7 Chapter 7

Mojo stares at me, breathless. His gaze shifts from my dick to my face and back again, and when he licks the corner of his mouth, I know this is it, this is real, it’s happening. He wants me, even if he doesn’t yet know why or how.

There’s a half-empty tube of A & D ointment resting among the supplies I set out for Mojo’s tattoo. Without releasing my hold on his dick, I reach over and snag the tube, tossing it his way. He fumbles with it but doesn’t drop it. “Put some in your hand,” I tell him.

He obeys. The clear gelatinous blob quivers in his palm a moment, then he closes his fingers over it to squish it flat. Taking his wrist, I guide him to my crotch. His fingers tighten, almost as if they’re afraid to open, but when I bump his knuckles against my stiff dick, he relaxes and his fingers open like the petals of a flower. “What am I supposed to do?” he asks, daring to brush my length with his fingertips.