I Can't Own You? (BOOK 1)

8

I daydream about what I could do with a million dollars, while the party booms on outside Sam's bedroom. The room contradicts his party nights. It's a harsh and mature theme of black and white. With this money, I could buy a downtown luxury high rise full of windows, near water, and paint it pastel (happy colors to match my behavior). Sam has nothing colorful around, not even knick-knacks. When we met at TGI Friday's so many summers ago, I didn't want to pursue him because I thought he was straight. He really surprised me.

I pace the room feeling tipsy and end up pausing and cracking up like a hyena at a picture on Sam's dresser. A picture of him as a kid, he had to be about seven at a Halloween party, dressed as a yellow ice cream cone. I grin, snorting goofily. He was a beautiful little boy and an even more beautiful man. I'm surprised his mother didn't sign him up for modeling, especially with those green eyes that burned, and fine face with detailed cheeks. My fat cheeks had a bare minimum structure; you have to really look to spot the lines. Sam also has plump lips, but mines are bigger. His dark, short hair, statuesque nose, and shocking eyes. I mean, a stop in place and stare, shocking. A dazzling smile, perfect teeth...dimples too. God...I haven't thought this much about him for seven months now.

I hear the music turn off from beyond the door. I check the time on my phone-11:00 pm. Muffled voices speak, sounding as if they were saying partings. Laughter echos the hallway. The sound of smooching weighs down on my nerves. I picture Sam kissing each of his girls goodnight before closing the front door. The sound of footsteps near the bedroom door, the knob twists, then it opens slowly. Sam quietly pokes his head in. "Oh, you're still up?"

"Yep."

"Don't you have work?" He steps into the room and spots me lose my balance and his eyebrows furrow. "No more drinking." He says as he crosses his muscular arms.

I goofily sway over to him, feeling euphoric about being a millionaire, and in great need of celebration. "Or what?" My hand grips around his dick. Sam's eyes spark before lowering to my hand on his crotch. He lets out a grunt as I tighten my grip. "Like I thought..." I kneel to unzip and pull down his pants. As I pull down his boxers, I stare up from a medium, circumcised dick...holding it in my hand.

He closes his eyes, and his mouth parts, letting out an airy moan.

I lick the sides of his tower, my mouth watering. My tongue moistens it, trailing back and forth. I groan as he bites his lip. I lick around his eggplant a bit longer, then place his tip in my mouth. Then suck, tap, lick, rotate, circle, peck, bite, and tongue stroke. "AHH!" He gasps and grabs the back of my head, thrusting it forward. Sam backs up against the door and leans his head against it, moaning and hyperventilating. "Damn...go harder!"

You ain't gotta tell me twice.

I take things hardcore, so hard that the skin of his dick taps the back of my throat. I feel his vein against my tongue: so smooth and full of cum, as it sleeks my inner mouth. Due to my firm head strokes, Sam's waist bangs the door, making the knob clang. I push him deeper and harder into my mouth; gagging, hacking on his load. He explodes from his bone straight cock. I slide my lips over his dick, collecting the sweet. "Fuck!" He strains his neck upwards.

"Hmmm..." I sing as I swallow his cake mix-gulping, swallowing the treat. I lick him clean, then suck him so hard that I taste a bit of blood. Deep-throating, feeling his member passing my uvula, I gag a bit and curve my tongue around his cock. As I keep a steady pace, Sam grips at the wood of the door, clawing it, moaning louder, longer, erratically. Loud enough that the neighbors could definitely hear. I suck on until he comes again, like a waterfall, it runs my throat. "FUCK, AHHHH!!" This time he yells like a caveman; wildly, and untamed. His nails clutch at the door's wood, which now holds scratch marks. Sam catches his breath through his teeth, staring down at me, his eyes heavy with lust.

I wipe the edges of my mouth, satisfied with my celebration.