11. Jorge
Jorge
I Melt With You
I pace in my room, scolding my cock.
Like, what the fuck?
Who pops a boner like that?
For nothing.
The tiniest hug from the most beautiful man. I can’t believe I am my own cock block.
We were making progress. Oli hugged me. He’d wanted to. And now we’re worse off than before. All because of my thirsty ass body craving another so damn bad that it lost its cool and showed all our cards.
“Damn it,” I growl and throw myself on my bed.
How can I fix this?
I’ve had a few days to dig deep into my thoughts and feelings. This isn’t just some curiosity I want to test out. If that were the case, I’d just ask Devon for a blowjob. Come to think of it, I don’t know that he’d do it, but he’d know a guy, I’m sure. I don’t want to get my dick wet. It isn’t about that. I mean, yes, I do, but all in good time. I can get myself off, no problem.
No, this is about making sure that Oli feels safe with me. That I’m not going to hurt him or violate his space.
I just want him.
I need him.
Even if I have to jack off to fantasies forever, that’ll be okay because I never want to see that terrified look again. He’s still out there, terrified, and I’m in here hiding like a bitch.
I shoot off my bed with determination. Throwing open my door, I wince a little when it slams, so I hurry out into my living room.
“I’m not mad,” I rush out when I see his distraught eyes. “Swear. I’m good.”
“Jorge, I don’t know how to do this anymore. I don’t think we can—”
“Don’t say it,” I beg. “Hear me out.”
His jaw clenches, but he nods.
Holy shit, he can’t dump me before we even try .
I sit on the couch, leaving the cushion in the middle open. Facing him, I wrack my brain quickly. An idea forms, and I’m confident it’ll work. This has to be about trust. I know he trusts me more than most people, but he doesn’t fully trust me. The only way to show him he can is by doing just that. Show, don’t tell.
“I want to try something.”
“We aren’t doing that again,” he says firmly, stiffening and scooting into the arm of the couch.
“Do you want more than what we’ve been doing?” I ask him, trying not to be too overbearing but putting on my dad voice because it worked earlier.
He thinks about it, eyes shifting from his lap to mine. “Yes.”
“Did you ever play Trustfall as a kid?”
“I did,” he says suspiciously.
“We’re going to do a watered-down version.”
I can see the vein in his neck throbbing, his knuckles going white. “Jorge—”
“ Oliver .” His lips part, and he doesn’t look away. “Watered-down.” I lay my palm on the empty cushion, then flip it. “Touch my hand.”
“This is stupid,” he grumbles, shaking his head.
“Show me that you want more.”
He eyeballs my hand like it’s full of crusty needles and hepatitis. It hurts my ego a little, but not enough to dissuade me. “What is this going to prove?”
“Won’t know until you try,” I tell him, keeping my voice stern but kind.
For long seconds, he stares at it. I honestly don’t think he’s going to do it. He’s going to just stand up and be stubborn. But to my surprise, he slowly places his hand over mine. Our palms connect, and I swallow back a sigh of relief.
“Good,” I praise. “Now, hold it.” His eyes dart to mine, timid and unsure. “Go on.”
It must take him so much courage to do what I ask, because he does. His fingers thread through mine, damn near swallowing my hand whole. As soon as they’re locked in place, I smile at him, keeping my fingers lax.
“Can I hold your hand, now?”
“Yes.”
Applying some pressure, I squeeze his fingers like I would if we were walking or lying in bed. Something small but intimate. Something safe. Because that’s what I want to be for him. A safe place. “Do you want to let go?” I ask.
“No,” he breathes while his thick thumb drags over the veins on my hand. “I don’t want to let go.”
I nearly whimper. Keep it together, Jorge. “You’re doing so good, beautiful,” I praise.
“Is this the game? Holding hands?”
“Round one.” I smile, and his lips twitch. He’s still unsure. “The next one requires a bit more.”
I watch him think it over, deciding after a few moments. “Okay. What is it?”
“We’re going to sit next to each other. Close. ”
His whole body shudders. I can’t tell if it’s fear or something else. “Is that okay?” I make sure to ask.
He nods.
“Words, Oli.”
“Yes. Yes.”
I keep our hands glued together and scoot over, blowing his bubble to bits. He watches me carefully, our thighs brushing. Now comes the next test: where to place our conjoined hands? His lap or mine? He decides for me and rests them over his leg.
“This is amazing,” I say in awe. “Are you okay?”
“Oddly, yes. I’m okay. What’s next?” There he is. The light in his eyes is returning, and his features soften.
“You pick this round.”
Like he’s been thinking about it forever, he says, “Can I touch your hair?”
I chuckle, squeezing his hand. “Yes. Go ahead.”
His free hand reaches up and fondles my curls. “I thought they’d be softer,” he admits shyly, and I scoff.
“They are soft! It’s the product I have to keep in there so they don’t frizz.”
“Kind of stiff.” He blushes and keeps running his hands through them, snagging occasionally, but I don’t mind. He can do whatever he wants to me.
“That feels nice,” I admit, and when he digs his fingers to scratch my scalp, my eyes roll in their sockets. “Damn.”
“Good?” he murmurs, the pads of his fingers brushing against my forehead before diving back in.
“So good,” I slur. Fuck, I’m such a needy bitch.
“Just like a kitten.”
Oh god. Not with the kitten again.
“Next round,” I blurt before my dick tries to join the party. “My turn.”
His hand leaves my hair, but his eyes are eager and alert. Oh, he loves this game. “Since you touched my hair, I want to touch yours.”
Instead of agreeing, he simply tugs the hair out of its low ponytail. The tips of his dirty blond strands reach below his shoulders but not quite past his collarbone. “Just don’t touch my ears,” he says.
What an odd request. “I won’t.”
I have to lean a bit since he’s got my right hand pinned. My chest brushes against his shoulder, grazing one of my nipples, and it’s like lightning to the tip of my dick. God, I’m such a sucker for him. Such a needy, suckery sucker. I bite my lip hard to keep my body from reacting as I sift my fingers through his silky hair. Its tangle free and smells good.
Oli’s eyes flutter closed as he leans eagerly into my petting. “Okay?” I check in.
“Yes. Keep going, please.”
I beam and work my nails over his scalp, massaging and soothing. His big body sags into the couch, and out of the corner of my eyes, I see his bulge growing. Not much, but his cock is awake. Before I can celebrate, though, I pull my hand back, breathless. Oli is too, and we simply stare at each other.
“See?” I force a smile. “We’re okay.”
Oli reaches out, cups the side of my face, and strokes my cheek. I stop breathing, eyes wide, heart hammering.
Oh, someone is playing dirty.
While his thumb makes dizzying circles, his four fingers scratch at my skull, and I moan. I can’t fucking help it. I’m worked up from that one nipple graze and feeling him for the first time. His smell is like some mystical vapor I want permanently in my nose. I can’t even figure out what the smell is; I only want it closer and deeper.
“Thank you,” he rasps, dragging his thumb to the corner of my mouth, and I’m fully erect. I can’t stop it, can’t hide it. I peek down at his crotch, and he’s hard, too.
Judging by the outline, he’s big. That’s a little nerve-wracking, but I can work with it. I’ve been doing tons of research. “You’re welcome,” I say through another moan.
“What’s next?” he murmurs, still touching me, still present.
I don’t want to assume he’s ready for more, so I pull away. Hell, I don’t know that I’m ready for more. One wrong breath, and I might maul him.
“A break. We can play later,” I say with deep remorse in my chest. Thankfully, I hide it well.
“Okay.” He blows out a breath, releasing my face and hand.
“Food?” I ask.
He smiles gently. “Food.”
O li seems lighter than he ever has. Our game seems to have reassured him immensely, which I’m stoked over.
Concentrating on my food is hard because the ghost of his touch keeps giving me chills. How he’d held my face and brushed against the side of my mouth. I wanted him to drag that finger over, tease my lips, and then stuff it inside. I’m extremely horny, but I stay chill as a cucumber while we finish up our meal.
We decided to order in because it was easier, and I can tell that we both wanted to explore more. I want to play with his nipples. A groan works its way up my throat as he pops the last fry in his mouth, chewing slowly.
“What?” he asks through a chuckle.
“Have you always been like this?” I gesture at him.
“Like what?”
“Hot.”
He blushes prettily and ducks his head. “Hardly. My face is like hamburger.”
The acne scars are there but not as noticeable as he thinks. Besides, that beard is really working for him. He’s got this lumberjack vibe, and I’m super into it. I’m into him , period. I wet my lips, searching for a compliment that doesn’t involve how much I want to lick and taste him.
“Your face is perfect,” I settle on.
“Shut up,” he huffs a laugh and stands to throw away his trash.
I quickly inhale the last of my burger and do the same. Before I know it, we’re back on the couch with that cushion barrier between us. I’m going to rip the damn thing off and burn it. I’m glaring at it, wishing I was a firebender, when Oli clears his throat. My eyes snap to his, and he pats the spot beside him.
Fuck yes.
I casually scoot over, not moving too fast or too slow, and let our shoulders touch.
“Movie? Or can we play some more?” he asks.
“What do you want?” I told him before I’d go at his pace.
Oli always has to think about these things before he answers, which shows how much they mean to him—how seriously he takes this stuff. I don’t have the same mentality. It’s barely even a thought whether or not I want to touch someone.
Holding my breath in anticipation, I wait and wait. I wait so long that I have no choice but to suck in some air, and the little shit laughs.
“Sorry, but you were just waiting there like a cute kitten,” he purrs.
“Why?” I whine. “Why do you insist on calling me that?”
“Because you are one.”
“It’s an unfair advantage,” I point out.
“How so?”
I pointedly look at my dick. His eyes follow suit, and I hear his gulp. “Oh.”
“Yes, oh .”
“I can stop if it bothers you. I don’t want to make you uncomfortable,” he says.
“It doesn’t bother me that way,” I tell him, wanting to rub all over his arm and mark my territory.
“I have a question.”
I wait for him to ask it.
“Go on,” I supply when he doesn’t.
Another gulp. “Does the game have a limit?”
“What do you mean?”
“What are we allowed to ask for?”
My dick pulses in my pants, getting far too excited with this line of questioning. “Whatever we’re comfortable with. And we don’t have to do anything if it’s not wanted or welcome.”
He nods. “How do I let you know?”
“Simple. Tell me, and I won’t do it.”
“That easy?”
“Yes, Oli. It’s that easy. This whole game is about trust. You are safe and can set boundaries.”
“Okay,” he says with a breath of relief. “Who’s turn is it?”
“Yours,” I tell him easily, despite him having cheated last time.
“I want to touch your lips.”