12. Malcolm
MALCOLM
R yan feels so fucking good, I barely remember why we ever stopped doing this. Unfortunately, I do remember, and I can’t believe I would give this up because he basically told me he liked it too. That he loved it. That he loved me .
Just the fact that he’s allowing this—that he never once turned me away no matter how messy or random I can be. This is him—accepting me any way I come at him.
Like what the hell could be better than that?
My cock seems to think it knows one thing that would.
I’m so hard, I’m aching in my shorts. It’s the one part of me that keeps getting more worked up while the rest of me is finally settling the fuck down.
“Better how?” he asks.
I’m so nervous, my mouth is dry despite the cinnamon gum I’m holding in my cheek. But I don’t want to think too hard about anything. I just want to feel. I want my body to tell me what it wants, and right now it wants one thing in particular. “Can I kiss your neck?”
He groans. Not like a lustful, fuck yeah kind of groan, but more like a put upon, I can’t believe he’s asking me this kind of groan. I expect another why or what the fuck, but he says, “Sure. I guess.”
I was serious about not wanting to freak out on him. I’m ninety-nine percent positive I want this, but the other one percent is still there with big doubts. Yeah, I get that it was weird and a little uncool to put my hand on his dick, but I needed to know I could handle it, so to speak.
It was fine. More than fine.
I already know I like holding him. I was reminded of that very powerfully Saturday.
Kissing a man on the mouth, though, feels like a line—like if I do it and I like it as much as I think I will, it’ll mean something about me that I’ve spent a lot of years adamantly denying.
But his neck is smooth, and it smells good, and it’s warm, and I very much want to taste it.
So, I do. My slightly parted lips meet his fever hot flesh, and I sigh heavily as I close my mouth around the spot I found beneath his ear. His breath shudders in and out.
After everything I’ve done and said to him, by all rights, his feelings for me should be long gone, and if he’s really decided he’s straight, then he’s being very fucking nice to me right now in a way I know I don’t deserve, but appreciate so, so much.
So fucking much, I kiss him again, and again with only my lips, but all over the side of his neck I have access to.
When I feel his hand in my hair, gripping the roots, I brace to be forcibly removed, but Ryan just breathes and adjusts his grip, lightly pulling and releasing the strands, letting me explore.
I run my hand down his well-defined arm, surprised by how smooth it is—that the tattoos, which look so three dimensional, have no texture.
I kiss him as I squeeze his biceps, his shoulder.
I kiss the side of his throat as I trace the hairline behind his ear and finally, I run my fingertips along the side of his jaw until I’m cradling it in the palm of my hand.
And I keep kissing him, getting used to the texture and scent of his skin.
His taste—earthy and somehow like home. Like I’ve been here before.
I only stop when all I can taste anymore is myself.
When I’ve covered him in me. “Okay?” I ask, letting my thumb rub back and forth over the hollow of his cheek.
“Yeah.”
“I’m so fucking hard,” I admit.
He nods, his fingers tightening their grip in my hair for a longer second this time.
“Can you feel it?” I ask.
“I’ll take your word for it.”
“It’s you,” I feel the need to assure him. “You’re what’s making me hard.”
He snorts softly. “Okay.”
“Did you ever get a boner when we did this before?” I ask.
“You never did that before.”
“You know what I mean,” I say.
“Did you?” he asks.
“Yeah,” I admit. “But my dick was pretty small back then.”
He laughs again with barely any sound, but I feel the shaking of his chest.
“So did you?” I ask again.
“Maybe once or twice.”
“That’s it? Because it happened to me like—quite a few times. I asked my dad about it—not like—in terms of hugging you, but just whether it was normal to pop so many boners in general, and he told me it was, so I just figured it happened to everyone.”
“It is normal,” Ryan says. “Puberty and friction.”
“How do you explain it now?” I ask.
“I have no fucking clue what’s going through your head right now,” he says.
“Want me to tell you?”
He lets go of my hair and runs his hand down my back, stopping just above the waistband of my shorts. “Are you finally ready to?”
I might not be ready to confess everything, but I want to tell him something. “I like how you feel.”
“Deep,” he says, in his most cynical voice, calling me out, like he still knows me just as well as he did back then.
“You want it to be deep?” I ask.
“I want you to be honest with me. And yourself.”
“Then it’s like I said. I like how you feel, and I miss being with you.”
“That’s beautiful, man.”
“Fuck you, asshole,” I murmur against his almost too-warm skin.
“Mind if I try something on you ?” He makes it sound like a dare. His heart might not be in it, but if his body is, I’ll go along for the ride.
“Go for it,” I say. “As long as you don’t try to leave this beanbag.”
He slides his hand down further, to my ass, then he lets it rest where my thigh meets the cheek. He cups it and gives it a squeeze. I grin.
“That was it?” I ask when nothing else happens.
“That was it.”
“You don’t wanna try anything else?”
“I think I should stop here.”
“Why’s that?” I ask, because if there’s anything I don’t want it’s for him to stop. I feel like we’ve made it across a desert and we’re just now seeing water. It’d be a shame not to take a long, indulgent drink of it. Right?
“I’m pretty fucking hard, too,” he says.
“That’s why I asked if you’re sure you wanna stop.”
More curiously, he asks, “What else can I do?”
My heart picks up its pace. My brain spins through fantasy after fantasy. All relatively tame for someone who’s been sexually active since fourteen, but this is new territory. “Wanna kiss my neck?”
“Do you want me to?”
“If you want to.”
“Um…” He hesitates. “I’ll try it.”
Elated, I move my head, and with the hand I’ve still got on his face, I bring him in. The second his wet lips meet my skin, I groan. “Whoa.”
He jerks away, but I grip him by the nape of the neck and pull him back. An “umph” sound escapes when he makes contact again, but then his mouth is opening and sucking skin, which is way more than I did, but now I have more regrets to stack on the pile.
“Fuck,” I whisper. “Damn. That feels really good.” I’ve got something new to say with each kiss, it turns out. It’s probably annoying, but I can’t stop. “Ryan. Yeah. Shit. Mm…”
He moves a hand up my back, over my shoulder and presses it into my right pec.
I press back, liking that, too. He gives it a squeeze, and I make another stupid sound.
My dick is buried underneath him, somewhere in the beanbag chair, but I’m thrusting and grinding, regardless.
“It’d be so embarrassing if I came like this. ”
“Mmhm,” he agrees, squeezing my ass again and sucking at another spot on my neck.
“Are you anywhere close?” I ask, hips pumping away at the chair.
“It’s your turn to shut up, Mal.”
“I’m trying,” I say, meaning it.
“I’m gonna move now.”
“No,” I groan, trying to hold him in place, but he’s lifting his leg and letting go of me. I grab for him, but he keeps moving. I roll onto my back to find him and get a better hold on him, drag him back, but he’s a step ahead of me, already between my opening legs and kneeling on the floor.
“Yeah?” I ask, nearly exploding in my pants at the sight of him like that—for me .
He nods, and I open my pants faster than I’ve ever done anything in my life. Either he doesn’t trust me to go through with it, or he wants this as much or more than I do, but he’s got his hand inside my underwear as soon as the waistband is exposed, pulling out my cock and leaning in.
To my utter mortification, but not surprise, I come the second his lips are around me and his tongue hits flesh. “Fuck, oh, fuck…oh my god …”
I don’t recognize my voice, but the whine that comes out of me as he goes ahead and sucks me into his mouth anyway, swallowing my gushing cum and sucking and licking everywhere—goddamn making out with my dick —isn’t human.
I yell his name, and I think I might growl, too, but the aftershocks buzzing through me go from excruciating to insanely good over the space of about fifteen bobs of his head, and I swear to God, I’m gonna die right here in this beanbag chair with Stephanie watching.
When I open my eyes, I see my hand in his hair, his eyes on me, and his lips red and swollen as they slide up and down my slick cock.
“What’s it like?” I pant.
He winks at me and keeps sucking.
“It’s not gross?”
He shakes his head and doesn’t stop. Whatever he’s doing is keeping me from getting soft. I feel a major reset coming on.
“Not even swallowing the cum?”
He pops off and glares at me. Fisting my dick with one hand, he grabs my wrist with the other. He’s very strong, and he’s got my complete attention. “Do you want me to stop? ”
I shake my head. “Not unless you want to.”
“Did it seem like I wanted to?”
I shake my head again.
“Well, you already came, so I guess I’m done.” He lets go of me and tucks my dick back into my boxer briefs.
He’s not getting away that easy. Not after he gave me a crazy good orgasm. I need him to stay close. I grab him by the shirt and return him to the chair at my side. He doesn’t resist, but he does reach down to adjust himself, wincing. “You made that so fucking weird,” he says.
I get that. “I wasn’t thinking. It was really hot, though. I liked it.”
“Yeah, well…” he sounds all defeated. A little frustrated. Embarrassed. I can feel it in the new stiffness of his body, too.