Read The Worst Best Luck for Free Online

answer.
     
    Matt got up, pulled Peter to his feet, held his hand as he led him into the bedroom.  It only took the touch of his hands on Peter’s shoulders to get him to go his knees, unbuttoning Matt’s pants before he hit the ground. 
    “Slow down,” Matt said, stopping Peter before he could pull Matt’s cock out.  “My greedy little piggy,” he said tenderly.
    “I’m hungry,” Peter said.
    “And I’m gonna feed you.  Don’t you worry.”  He put a hand on Peter’s chest and pushed him back just a little, just to make sure he could see the whole show.  The light from the living room was all there was to see by, but it was more than enough. 
    Matt unzipped his jeans, painfully slowly, his powerful abs flexing as his hand moved down, down, and he could see that, for Peter, the waiting, the anticipation, was like dentistry.  Then, when he should have dropped the jeans to the floor, he held them up with a thumb through one loop, hooded eyes looking down.  “Help me get out of my boots.”
    Peter was on them in a flash, tearing at the laces, and again Matt put down a restraining hand.  “Slow.”
    “Right, sorry.”  This was like being with Cody, getting on his knees, ready to service his dominant lover…and it wasn’t, because Cody never slowed him down, Cody was always impatient to get his cock out of his pants, and into Peter, and no delay was acceptable. 
    He could see the jeans begin to bunch around Matt’s ankles as he undid the laces, knew that Matt was timing the drop of his pants to coincide with Peter’s finishing the job.  And sure enough, when he’d undone the other lace and pulled the boot out to loosen its grip on Matt’s foot, the pants came down, and the boxers with them. 
    Peter looked up and there it was, tall and straight and hard and fat, the most gorgeous cock he’d ever seen.  He wanted it more than anything ever.  And of course Matt had a tan line, from his hips to his knees; naturally he wore board shorts in the sun, what else would a total dude wear?
    “You like it?” Matt asked, holding his trophy by the root to show it to best effect in the light. 
    “It’s like…the Stonehenge of cocks.  Speaking of ‘2001’ – that’s a monolith.”
    Matt roared with laughter.  “Well you know what they did at Stonehenge.”
    “Made offerings…” Peter whispered, reaching for it, and finally Matt didn’t stop him from taking what he wanted.
    He put his mouth on it, over its big soft head.  He put a hand on it, felt its ridges, the whole thing so big it had a muscularity all its own, a network of veins and channels and ridges.  It seemed to go on forever as he ran his tongue down to the base of it, let it brush his cheek, almost poke his eye as he let it slide across his face.
    “Fuck…” Matt whispered, letting go of his dick now, letting Peter take control.  Peter touched Matt’s smooth, freshly shaved balls, and wondered who’d touched them last, who he shaved them for before, then banished the thought.  Mine now.
    He took one, then the other, then both of Matt’s big balls into his mouth, sucked them, rolled them around, Matt’s primal half-grunt, half-sigh all he needed to hear to know he was on the right track.
    Then he licked the Monolith, starting at the base and traveling up, long strokes as he lapped at it the way a cat would go at a dish of cream.  There was no hesitation, no doubt now, because if there was one place Peter had perfect confidence, this was it – he knew he was a world champion cocksucker.  He put his lips around the shaft, puckering them in and out like a fish, not moving his head, just teasing, torturing it, tapping the opening with the tip of his tongue.
    He could tell that Matt was delirious with pleasure, as he reached to put his hands on Peter’s head, to make him suck it.  Then he chuckled, and dropped his hands to his sides, clenching them to stop himself.  Remembering our bet , Peter thought, and determined to