CHAPTER 12. OXYGEN #4
I slide my hands up to his face, hold him still, stroke my thumbs across his cheekbones. Then I part my lips and run my tongue over his lower lip—and Xavier lets out the quietest moan.
Fuck.
Something in that sound goes right through me, and yeah—just like that, I’m hard. His lips part, and when his tongue brushes against mine, I melt into it, groaning into his mouth at the heat, the slickness, the way he kisses like he means it.
His hands find my hair as he pushes me back onto the bed, his weight pressing into me, slotting perfectly between my legs. My cock is trapped between us, aching against his stomach—and even through our clothes, he has to feel it.
When he pulls back, breathing hard, he doesn’t say anything. Just stares down at me, his eyes dark, fixed—like he’s only now realizing exactly how turned on I am.
Yeah. He feels it.
“Fuck,” I breathe, a nervous laugh slipping out before I can stop it. My face is on fire. “Sorry.”
Xavier doesn’t move, doesn’t blink. Then, voice low, he says, “Don’t be.”
And when he shifts closer, sliding against me, I feel it—his cock, hard and pressing into my thigh.
It takes a beat before it hits me. He’s turned on too.
I know it doesn’t have to mean anything. It could be just a reaction, just his body responding to the kiss. A reflex. I know that. But with him this close, his breath mixing with mine, the heat of his skin seeping into me—I don’t care if it’s just that. Not now.
Let the second-guessing come later. Right now, all I want is to feel him wanting me.
I reach for him again, pulling his face back to mine and kissing him, and god, I want to feel more—want to feel him pressed against me, cock to cock—but I’m shorter, and it doesn’t quite line up.
Xavier must sense it, because he leans back into the pillows, one hand slipping to my waist as he guides me over him, pulling me to straddle his hips.
And fuck—
When our cocks finally press together, we both gasp.
Seeing Xavier like this—flushed, aroused, lips parted—I feel my heart slam against my ribs.
We crash into each other again, mouths open, tongues sliding deep.
His hands grip my hips, grounding me, and I brace against his shoulders, barely breathing.
I’ve never done this with a man before, but instinct takes over.
I rise up onto my knees, then sink down again, rolling my hips, rubbing us together through the layers still between us.
“Fuck,” Xavier breathes into my mouth, voice rough, unraveling. “Fuck… fuck…”
I reach between us, sliding my hand down into his pants. I need to feel him—skin to skin.
Xavier’s breath catches, his cheeks flushed as he looks down, watching me.
His cock is hot in my hand, thick and already leaking. I barely get my fingers around him before he’s shuddering apart—cum spilling over my hand as his body jerks beneath me, his arms wrapping tight around me, pulling me down. He moans through it, clutching me to his chest.
I kiss his cheek, his hair, whatever I can reach as his breathing slows. I stay pressed to him, my cheek against his shoulder, my slick hand still resting on the mess across his T-shirt.
Xavier stays quiet, eyes closed. But his jaw is tight, his chest rising and falling in uneven bursts.
I lean in, pressing a soft kiss to his temple. His eyes flick open, his expression suddenly hard to read. My stomach twists at the look on his face.
“That was…embarrassing,” he mutters, color rising in his cheeks. “Sorry.”
“Don’t be,” I murmur, echoing his words from earlier.
I want to kiss him again—god, I want to—but I hesitate. If this was a one-time thing for him, pushing now might be too much.
“You…” Xavier starts, then pauses, watching me carefully. “You didn’t—?”
It takes a second to click. He’s asking if I came.
I swallow, heat creeping up my neck. “No.” My cock is still hard, aching in my pants. “But it’s fine. I’m fine. We don’t have to—”
“That wouldn’t be fair,” he says, cutting me off.
Before I can say anything, he’s already tugging me back on top of him.
I let out a shaky breath as I straddle him again, my knees sinking into the mattress on either side of his waist. His hands move to my pants, sliding them down just enough to free my cock.
And fuck.
The second I’m bare, Xavier’s gaze drops between us, his eyes dragging over me. My cock’s flushed, leaking, twitching in the open air—and I feel suddenly, stupidly exposed. My chest tightens with the urge to cover myself, but before I can move, Xavier’s hand drifts down to his stomach.
He swipes through the mess he left there, then wraps that same slick hand around me, coating my cock in his cum.
I gasp at the heat of his palm, my cock jerking in his grip. The sight of it—his slickness on my skin, his fingers wrapped tight around me—sends a shudder through me, knocking the air from my lungs.
“Ah—” I choke out, my voice breaking as his hand starts to move. Slow, steady strokes, his grip just right. His thumb glides over the head, pressing down just enough to make my breath catch before sliding back down, spreading the wetness all along my length.
His other hand cups my balls, rolling them gently—and fuck, he’s too good at this.
I squeeze my eyes shut, my whole body tensing. If I look at him for just one more second—if I see the way he’s watching me, the way his hands move like he’s done this a hundred times—I might lose it right then and there.
I start moving with him—slow at first, rocking into his hand, my breath catching every time I slide through the slick heat of his grip.
He strokes me in rhythm, and I thrust up to meet it, each glide sparking heat down my spine.
My hands brace behind me for balance as I grind into his fist, chasing the friction, desperate for more.
Finally, I open my eyes.
He’s locked onto my cock, watching every move—watching me thrust into his grip, his expression dark and hazy, lips parted like he’s feeling it too. His fingers tighten just enough to make me grunt.
He starts stroking faster. I match him, grinding harder, my moans spilling out between gasps. The pleasure builds too quickly, curling tight in my gut, pulling everything taut.
My rhythm falters. Muscles clench.
And then I’m gone.
I spill over his fingers, over his stomach, my whole body shuddering. My breath catches on the last few strokes as he draws every bit of it out of me—until I’m spent, trembling, undone in his hands.
The aftershocks ripple through me, leaving my chest heaving, my skin flushed and burning. I stay frozen, eyes shut, trying to remember how to breathe.
It takes a while before I can even move. When I finally open my eyes, Xavier’s still beneath me—completely wrecked, staring up at me with an intensity that twists something deep in my gut.
“We should clean up,” I murmur, voice rough as I shift, rolling onto my side. “Do you want to go first?”
Xavier doesn’t answer. He just lies there, still as stone.
After a moment, I glance over. His eyes are closed now, his expression unreadable. And fuck—somehow, my cum ended up on his chin. In his curls. Heat rushes up my neck.
Carefully, I reach out, trying to swipe it off his skin. But before I can, Xavier catches my wrist.
His grip isn’t tight—he’s not holding me back. Just holding.
And then, slowly, eyes still shut, he guides our joined hands to his chest.
So I just lie there next to him, my heartbeat slowing, my eyes growing heavy under the weight of sudden drowsiness. I take a deep breath, his scent filling my lungs, and my body sinks against his.
And before I know it, I’m asleep.
***
When I wake, sunlight spills brighter across the room. For a few seconds, I just lie there, blinking up at the ceiling, my mind thick with sleep.
Then it hits me.
We…did that.
This morning.
My chest tightens. The weight of it presses down all at once—the feel of his hands on me, the sound of his voice, the way we moved together until we were both shaking apart.
I shift, blinking fully awake—
And realize I’m alone. Xavier’s gone.
Panic sparks in my chest. I jolt upright, breath catching as everything rushes back in a hot, dizzying wave.
What does this mean? Was it a mistake? Is he already regretting it?
My thoughts tumble into a mess—and then somewhere in the middle of it all, I remember: Willand. The police station. Are we late? I have no idea how long I’ve been out.
And Xavier—where the hell is he?
Did he panic and leave? We didn’t have penetrative sex, technically, but jerking each other off isn’t exactly part of our usual routine. He could be freaking out.
My heart pounds harder. I barely glance at my rumpled clothes before shoving off the bed and heading straight for the door. As I cross the hall toward the kitchen, my mind spirals into worst-case scenarios—he’s gone again, decided it was a mistake, ran before I could say anything.
I might’ve fucked everything up.
I force the thoughts down, trying not to replay what happened in too much detail—because I already know what my body will do if I let it, and I can’t deal with that right now.
And then I see him.
Xavier’s at the kitchen table, one foot propped up on the chair, arms wrapped around his knee. His eyes are closed, like he’s dozed off sitting there.
“Xavier,” I say, my pulse kicking up again. “Are you okay?”
His eyes flutter open, blinking at me like he didn’t expect to see me standing there.
“Mhm.” His voice is hoarse. “Yeah. I’m fine.”
I frown, watching the flush creep up his face. I step closer, reach out, and press the back of my hand to his forehead.
He’s burning up again.
Shit.
“Xavier, I think this might be more serious than we thought,” I murmur, shifting my hand to his neck. His skin is hot under my fingers. Xavier leans into the touch, eyes closed, his body swaying slightly like he’s barely holding himself upright.
“Let me take you to a doctor,” I say, crouching in front of him. “Then we’ll come back home and you can rest.”