly flip-flops, and I start freaking out.
I don’t know what I’m doing right now. I don’t have a clue. Even if you take away the Miller-ness of it all, I still don’t know what I’m doing. I factually don’t know how to do this shit. I’ve never done it before.
What the hell am I thinking?
I pull back slightly to collect myself, and as I do, the movement pulls my jeans tight against my ass. The thick wad of cash nudges me, a none-too-subtle reminder of why I’m here.
I’m on my knees with a man’s dick in my hand, and I’m doing it for money. For some reason, that makes it better. The fact that I’m doing this for money, not because I want to, makes it feel slightly better. It frees me from a heavy shackle society put on me when I was too young to realize it was happening. It takes away the whisper of guilt. The suggestion that it’s wrong. The money makes it feel plausible. Possible. Doable even.
I bow my head, and when I’m a breath away from his cock, I let my tongue peek out. My head’s already moving, bowing toward his lap, and I don’t do anything to stop the momentum. I run my tongue cautiously up his slit. I do it quickly and lightly, hardly touching at all, but tasting all the same. A salty burst. An unfamiliar flavor. The taste of a man. The taste of Miller.
Unmistakable arousal roars through me, arching my spine and tightening my hand around his cock. Blurring my thoughts, dulling self-preservation, and replacing it with something that feels a lot like—almost certainly misplaced—confidence.
The second time I lean in, I open my mouth and take his whole head in. He fills me completely, pressing my tongue down and forcing my jaw open wider. Smooth skin in my mouth, loose skin gathered beneath his head, tantalizing my lips.