Chapter 13
Thirteen
Oakley
I’m not one to get nervous about something like sex, but as Quinton pushes open the door to his apartment, my stomach rolls with the same nerves it was earlier when I tried to back out of this whole plan. Only now, it’s churning with a mixture of anticipation and anxiety.
I don’t know what it is about him that’s got me all out of sorts.
Maybe it’s because whenever I hook up with a guy, most of the time, I’m the one doing the chasing. Coming onto him, picking him up at the bar or club. The first message online if I’m looking to find a quick lay on Toppr, this hook-up app for the gay community.
It’s where I’m most comfortable. In charge and in control. Taking the lead.
But this? Planning out sex? The when and where, and all of it being on someone else’s terms? Someone else doing the chasing for a change? And to top it off, having that person be Quinton?
It’s got me off-balance. And not in the fun, new, exciting way either.
It’s more in the weird way you get when you’re about to have sex for the first time.
More anticipation than is healthy, and even when you know what you’re doing—thanks to the extensive amount of porn you’ve watched—it all goes out the window the second the two of you are alone.
“Hayes is gone for the weekend,” Quinton says, cutting into my thoughts.
“Hayes?” My eyes flick to where his hand is clicking the deadbolt into place, and my body hums even more.
“My roommate.”
Oh, right.
I thought he’d live alone, seeing as the de Haas family has more money than God and might as well own Chicago. So why would anyone want a roommate in college if they can afford to live on their own?
Add it to the list of things I clearly had wrong about Quinton de Haas.
My throat works with difficulty as I lift my gaze to meet his eyes.
The heat in them is searing, the same way it was before practice, as he crosses over to stand in front of me.
His lips are still red and swollen from my kiss back in the locker room, and from the way he’s got his stare locked on my mouth, mine isn’t faring much better.
“Okay, well I don’t…” I trail off, clearing my throat. “I don’t think we need the whole weekend.”
His lips lifts in a lopsided grin, popping a dimple out on one side. “All-weekend sexcapades aren’t your style? Good to know.”
“It’s not what we agreed to.”
“And you’re always a stickler for the rules, aren’t you?”
Compared to you? Always.
“I—”
His grin grows, and paired with the mischief dancing in his eyes, I realize he’s just giving me shit. At least, I think that’s what he’s doing, because while Quinton joking around is nothing new, having him do it with me must mean I’ve been tossed into some sort of alternate reality.
Or I’ve gone insane.
Then again, this deal we’ve agreed to might be a sign we’ve both lost our goddamn minds. No matter how good it might make us feel in the moment.
“You’re nervous,” he murmurs. A statement, not a question, as he steps further into my personal space. “That’s why you tried to chicken out after practice.”
Once again, just like the night in the bathroom, I find my feet taking me backward.
Away from him and the intoxicating aura he casts until I can’t go any further.
The backs of my thighs hit the couch, my ass settling onto the cool leather arm.
Quinton boxes me in against it. One hand rests on either side of me—so close to my hips—and the heat of his almost-touch sends my pulse skyrocketing.
I hate myself for wanting them to be touching me instead of the leather. To push me onto my back and cover my body with his, naked or not, while we devour each other all over again.
Jesus, I need to slow my roll.
Because, despite how ready my body is for whatever we’re about to do, it doesn’t take away from how much I can’t stand him. It only adds to the nerves he’s picking up on.
I swallow, looking into his eyes and do my best to deflect. “I take it you’re not?”
He blinks at me, slanting his head. That damn dimple pops even more, and shit, why do dimples have to be so fucking attractive?
“You are nervous.”
My teeth sink into my lip as I try to figure out some sort of plausible deniability. The last thing I want is to be an emotional open book when I can barely get a read on him. Unfortunately, I come up with nothing.
“Yeah, I am,” I admit, however begrudgingly. “Guess I’m alone in that sentiment, though.”
He leans back slightly, his eyes darting between mine. “You’re kidding, right?”
“I’m really not. This? You and me? It’s fucking crazy.” I let out a deep breath. “Part of me feels like I’ve gone off the deep end by even agreeing to this in the first place. And you being so comfortable with this whole thing is—”
“You’re wrong,” he cuts in. His hands move from the leather to find my thighs, and I look down to watch his long fingers splay out over my jeans as he steps between my thighs. Heat seeps through the denim where he touches me, and instinctually, I reach out for more.
My fingers weave through his belt loops, and I pull him in closer. He towers over me now, still standing at full height, and for the first time, I actually feel small. Not just in stature, either. Quinton’s presence alone is larger than life, and he’s sucked me into his orbit.
Fuck, what am I even thinking right now?
I crane my neck up to meet his stare. “Wrong how?”
“I’m gonna let you in on a little secret,” he whispers, tracing his fingers up and down the denim. “And if you tell a soul, I’d deny it to my dying day. But, Reed…I’m the furthest thing from comfortable right now.”
My brow arches at his attempt to placate me, because he must be lying.
He’s practically oozing ease and confidence, not to mention a ridiculous amount of sex appeal.
The last one is far too tempting to get lost in, especially with the recent memory of his body pressed against me, the planes of hard muscle and smooth skin I can touch freely and—
“I know you might not believe me, seeing as this whole thing is my idea,” he murmurs, one hand moving from my thigh to skitter up my side, “but I can assure you, I’m just as nervous about this as you are.”
“You’re right,” I rasp, my voice coming out far more graveled than I’d like. “I don’t believe you.”
Not by a fucking long shot.
He shakes his head. “At least you’ve done this before. With another guy, I mean. My level of experience with a dick other than my own is everything we’ve done together.”
“Plenty more than most baby bi’s have.”
“There’s that fucking term again.” He chuckles, and the sound sends a zip of electricity through my body. “Doesn’t make me feel any less like a born-again virgin.”
I crack a smile, finally matching the one he’s been wearing for the past few minutes. “Have you ever kissed a guy before? Besides, uh...”
Besides me?
Quinton’s confidence falters slightly at my question, and I watch him work to swallow before he shakes his head.
“Are you okay with it?” I ask, my eyes moving to his mouth too. “I probably should’ve asked before, but…”
I expected words. A simple yes or no to be his answer. But instead, he leans down, closing the gap between us with a single move until our lips meet for the second time tonight.
The action alone surprises me, but not as much as the soft, sweeping pressure of his mouth. It’s slow and tentative, his kiss, when I was expecting something more brash to match the recklessness I’ve come to associate with Quinton.
It’s the complete opposite of the way we went at each other back in the locker room.
But sweet and gentle don’t last longer than thirty seconds before he asks for more.
One hand anchors in my hair, tilting my head back before tracing the tip of his tongue along the seam of my lips. They part automatically, and the first swipe of his tongue against mine is a taser to the balls, sending me into action.
All nerves gone thanks to the taste of his tongue, my arm wraps around his waist as I pull him into me more. Closer and closer, until not an inch of space separates our bodies. Until my back lands against the leather cushion, dragging him down with me and giving my earlier fantasy life.
Until I’m consumed by his touch, his taste. Just him.
My hands work their way beneath his shirt, dancing up and down the smooth expanse of his back. He shudders under the touch, goosebumps rising along his skin, and for whatever reason, I find the slight sign of vulnerability even sexier.
Quinton’s tongue rolls against mine in time with his hips while his thumb runs the line of my jaw in a feather-light touch.
Still keeping a touch of sweetness amidst the ferocity he kisses me with, and I realize it’s the very thing putting me more at ease.
I have no idea how he knows it’ll help keep me from losing my shit and bolting, or if maybe it’s a coincidence.
Either way, it makes my heart pound harder in my chest.
Our mouths stay damn near glued together as we pick up where we left off earlier tonight. Clothes make it harder, forcing us to settle for sneaking under waistbands, groping asses, and shamelessly exploring each other as best we can.
But it’s not enough for me.
From the way Quinton’s eyes smolder like two balls of blue fire when he rips his mouth away, it’s not enough for him either. Not even close.
“If that didn’t make my answer obvious, I’m okay with kissing,” he pants against my lips. “So fucking okay with it.”
We both groan when he presses his hips into me, the thick ridge of his cock rubbing against my own erection. The pressure combined with the heat of his mouth lingering a breath away has me burning from the inside out.
“And from the feel of it” —he rolls his hips into mine again— “so are you.”
Okay with it?
Um, yeah. To repeat his sentiment, I’m so fucking okay with it.
“You’re ridiculously good at that,” I murmur, nipping at his throat because I’m obsessed with it. “Like, how? You’ve been into dudes for all of five minutes.”