We Have Till Monday by Cara Dee (moboreader .TXT) 📕

and swallowed dryly. Not a fucking chance. I wouldn’t be able to stop.

“We’re gonna wait.”

Three words I detested uttering.

Fuck.

Yeah.

My painfully hard cock disappeared into something wet, tight, and so warm.

I parted my legs a few inches by drawing up one knee a little, and I slipped my fingers into soft hair, guiding it over my cock. And the sensations that rushed through my body wrenched me out of my sleep.

I grunted and blinked sleepily.

“Fuck.” I stared through hooded eyes as August sucked me off.

He wasn’t supposed to stop, goddammit.

“Get back here,” I rasped.

Instead, he smiled slightly and picked up my clothes off the floor. “Come on, darlin’. Let’s go to bed.”

I was in bed. In Camden’s bed. He was asleep next to me.

Squinting at the Chewbacca alarm clock on the nightstand, I saw it was a little past midnight.

Too tired to function properly, I didn’t bother asking about their sleeping arrangements and just followed August out of Camden’s room. Across the hall was August’s own bedroom, though it was decorated for a couple. A king-size bed, nightstands with pictures of the two, and two open walk-in closets on either side of the dresser that held their flat-screen.

“I have so many questions about your dynamic,” I said through a yawn. “I’ll settle for asking how the barbecue went.”

When he draped my clothes over a chair in the corner, I noticed he’d brought my duffel from the guest room too.

“It went fine. Necessary evil, as Clara calls it,” he responded. “Ain’t enough to be a chef and have your own restaurant anymore. You gotta be approachable to guests—who’re called fans these days.” He shook his head to himself. “I had to sign three cookbooks.”

Oh no, three whole books.

It was endearing to see his evident aversion for social media and what he called “promotional hooplas.”

There was an old-school traditionalist lurking underneath August’s charisma and hospitality.

Sensing that he was exhausted and wanting the evening to end, I rolled down the bedspread so I could get him under the covers quickly. Then I tugged on his hand and pulled him toward me.

“Let me show you the right way to worship an amazing chef.”

Interest sparked up in his tired gaze, and he stayed still while I unbuttoned his shirt and undid his pants.

“I don’t care about your autograph,” I admitted. “I prefer orgasms.”

His grin overpowered a yawn, making his eyes glisten. “I already like your way better.”

I pulled him with me until the back of my legs hit the bed, and I sat down on the edge and thought, fuck, me too. Because his cock was something else. Long, thick, cut, smooth-looking. I leaned in and kissed the base as I gripped his cock loosely, loving the softness of the skin that stretched around him. And nothing in between us. A once-in-a-lifetime indulgence for me outside of a relationship.

August let out a long sigh when I sucked him into my mouth. His hands disappeared into my hair, and I took him all the way in, wanting to feel him grow harder and thicker at the back of my throat.

“Fuck,” he exhaled.

I went all in, coating him in spit, sucking hard, and tracing my tongue along every ridge.

“Did it feel weird when I called you boy earlier today?” he murmured.

I hummed and hollowed out my cheeks as I inched back. “Not in a bad way. Just don’t confuse it with a Little.” I peered up at him with a smirk and sucked him in again.

“It was just my way of recognizin’ that you’re younger than your years.” He smiled down at me and touched my cheek. “I get the feelin’ you’ve been shouldering a dominant role because it’s expected of you once you reach a certain age.”

He wasn’t far off. I attracted younger men like shit attracted flies, but we didn’t want the same dynamic.

“My God, the way you use that tongue,” he muttered. “Get on all fours. I’ve waited long enough.”

Finally. It’d been too damn long since I’d bottomed. Unless, with my sad love life, I wanted to count a collection of toys.

I still had the salty flavor of his pre-come on my tongue when I got into position in the middle of the bed, and it made my mouth water with want.

August opened the drawer in his nightstand and lubed up his cock, and it shone in the faint glow of the light on the nightstand. It was the only lamp switched on in the room.

“You were wonderin’ about why we don’t share a room before, weren’t you?” He crawled onto the mattress and kneeled behind me.

“Among other things,” I replied.

He took his time to respond, instead using the next several frustrating beats wiping off excess lube onto my cock and balls. I dropped my chin and breathed heavily, watching his hand work me over between my legs.

The bastard teased me too. He slid two fingers between my ass cheeks, too softly, too seductively, which made it impossible not to move into his touch.

“The Daddy in me and the Little in Camden and are the happiest when he’s regressed,” he explained quietly. “I get to be his protective caregiver, and he’s my carefree little sprite.”

I bit down on my lip and screwed my eyes shut as he kept rubbing and stroking me in all the right places. But with entirely too little pressure.

“The problem is, he reaches a stage in his regression where he stops being sexual,” he continued. “I don’t mind it for shorter periods of time, and he doesn’t want to go that far very often anyway. But it makes for some tricky balancing and constantly being alert for when he reaches that point. His room is his safe space. In there, no one assumes anyone is up for play.” He released a breath. “I have no words for how much you turn me on, Anthony. Your ass was made to be fucked.”

“Then get to it,” I grunted. “I’m not good at begging.”

He chuckled huskily. “We can work on that. Another