A Boy Called Cin by Cecil Wilde Read Free Book Online Page B

artist's callouses catching on the smooth skin of Tom's stomach as he trails his fingers down to the button of Tom's jeans. Cin's fingers are careful as he pulls Tom's pants and underwear down, tugging and pushing as though his dick isn't there at all.
    There's a part of Tom that wishes he could see this, but it's probably better that he can't. As torn between embarrassment and excitement as he is, he'd only be even tenser if he was watching.
    "Oh, Jesus." Tom tries to wriggle away from Cin's tongue at first, the shock of the completely foreign sensation making him panic for a second. Cin laughs behind him and strokes the exposed part of his thigh.
    "Funny, I would've thought you'd be used to people licking your ass."
    " Hilarious ." Tom takes a deep breath. Relaxes. It wasn't bad, just weird, and he wants to find out how good it can be. "Okay. I'm ready now."
    This time, Cin spreads Tom's cheeks with his thumbs before he dives in again. Once Tom lets himself actually feel it, once he sinks into the sensation instead of worrying about the mechanics, his knees go weak under him and he has to hold himself up by locking his shoulders.
    Cin's mouth on him like this is so much better than he'd been expecting. Tom's fingers are already digging into the sheets, breath coming fast, cheeks flushed, and he imagines himself red and sweating and so very unattractive right now, but Cin doesn't stop. Doesn't say anything. All he does is make soft, little hums as he tries a new speed, new technique, new part of his tongue—flat, tip, stiff, soft, fast, slow, totally at random—and Tom can feel it when he's about to come, still mostly dressed with his pants caught around his thighs and without anyone touching his dick.
    It's that thought more than anything that tips Tom over the edge. One moment, he's thinking about Cin's mouth on him, about their position and about how clearly in charge of all this Cin is, but also how he's all give and no take, how he's putting his mouth on Tom's ass , like it's nothing, and making sounds like he's enjoying it. The next, he's coming all over his belly, sounds he didn't know he could make tearing out of his throat.
    He's so wrung out by it that the next thing Tom knows, he's sobbing into a pillow, shaking and curling up on himself like something's broken inside him. Maybe it has. It's more like a dam bursting than a fan belt snapping, though. A release of pressure that's been a long time coming. Part of the natural order of things.
    Cin rubs his back while he cries and Tom wonders how the hell you demonstrate your gratitude to someone who got you off so hard it made you cry. There's more to it than that, and Tom knows it, and he thinks maybe Cin knows it, too. Maybe this is a discovery Cin made a long time ago.
    There are a whole lot of maybes around this, and they probably warrant further soul-searching, but Tom just wants to sleep.
    "I should go to my own room instead of crashing in yours," he mumbles into the pillow without making any attempt to move. He's not certain his legs would support him.
    "Consider this blanket permission to crash in my room any time I make you come your brains out." Cin reaches out and wipes a stray tear from his cheek. Tom has to bite his lip to stop himself from blurting out that he loves him, because it's almost certainly the sex talking and he's not the kind of person who says things like that when they aren't true.
    He falls asleep with Cin stroking his hair.

Chapter Four
    "Did you not sleep before I got here?" Cin offers Tom a slice of the peanut butter toast he's just made for himself. It's an extremely generous gesture and he hopes Tom appreciates it as such. Whether or not he does, Tom takes it from him and plops down on the stool on the other side of the counter, hair sticking up in every direction. He's cute when he's just woken up, but Cin's not sure he'd appreciate that observation as much as the toast.
    "Couldn't. Nervous." Tom takes a bite of his toast and makes