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But don’t be surprised if I last all of two minutes—and that’s being generous—before I shoot my load.

He stands suddenly, awkwardly, one hand hesitating then going to his fly. He’s trying so hard to be daring. Confident. I want to tell him he doesn’t have to. That I don’t want him to be or do anything that’s out of his comfort zone. But I get the feeling he’s got something he has to prove—to himself, not to me—so I sit back and wait it out as he adorably fumbles with his fly.

After a few tries, he pops the button with shaky fingers and slowly slides the zipper down. Then he works a hand inside his pants and runs it over the navy blue cotton of his boxers, stroking his monster dick through the fabric.

I lick my lips, almost involuntarily. “If you’re trying to kill me before we get started, you’re doing a great job.”

“I don’t want to kill you.” He hooks his thumbs into his waistband and shoves his pants over his hips and down his legs. When they reach his ankles, he kicks them off, leaving him in only his formfitting boxer briefs.

Damn.My mouth goes dry and my brain cells short circuit. He really is going to kill me. But at least I’ll die happy.

“Then what do you want?” I ask. I need to know. And I need him to be specific. And certain. Once we do this, there’s no going back.

“I—I want you naked.” He jerks himself through his boxers. Whether he’s aware of it or not, he’s putting on a show for me. My living room is his stage, and I’m his audience of one. “And I want to suck you off.”

“Yes and no,” I answer, and his face falls, his disappointment almost palpable. But that’s okay. I know it won’t last for long.

“What’s that mean?” he asks.

“Yes, I’ll get naked. But no, you can’t suck me off. Not yet.” I stand, strip, and cross to him, sinking to my knees. My eyes are level with his cock, and I reach up to cup it, pushing his hand out of the way. “This is my apartment. You’re my guest tonight. And company comes first.”