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legs, letting them wrap around me once again, his cock pressing and sliding along my belly, leaving a wet trail of his visible excitement in its wake.
    “It’s your turn,” Robin groans, clutching at my back and reaching to my hips. I can tell he wants at my pants, and fair is fair. I step back and shuck them down, my cock slapping back as soon as it’s freed. “Yum,” Robin whispers and shimmies over on the bed, his lips ending up right near the head. He opens his mouth, and holy hell if my cock doesn’t look amazing as it slides between his demanding lips. Robin mumbles something, but I don’t understand a word. However, the meaning is clear—along with the enthusiasm with which he pulls me into his wet heat.
    Robin’s energy has me on the edge within a few minutes. I wonder how in the hell he can do that and what he’s doing in his mouth with that amazing tongue of his.
    “Sweetheart,” I groan, wondering where the endearment comes from. I’ve never been called such a thing in my life, and I certainly don’t use words like that. Usually the words involved with sex are commands: harder, fucking harder, suck it deeper, and so on. But endearments? Tenderness? Those are foreign, and yet they are what I want with Robin.
    He pulls away and rolls over, honey-warm body stretching out on my bed.
    I stop and take him in. I want to taste and feel. I can’t help leaning forward, letting his golden warmth travel under my hands as I slide them down his hips and belly, then up over his hips and side, tracing that scar, wondering once again where it came from. When I’ve looked my fill and can wait no more, I bend over him, licking down his belly to his cock, then sucking it between my lips. The hint of him that I got during our kiss hits me full force: musky, heat, a hint of salt with underlying sweetness. I take him as deep as I dare, listening as he moans softly. I move when his hand strokes up my thighs and settles on my ass. I’ve never let anyone touch me there, and I’m about to tell him to stop when he shifts and swallows me completely. My protests die instantly when his heat returns. He guides me into his mouth, and I quickly copy his rhythm. Soon we’re moving in concert, his cock sliding over my tongue and me plunging into his velvety throat that doesn’t seem to have a bottom.
    I slow down on purpose, afraid I’m hurting him. Robin’s grip on my ass tightens, and he presses me deeper. He definitely has ways of letting me know what he wants, and who the hell am I to argue with him? Every move is masterful, each twist and turn of his magic tongue bringing me closer and closer to a release I’m not sure I’m ready for. Being with Robin is sublime, the way he fills the room with his soft moans, and I adore the way his legs quiver when I trail my fingers up his inner thighs or cup his perfect handful.
    Backing away is the only answer because this, whatever is happening between us, is too good, and too rare in my life not to savor. The good things never stay around for very long, so the ones that come my way have to last.
    I shift positions, slowly lowering my lips to his, kissing him, tasting, savoring. I have no illusions. Once all this is over, his life will go back to normal. Mine will never be the same. I’m tasting for a short time what joy feels like, and after that taste, going back to my life, cold and devoid of warmth and care, will be like eating white bread with peanut butter after a diet of fine caviar on toast points.
    “Brick…,” Robin whines softly, just loudly enough for me to hear. “Where are you?”
    “I’m fine.”
    He smooths a gentle hand over my forehead. “You slipped away for a second. Your eyes were blank and far away. Did I do something?”
    I shake my head in a silent lie. He did do something. Robin unwittingly opened my eyes to how bleak and unsatisfying my life is, and the fucking thing is, I don’t know what to do or how to start making a change. This is the only life