It had only been two days since that kiss, and I still couldn't get it out of my head.
Mike acted as if nothing had happened, but I could feel the tension in every glance we exchanged.
I was just finishing cleaning the kitchen when I heard a loud knock on the door.
I opened it and froze.
Mike stood in the doorway, shaken, his eyes shining with anger.
His chest was heaving violently, as if he had just returned from a run.
His T-shirt clung to his sweaty, tense body, and his arm muscles were trembling.
“We had another fight,” he blurted out as he walked past me.
“She... she's pushing me harder and harder to stop seeing you.”
I closed the door behind him, looking at him silently.
His voice was full of anger, but also helplessness.
“She doesn't understand that you're my best friend!” he suddenly burst out.
That one sentence tore my heart apart and at the same time inflamed me to the limit.
Seeing him like that, angry, lost, I felt that inside he was fighting for something more than just an argument with his girlfriend.
His breathing was shallow, his hips tense, and there was a clear erection in his pants, which he made no attempt to hide.
“Mike...” I said calmly, trying to make eye contact with him. “I know it’s difficult.
But I don’t want to be the reason you two fight.”
“You're not the problem,” he replied sharply, a note of desperation ringing in my ears. “She is. She…” He broke off, clenching his jaw.
I took a step toward him.
“Mike, breathe.” My voice was quiet, confident. “Look at me.”
I slowly approached him, feeling the tension thickening in the air.
Mike turned toward me, his eyes wild with anger, shame, and something else he couldn't name.
My heart was pounding, but I spoke calmly.
“I know you're angry,” I said, putting my hand on his shoulder. “But maybe... I can help you relax.”
Mike took a step back, shaking his head as if trying to regain control.
“Matt, we can't...” he whispered hoarsely. “This isn't good.”
I moved closer, and his back touched the wall.
I could feel his rapid breathing, see the muscles in his neck tense.
“You shouldn't... I shouldn't either...” he added, but it didn't sound like a real refusal.
It was a plea for me to stop him, while his body was screaming something entirely different.
I stopped right in front of him and said clearly, looking him straight in the eye:
“If you don’t like it, we’ll stop.”
Mike was silent. Only his breathing was getting heavier.
No “no.” No pulling away.
And in that silence was the consent I needed to take the next step.
I knelt slowly in front of him, never taking my eyes off him.
Mike held his breath, his hands clenched into fists at his sides.
Slowly, deliberately, I unzipped his pants.
The fabric slid down, revealing his taut thighs and dark boxer shorts, which couldn't hide how hard he already was.
When I gently pulled down his boxers, his cock sprang free, thick, hot, and wet with drops of precum.
Mike gasped softly, as if the mere sight of what was happening overwhelmed him.
He was on the edge.
I leaned down and ran my tongue over the tip, tasting him for the first time.
Mike let out a throaty moan, throwing his head back.
I wrapped my lips around him slowly, taking more and more inches inside.
The sucking was rhythmic, slow, sensual, I took my time, I wanted him to feel every movement of my tongue, every change of pace.
I wrapped my hands around his thighs, tensing with every movement I made, guiding him and showing him that I was in control.
Mike was panting harder and harder, and his hands finally found my hair.
He didn't push me away.
On the contrary, he pulled me closer, harder and harder, until his cock touched the back of my throat.
He let out a deep, broken moan, completely surrendering to what was happening.
I felt his hips twitch, his whole body tensing violently.
I sucked him hard, not stopping for a second, until I felt the hot pulses of cum filling my mouth.
Mike cried out softly, his fingers tangled in my hair, his breathing becoming rapid and ragged.
I swallowed it all, then slowly pulled away, watching him stand before me, shaken, sweaty, completely at my mercy.
I had never seen him so vulnerable before... and so desperate for more.
Mike stood before me, still panting heavily, as if he had just come out of an intense workout.
His shirt was damp with sweat, his hair tousled, and shock lurked in his eyes.
I looked up at him from below, still on my knees, with his taste lingering in my mouth.
I slowly backed away and stood up.
Mike gasped for air, as if only now realizing what had happened.
He fumbled to button his pants, his fingers still trembling.
“Matt...” His voice was hoarse, almost a whisper. “That was...”
He stopped, as if afraid to finish.
I took a step toward him, but he raised his hand to stop me.
He didn't look angry.
He looked terrified.
Not by the act itself, but by how much he had enjoyed it.
Finally, he looked me in the eyes.
“Matt, just remember...” His voice broke. “This stays between us.
No one... ever...” He swallowed. “No one can ever find out about this.”
I nodded, calm on the outside, though inside I was seething with emotion.
Because I knew something he couldn't admit yet:
from this moment on, Mike would never be able to pretend that it “meant nothing.”
And I wasn't going to let him forget that.
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