Taking Care of My Roommate | E2

All characters in this story are over 18 years of age.

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Could You Do It With Your Mouth This Time?

The next day, the apartment was strangely quiet. No jokes, no noises from his room, even the coffee was brewed more carefully. Mike moved slower than usual, cautiously, as if his body itself was reminding him that something was still unfinished inside him. That something was still waiting to be released.

I saw him sit down on the couch, carefully, supporting himself with one hand. He kept the other, the stiff one, close to his body, as if he was afraid that something would overload it again. His movements were softer than usual, less confident. And maybe no one else would have noticed, but I knew him too well.

His pants stretched tight across his crotch when he sat down, and he immediately moved his hips as if to adjust something, to hide it. As if the very fact that this was happening was embarrassing to him.

But I saw everything.

I could feel the tension in the air, thick and heavy, like before a storm. And I didn't need any words to understand. His body was betraying him again. And he already knew I was here to react.

I didn't say anything. I just watched. I watched his thighs tense under the fabric of his pants. His hands trembling slightly on his knees. His fingers clenching, avoiding my gaze, his eyes downcast. But his cock had other ideas. The bulge grew. Slowly, timidly, but steadily. And no hip movements could hide it.

I didn't touch him. Not yet. I knew this moment belonged to him. To his decisions, not his words. Because his body already said it all.

He knew that if he asked, even with just a glance, I would respond. I would react. I would take care of him again.

The silence dragged on longer than it should have. Mike sat motionless, his shoulders slightly tense, his breathing shallower than usual. He kept changing position, as if he couldn't find a place for his own body. Finally, he sighed heavily, almost silently.

"It's worse than yesterday..." he said finally, without looking at me. "I thought it would pass."

I turned toward him slowly. I didn't want to scare him off. I could see his jaw clenching, his thighs tensing under the fabric of his pants, his hips seeking relief that he couldn't give himself.

"You know you don't have to struggle," I replied calmly. "Just say it."

He was silent. For a long time. Too long. He lowered his gaze, the fingers of his good hand clenched on the edge of the couch. His body was already halfway there, hard, tense, betraying him shamelessly. And he was still struggling with his thoughts.

"Ah..." he broke off. He swallowed. "Could you... this time... with your mouth?"

That one sentence hung between us, heavy as the breath just before touch.

I didn't answer right away. I moved closer. So close that I could feel the warmth of his body, the tension radiating from him. I looked into his eyes, searching for certainty, not shame.

"Come here," I said quietly.

I helped him up. His movements were slow and cautious. I helped him take off his shirt, revealing a tense chest, then his pants along with his boxers. He stood naked in front of me, with a hard cock, clearly nervous, but with no escape. Completely devoted to what was about to happen.

I placed my hand on his hip, steady and confident.

"I'm here," I added calmly. "And I'll take care of you the way you need it."

I knelt in front of him slowly. Without rushing. So that he had time to understand that this was not an impulse, but a decision. Mike stood motionless, his legs slightly apart, his hands hanging helplessly at his sides. I looked first at his face, tense, focused, a little surprised by his own desire.

Only when our eyes met and I saw a quiet "yes" in his eyes did I lean down.

Then my lips brushed him gently. Just the tip at first. Warmth. Moisture. My tongue circled slowly around the head, gathering the taste of precum. Salty. Real. Mike gasped sharply.

"Easy," I whispered, cupping his hips with my hands. "I want you to feel everything. Every millimeter. Every breath."

I began to suck gently, just the tip. Slowly, rhythmically. I felt his body react before he could think, his hips twitching, his thighs tensing, a short moan escaping his throat, which he didn't even try to suppress.

I took him deeper. All of him. I controlled my breathing, the movements of my tongue, the pace. One hand held him steady by the hip, the other massaged his balls, heavy and tense.

"Relax," I said quietly when I felt him try to move. "Let me do this right."

His body responded immediately. He relaxed. He surrendered his weight. His moans became deeper, less controlled. My sucking was calm, attentive, almost caring, as if my every movement was telling him he was safe. That he could let go. That he didn't have to prove anything.

And that's when I felt him start to tremble.

I felt his thighs quiver under my hands, the skin on his stomach tighten with each deeper breath. I still held his hips, firmly, steadily, controlling his every movement, as if to say, "You don't have to do anything. Just feel."

Mike tried to hold on. I could see it in the way he bit his lip, the way the fingers of his left hand clenched into a fist. His breathing quickened. His muscles tensed. His cock throbbed between my lips, stretched to its limits.

I didn't stop. I sucked him deeper, more calmly, until my throat began to take him all in. My tongue moved underneath, my saliva mixing with his precum. I could feel him trembling from head to toe.

And then the moment came.

One of those that cannot be mistaken.

His body tensed completely, as if he wanted to, but could no longer hold back. And then, a violent, quiet moan that broke off halfway.

I felt warmth in my mouth.

One wave. Then another. A third. His orgasm came hard, relentless. And I took all of it. Swallowed calmly, deliberately. Without blinking, without breaking contact. I felt his cock twitching inside my throat, giving me everything, completely.

After a few seconds I pulled back, but I didn’t move away. I stood beside him.

Mike stood motionless for a moment, relaxed, sweaty, as if he had just shed several tons of tension. He was breathing heavily. He didn't try to say anything.

After a moment, I placed my hand on his shoulder. Firmly. Steadily.

I looked him in the eyes and said calmly, almost in a whisper:

"See? Your body already knows that I'm here to take care of it."

He didn't answer. But he didn't have to.

That touch said it all: consent, gratitude... and permission for more.

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