11. Ryan #3
“Say more,” I demand, and it comes out like a growl. It’s taking effort not to move. And I’m not talking about moving away. I’m talking about lifting my hips and rubbing my cock up and down his hand.
“So, you’re straight?” he asks.
“More or less,” I say, aware that now’s not exactly the time I can assert my “straightness” to its full effect.
“How’s that work?” he asks.
“I’ve never been with a guy. Just girls.”
“Never?”
“Nope.” I bite my lips and suppress a groan. The restraint I’m exerting is monumental. Epic. I’m legendary.
“Is this making you uncomfortable?”
I don’t know how to answer that. “Um…yes and no…”
“Same,” he says softly.
“Then stop.”
“But I’m more okay than not. Here.” With his right hand, he takes my right hand and puts it on his lap, right between his legs, directly on top of his rigid boner.
My eyes are still closed, but they’re wide shut now. He’s hard hard.
“There,” he breathes. “Not so bad. Right? ”
I swallow and will my hand to stay still. I’m excessively salivating. “It’s…fine.”
“You okay if I move my hand a little?” he asks.
I want to say it’s fine, do whatever, act casual like I do this all the time, but what ends up coming out is a whispered, “Please.”
He lets out a soft huff of surprise and very slowly moves his palm up my shaft, caresses the tip of my cock and then slides it back down my length. My hips lift slightly, pressing into his hand. “Sorry,” I say, trying to get back under control.
“No worries. I get it. I don’t mind.”
“Since when?” I manage to ask because that’s what I really want to know.
“You want a date?”
“Just a general idea.”
“That’s a tough one. Let’s call it a week.”
“Is that the truth?”
“It’s a truth.” He sighs. “It’s complicated.”
No shit. “You about done?” I’m still not looking, but I feel his breath on my cheek when he speaks next, meaning he’s facing me.
“I mean, we made it this far…do you want to stop?”
“I…” Something wet touches my knuckles and I jerk my hand off him. He whips his back, too. It takes me a second to realize Stephanie just licked me. “Sorry—your dog?—”
“Oh,” he says, looking and sounding a little dazed as he turns toward the Yorkie and the huge tent in his shorts. “Forgot she was there.”
“No, it’s fine.” I start to get up, but he pulls the same shit he did on Saturday night and grabs hold of my shirt.
“Wait.”
I’m sorry. I can’t. Sanity has to prevail here. “This is nuts, Mal,” I tell him. “You don’t want this.”
Somehow, showing a hell of a lot more maneuverability on this chair than I’ve ever been able to, he moves onto his side and plants a hand on my chest. Then he does the only thing that could possibly submit me. He puts his leg over mine, trapping me with it, his knee an inch from my balls.
“I want something ,” he says. “But maybe you’re right. Maybe I don’t need to feel your cock. Maybe I just need to be close.”
I squirm beneath him, without a clue what to make of this. “Are you high? What the fuck is going on?”
“Will you stop asking that?” His hand slides across my chest and then his arm wraps around my shoulders. He tucks his head into the crook of my neck. “Just be here with me. I’m sorry I was an asshole to you, and I fucking miss you, all right? Is that what you want to hear?”
Jesus Christ , my heart . My body that was resisting this with all its might acts without any thought behind it, tilting his direction, layering my other leg on top of his, and hugging him to me. Because yes. It is what I want to hear. If I’m being honest, I’ve been waiting years to hear it.
Holding him feels…
So fucking good.
He sighs. Hot breath on my neck that smells like cinnamon. He did something about the cheese and onions, too, I realize, and that shouldn’t make me harder, but it does.
“You don’t have to touch my dick to tell me you miss me,” I say once I wrap my mind around the fact that this is happening. We’re making up.
“That was different. I just wanted to be sure I wouldn’t freak out on you again.”
“I hate to tell you this, but I think you are freaking out. You might even be losing it. This isn’t you, Mal.”
“You don’t actually know everything, Ryan. Not about me.”
My fingertips flex into his back at the ideas those words put in my chest. “Maybe I don’t. ”
“Don’t you hate that?” he asks. “I hate that.”
“Yeah,” I admit. I don’t know what’s making me speak so freely, other than the fact that I can’t see his face. It could be that his grip on me is so strong. Like he doesn’t want me going anywhere.
“Yeah,” he agrees and melts softly in my arms, like every muscle in him relaxes at once.
I try to do the same, but I have to go one limb at a time.
First, I let the full weight of my leg settle onto his.
Then I relax my back, my shoulder dropping, which causes him to nuzzle in more.
Finally, I loosen my neck, and my head rests heavily against his.
My erection is pressed to his hip, and I think I feel his on my thigh, but there’s a lot going on—a ton of contact I’m only barely processing.
“You all right?” I ask him after another few minutes of quiet.
He doesn’t answer right away, and I think he might be sleeping. But then he says, “Honestly…I could be better.”