Chapter 8 #3
Then his hand was on me, wrapping around my cock with a confidence that had me gasping for air.
The moment he touched me, something extraordinary happened—something that deserved a detailed scientific investigation and possibly its own documentary.
A jolt of energy passed between us, warm and golden, like sunlight made tangible.
It flowed from his fingertips into my skin, spreading outward in waves that made every nerve ending sing with pleasure.
What the actual hell was that?
It wasn’t just physical—it was something deeper, something that seemed to reach past skin and muscle, past bone and blood, to touch something essential at my core.
For a heartbeat, I could have sworn I saw a faint golden glow where our bodies connected, like threads of light binding us together.
But that was impossible. A hallucination born of desire and desperation.
It had to be. Unless Jaxson had secretly been radioactive this whole time, in which case I’d be developing superpowers any minute now.
Awkwardman: Able to create uncomfortable situations at a single bound!
My higher brain functions decided to take an impromptu vacation to Tahiti without so much as a postcard, leaving behind nothing but pure sensation and need.
“Relax, Lan,” he murmured, his voice a low rumble that I felt in my bones, that vibrated through me like a physical touch. There was a possessive note in it that made my stomach flip. “You’re as stiff as a board.”
Really? That’s what you’re going with right now?
Captain Obvious enters the chat. I wanted to sass back, but his hand was doing things that turned my witty comebacks into incoherent noises that would embarrass any self-respecting porn star.
Besides, pointing out the irony of calling any part of me ‘stiff’ at this moment seemed redundant when the evidence was literally in his hand.
His fingers moved with a gentle precision that made me wonder where the hell he’d learned this kind of skill.
Each upward stroke started at the base with a firm grip that made my toes curl, gliding slowly—too slowly—to the sensitive head where his thumb would swipe across the tip in a maddening circular motion that had me seeing stars.
Then back down, varying the pressure just enough to keep me guessing, to keep me from getting too close too quickly.
“Oh God,” I whispered, my voice a pathetic shadow of itself. The slightest twist of his wrist on the upstroke had my hips bucking involuntarily.
“Like that?” he murmured, his voice a dark rumble against my ear as he repeated the motion, this time adding a little squeeze at the top that made me gasp.
“I—yes—” So much for my usual verbal eloquence. My extensive vocabulary had apparently been replaced with single-syllable words and desperate noises.
In a million years—or even in the wildest corners of my imagination—I never envisioned this scenario playing out in reality.
Jaxson’s large hand wrapped around my cock, the contrast of his tanned skin against my paleness almost artistic in its beauty.
The way his long fingers completely encased me, making me feel simultaneously small and incredibly precious.
The careful attention he paid to every reaction, adjusting his rhythm when my breathing hitched, slowing down when my thighs started to tremble, speeding up when I unconsciously thrust into his grip.
His thumb collected the moisture beading at my tip, using it to ease the glide of his palm over the crown in a circular motion that made my vision blur.
When he dragged his thumb along the sensitive underside, pressing just firmly enough against that spot right below the head, I had to bite my lip to keep from crying out loud enough for the entire apartment to hear.
“Don’t hold back,” he said, somehow reading my mind. “I want to hear you.”
The authoritative tone in his voice sent another jolt of pleasure straight to my core.
Each stroke was getting faster now, his grip firmer, the rhythm more demanding.
His free hand slid up my back to cradle the nape of my neck, fingers threading through my hair in a possessive hold that made me feel utterly claimed.
I found myself burying my face into the crook of his neck, inhaling his scent—a mix of pine, coffee, and something uniquely Jaxson that made my head spin.
It was stronger here, in the warm hollow where his neck met his shoulder, and I pressed my nose against his skin like I could somehow absorb him through osmosis.
Each inhale filled my lungs with his essence; each exhale was a whimper I couldn’t contain.
His hand never stopped its maddening rhythm—up, twist, down, squeeze, up again—while his other hand kept me firmly pressed against him, not allowing even an inch of space between us.
The dual sensations of being held and stroked simultaneously was overwhelming, like being caught in the center of a pleasure storm with Jaxson as both the cause and the only shelter.
When his pace suddenly quickened, his grip tightening just shy of pain, I gasped against his neck, my lips brushing his skin accidentally.
The taste of him—salt and something indescribably Jaxson—burst across my tongue, and I had to fight the urge to lick him, to taste more, to maybe even bite down and leave a mark that would still be there in the morning.
“Beautiful,” he whispered, his breath hot against my ear as his hand worked me with an expertise that was frankly unfair. “You’re so responsive for me. So perfect in my hand.”
His thumb swept over the leaking head again, spreading the moisture in a way that increased both the friction and the glide, creating a sensation so intense I had to muffle a sob against his shoulder.
My entire body was drawn tight as a bowstring, every muscle tense with approaching release, every nerve ending singing with pleasure so sharp it bordered on pain.
“That’s it,” he encouraged, voice rough with something that sounded like need. “Let go for me, Lan.”
The scent seemed stronger than usual, more concentrated, wrapping around me like a physical embrace.
It filled my senses until I felt drunk on it, like I’d been waiting my entire life to breathe him in this deeply.
Like my body recognized something in him that my conscious mind couldn’t articulate.
Great, now I’m turning into one of those romantic-comedy heroines who talks about pheromones and destiny while drinking excessive amounts of wine.
I couldn’t see his expression, couldn’t tell what he was thinking.
Was this just another way he took care of me?
Another item on his endless list of brotherly duties?
Laundry—check. Groceries—check. Give Lan an earth-shattering orgasm—check.
The thought should have doused my arousal like an ice bucket challenge, but somehow it only made everything more intense, more forbidden. More everything.
His thumb swept over the now-dripping head of my cock yet again, gathering the abundant moisture my body was eagerly producing for him—embarrassingly eager, if I’m being honest. I was practically melting in his hand, making obscene wet sounds with each stroke that should have mortified me but somehow only intensified everything.
I bit my lip hard, fighting to keep the increasingly desperate noises contained.
By now, his movements were effortlessly slick, my pre-cum coating his fingers and my length in a glistening sheen that caught the dim light whenever he twisted his wrist. The evidence of my desire was undeniable, transforming what had started as dry friction into a glide so smooth it seemed practiced, perfected, like he’d been doing this to me for years instead of minutes.
I wanted to ask him why—why was he doing this, why now—but I was afraid any words would break whatever spell had fallen over us. Or worse, he’d come to his senses and realize he was getting his hand dirty with his freakishly smooth little stepbrother.
It felt like a dream—a beautifully torturous dream where Jaxson’s hand was creating symphonies of pleasure that coursed through my veins.
Each stroke was loving, expertly applied as if he knew exactly what he was doing—as if he too cherished this moment.
But that was just wishful thinking on my part, wasn’t it?
This was probably just pity, curiosity, or some twisted form of brotherly comfort.
Maybe he was conducting a scientific experiment: “Effects of Orgasms on Perpetually Snarky Stepbrothers.”
“You’re beautiful like this,” he murmured, his voice strained in a way I’d never heard before.
There was a reverence to it, almost like a prayer.
His eyes locked on mine, and I could have sworn they glowed brighter, the gold in them seeming to pulse with each beat of his heart.
“So responsive. So perfect. So smooth everywhere. Mine.”
The last word was so quiet I almost missed it, but it sent a fresh wave of heat through me, making me whimper against his neck.
Beautiful? Perfect? Mine? Those weren’t words you used for your little brother.
Those were words for… something else. Something more.
Something primal and possessive that made my body sing with recognition, like cells responding to a language they’d always known.
I clung to him, panting, as he worked his magic.
My world narrowed to the point where his hand met my cock, each stroke a promise of something I never thought I’d experience with him.
His scent, his warmth, the solid strength of him against me—it was sensory overload in the best possible way.
I could feel his heart racing, matching the frantic pace of my own.
Could feel the tension in his body, the controlled power in each movement.