Page 67 of The Hopelessly Bromantic Duet

He kisses my jawline, the corner of my lips, my cheek. His kisses are a little sad, a lot poignant. “But what if we make the most of the next four days?”

On Wednesday night, making the most of it looks like this.

I’m kneeling on the floor of the living room, indulging in my favorite treat.

TJ’s cock.

We’re setting records. Since Monday night, it’s been nonstop. Plenty of sex, lots of blow jobs, a handful of hand jobs, and some dick-to-dick action, when I learn something new about myself—thatbecomes my new guilty pleasure, and I don’t even know why, it just works spectacularly well with TJ, and I tell him as much when we’re naked and grinding together.

We’ve done other things too. A few beers in Chelsea, a music club in Leicester Square to see a Brit-pop band TJ wouldn’t stop telling me about, then an at-home reading of the best lines fromThe Importance of Being Earnestbefore we shagged last night.

And nowthis.Blowing TJ is the sexual equivalent of unlocking the man who takes so long to shareanything. It’s the antithesis of all the secrets he keeps. When I have him in my mouth, he is helpless, and he is vocal.

With his legs spread and his head thrown back, he ropes his hands through my hair. “Your mouth, Jude. Fuuuuck. Love your mouth. So fucking much.”

His praise inspires me to take him deeper, suck him harder. I swirl my tongue up and down his length, having a party with his dick.

But right when I have him pulsing in my throat, I relent, letting him fall out of my mouth.

I slide my hands up the coarse hair on his thighs, and he whimpers. “C’mon,” he says, gripping himself, offering his dick to me again. “It’s so fucking good.”

I lick the tip, teasing him, playing with the head, lapping up all those drops of arousal.

“Take me deeper, baby,” he pleads.

That’s what I wanted. I’ve never been one for pet names, but the way he saysbabydrives me wild. It’s so unlike him. It’s such a surprise. I don’t even think he’s aware he says it in the throes of passion.

He never says it outside of the bedroom.

But when we’re naked, when he’s undone, he doesn’t think. All the time he usually takes before he speaks vanishes. In bed, he babbles and grunts. He whispers and begs.

I savor all the things he says as I draw him back into my mouth, lavishing attention on his thick, hard shaft. Things like...

You.

You’re incredible.

Want you so much.

Want this.

Want us.

Those last two words send my mind to dangerous shores. To impossible futures. They remind me cruelly and beautifully that making the most of these four days isn’t only about sex.

I close my eyes, suck him deep, and revel in the taste of him. I like the pet names because I like him so fucking much.

So much that it feels like falling.

So much that I shove my hand into my boxer briefs, stroke my aching cock, and wish I could have him and us for longer. A lot longer.

“Jude, fuck, baby. That’s so hot. So fucking hot, we need to stop.”

Letting go, I pout. “Why do we need to stop?”

“Get up here.” He pats the couch, stretches out on his side, then tells me to fuck his face.

Well, what the gentleman wants . . .