Chapter 22
ASHER REYNOLDS
This isn’t why I came over tonight. Honest.
But it doesn’t change the fact that I’ve been given a chance to touch and taste and explore, and I’m not going to miss it.
I’ve thought about Wyatt Chase for weeks while I’ve gotten myself off, and I already know that this is going to be remarkably better than my wildest fantasies.
If I was still figuring myself out even after I realized my attraction to him, I’ve moved decidedly into the ‘ready to see what all the fuss is about’ territory.
Every molecule in my body is vibrating with how much I want him.
How I want to pull down the waistband on his pants and wrap my hand around his length.
Still, I try to keep my hands still, waiting for his answer.
He swallows hard, but I don’t react. I’m hoping that if I stay still enough, he won’t change his mind and turn me away. I don’t know what I’d do if that happened.
“Are you sure?” he asks, his voice hoarse–needy, even–and it sends a thrill through me. “I only want something to happen if you’re comfortable with it.”
Still, I can see the desire written across his beautiful features, and it makes me feel confident.
Sexy, which is crazy to think. I’ve never felt sexy in my entire life, even if a woman is hitting on me and making it clear that she wants to sleep together.
Because I want this too–want him–and realizing the effect that I’m having on him is going straight to my head… and my cock.
I nod quickly. “I want this. To touch you, I mean,” I say, ghosting my fingertips across his waistband. “I haven’t thought of much else lately.”
His abs quiver against my hand, my knuckles brushing against his stomach now.
“What do you like?” I’m so turned on at the idea of pleasing him that I’m leaning forward without being aware. His pupils are blown wide, lips wet from me kissing him.
And I feel it, then–deep in my stomach, an ache that’s begging for release, consuming me.
“You’re already doing a really good job,” he says, his voice coming out in punctuated pants as he leans back against the sofa.
I don’t wait for more permission. I slide my hand down, underneath his joggers. For a second, I consider how good it would feel to touch him on top of his boxer briefs, to tease him a little bit, but I can’t handle waiting any longer.
I feel like I’ve been waiting forever to feel this way.
I maneuver my large hand underneath the tighter band of his boxer briefs, then, and exhale. My hand wraps around his thick cock, and it’s unlike anything that I’ve ever experienced before. The weight. The smoothness from how turned on he is. The way I can feel him pulsing in my palm.
And heat. So much heat that it’s threatening to burn everything down around us.
“Fuck,” I breathe out, adjusting to this new sensation, how good it feels to just hold him like this.
“Asher,” he pants, and it’s the best sound that I’ve ever heard.
“Tell me what you want. What you like.” I’m already having the time of my life, but I want this to be good for him, too. The idea of getting him off already has me squirming in my seat, my own cock rubbing against my underwear.
His pupils are so blown that I’m looking into circles of black. I’m mesmerized when he tells me, “Just do what you would do to yourself. Start there.”
I give him an exploratory stroke, my long fingers wrapping around his girth. Once I reach his tip, I smear his precum around, lubing up my hand. There’s so much of it. Heat floods through me, and I can’t wait to taste him.
Dimly, I realize that I can’t wait to do everything with him.
My mouth is open in awe when he surges forward and kisses me, capturing my lips. It’s messy and unrestrained and before I can think too much and psych myself out, I start working my hand up and down his shaft, pumping his cock rhythmically.
It’s fucking incredible, and I moan against his lips.
“Fuck, Asher,” he groans, his body wound tight, like he’s already close to coming all over me. I love the idea. God, I hope that it happens. I don’t want him to get cold feet or come to his senses. I just want him to give into this thing between the two of us, regardless of the consequences.
His hips flex, and he starts rutting against my hand, grinding but failing to get the friction that he wants, evidenced by the harsh furrow of his brow. The rush that it sends through me makes my stomach bottom out.
I never realized how much I like the idea of someone grinding against me until this moment, and now, it’s all that I can think about. Except that I wish we weren’t wearing so many clothes, but I’m too afraid to disrupt the moment to tell him that.
Because I need to feel him against me. Need it the same way that I need oxygen. The idea of him pushing against me–humping me–makes heat roll through my body. I want it. I want– “Lay on top of me?” I ask when I break our lips apart, already pulling him down toward me as I fall against the sofa.
While we’re repositioning, I pull his pants lower on his hips, almost down to his thighs.
The tip of his cock is poking out of his underwear, and it’s the most fucking beautiful thing that I’ve ever seen.
What I wouldn’t give to wrap my mouth around his plump head and take him as deep into my throat as I can manage.
I’ve never fantasized like this before. I’ve never felt my needs and desires so clearly before.
But, for as badly as I do want to put my mouth on him, I also can’t imagine giving up the way his slightly smaller but solidly-muscled body hovers above me, waiting to ruin me in the best way.
“I need to feel you against me.” I give voice to the thought repeating in my mind like it’s a mantra. I’m dizzy thinking about his cock rubbing up and down my body.
“You’re going to be the death of me,” Chase says, his voice heavy with desire. He’s bracing one of his hands against the cushion next to my hip, refusing to give me what I want.
He looks at me, and I wonder how anything could be better than this?
His short, usually well-groomed hair is a little mussed.
Because of me, I realize, pride swelling in my chest. His cheeks are flushed, even in the darkness.
With the hand not holding himself up, he takes his glasses off and throws them somewhere in the vicinity of the coffee table.
I only dimly register them skittering across the wood because then he’s rolling his body down, sliding against me in a fluid motion.
My mind blanks out. It’s so much better than when we were in the water, since I can feel his weight against me, pinning me to the sofa.
When his leg slots between mine, I roll my hips outward, ready for whatever he’ll give me. My cock is throbbing in my pants, and I quickly adjust myself so that it’s pressed upward, into my stomach.
Chase lets out a hiss of air, watching me with an interest that makes my pulse pound harder.
He holds himself up on his arm again, hovering above me.
There’s a moment, when I think that he’s going to change his mind.
I don’t realize that I’m holding my breath, only exhaling when he says, “There’s no going back after this,” at the same time that he lowers his body on top of me, from our entangled feet to our mouths, and he presses his lips against mine.
Everything about him is perfect. His lips, wet and insistent, his tongue already sliding into my mouth, like he wants to consume me.
The press of his body, not too heavy but enough that I really am pinned against the sofa.
The tip of his cock is rubbing my belly, leaving a trail of wetness, my hoodie bunched around my ribcage from the friction of our torsos coming together as he rolls against me.
Heat is threading through me, and for the first time in too many months–maybe longer–I’m just doing what feels good instead of thinking too much.
I hiss when he rolls his hips into mine harder. He goes low enough this time that my cock finally gets the desperate friction that every part of my body’s been craving.
“Wyatt,” I pant out into the darkened room, needing more. At the same time, I wrap my arms around him, finding the curve of his perfect ass. I take a cheek in each hand and give him an exploratory squeeze. I love learning how every single part of him feels in my hands.
It’s like that simple act unleashes something absolutely feral in him, and he starts moving faster. Pressing into me harder. He finds a rhythm, his arms on either side of my head, rolling his hips insistently.
I could come like this. I’m about to come like this when he pulls at my waistband and demands, “Down. Pull these down.”
I don’t hesitate. I shimmy my pants as low as I can get them, taking my boxer briefs with them.
My cock springs free, straight as an arrow. His eyes land on it immediately before a wolfish grin spreads across his face. I realize, in this moment, that I’m absolutely going to be destroyed with whatever he’s about to do to me.
He eases backward, and even though I miss being able to squeeze his ass–which I make a mental note to do again as soon as possible–I’m buzzy with anticipation.
“Can I taste you?” He asks, his words surprisingly tentative given that my own need is clearly on display, hovering only inches from his face.
“I might die if you don’t.” No point in playing coy. I wouldn’t even know how to do that, anyway.
“Are you sure?” he confirms. And I want to be endeared by his thoughtfulness but I’m so close to busting that I feel like I’m being turned inside out.
“Wyatt,” I growl, reaching forward and guiding his head down to my cock.
He doesn’t make me wait, and I’m grateful for it.
When his lips wrap around my head, I’m wound so tightly that I’m worried I’ll explode into his mouth.
I’m trying to stave off my orgasm. Trying to allow this moment to build into more than just me coming so quickly that Chase will wonder what he’s even doing with an inexperienced noob like me.