12. CHAPTER TWELVE
CHAPTER TWELVE
TRAVIS
“You wanna change?” Brenden asks, holding out a pair of my sweatpants that he grabbed from his dresser drawer.
Apparently, he made room for my clothes and put them away for me, even though I assured him it wasn’t necessary.
The gesture is sweet, but it’s also made the line between real and fake look a bit blurrier.
The more days we spend pretending to date, the more the line blurs.
And that’s how I end up doing silly things like kissing his fingertips because I want to, not because I’m trying to sell this.
It’s been way too easy fitting myself into his life.
Although maybe that shouldn’t surprise me.
We’ve fit so easily into each other’s lives in a platonic way for years.
I know what he likes and dislikes, his strengths and his weaknesses, how to make him happy with simple things.
Is adding some handholding really all it takes to tip the appearance of our relationship from platonic over to romantic?
He shakes the sweats at me, snapping me out of my brief daze.
“Sorry you had to stay up for the movie” he says when I take them from him.
“You must be exhausted from all the jumping back and forth between the diner, the inn, and here.”
“Yeah, I’m pretty much ready to crash.”
Honestly, I almost dozed off a few times during the movie.
But having Brenden’s body tucked against mine kept me awake.
It was comfortable in a way that could have lulled me to sleep—if it weren’t for the fact that I wasn’t willing to miss a moment of the closeness.
That should scare me.
It does scare me.
He is not mine to keep, and I need to remember that.
I go into the bathroom to change, and since Brenden was already wearing clothes he could sleep in, I find him lying in bed when I come back out.
I set my folded jeans and flannel on top of his dresser before going over there.
It looks like he’s a little more in the middle of it than he should be.
So far, we’ve both stayed as much on our respective sides as possible.
That is, until we inevitably migrate closer in our sleep.
At least this morning when I woke up, Brenden was lying on his stomach about a foot away from me.
Only his hand had crept closer, his fingers curled around my hipbone.
That was less dangerous and awkward than waking up with his ass pressed against my dick.
Deciding it would be rude to ask him to move over in his own bed, I slide in and do my best to keep some semblance of space between us.
But he immediately rolls on his side to face me, closing the distance, and he gives me a look like he’s considering something.
Is it something about me?
Even though I have no idea what type of answers he’s searching for on my face, I hold perfectly still, like that will make some kind of difference.
And then right when I’m about to break and ask him what he’s thinking, he says, “I think we should kiss again.”
My eyes grow wide.
“We only practiced once,” he adds quickly.
As if once wasn’t enough to sear the feel of his lips into my brain .
“And I kind of freaked out a little when it happened tonight in front of Elise. We need it to look more natural.”
“Uh,” I say, his proposition rendering me dumb.
Somehow, it’s even more surprising this time than the first time he said it.
Maybe because it almost made sense the first time.
To practice.
But now?
We don’t need more practice.
When he kissed me tonight—because he kissed me , it didn’t just “happen”—it certainly felt natural.
At least until he flailed around trying to get away from me.
“I just think it would be helpful,” he says.
His face has shuttered his emotions, leaving me unable to read him.
And I don’t like that.
He’s usually so expressive.
“We don’t have to if you don’t want to.”
Oh, I do want to.
That’s the problem.
My whole reason for being here, though, is to help him out.
So if he needs to kiss me more to get himself comfortable with it, then I can do that for him.
I can keep my desire for him in check.
I’ve been doing it for years.
I scratch at my jaw as I say, “All right, we can... Do you want...”
Ignoring my inability to finish a sentence, he scoots closer and practically flings himself at me.
Even with his uncoordinated movements, our lips instantly come together like they’re magnetized.
And he seems to settle as soon as we’re kissing.
His fingers curl into my shirt, and I can feel the warm press of them through the fabric.
I’m on my back, and he’s propped himself up so that his face is slightly above mine, allowing him the easiest control of the kiss.
And fuck , I’m fine with letting him control it.
Because his mouth is hot and exploring, his tongue sneaking out to lick across the seam of my lips, urging me to part them for him.
As soon as I do, that wicked tongue meets mine, and it sends sparks of want shooting up my spine.
One of my arms is trapped between our bodies, his chest pressed tightly against it.
But I manage to roll myself onto my side to mirror him, and I use my free hand to cup the back of his head.
He moans softly when my nails scratch along his scalp.
And then he freezes, like he didn’t mean for the sound to escape him.
But it did, and I can’t unhear it.
So I use my hold on his head to guide him back into kissing me.
I shouldn’t be doing this, but the flames are growing hotter, and it’s like his tongue is both stoking the fire and putting it out at the same time.
I need him.
Need his tongue and his lips and his body against mine.
I kiss him like I want to devour him.
Because I do.
It’s not until he bites my lip gently, then pulls back a bit, that I come to my senses and relinquish my hold on him.
His fingers remain tangled in my shirt.
It feels like an act of possessiveness, though I’m sure it’s not.
“That was... um.” His blue eyes bore into me as he struggles for words.
He doesn’t look scared, but he looks.
.
.
something.
I remind myself that he asked for this.
I didn’t do anything wrong.
Not technically.
But damn, he probably wasn’t asking me to maul him.
Although, to be fair, he kind of mauled me first.
He lets go of my shirt as he shifts backward, putting a bit of space between us.
That seems to clear his head, and he nods decisively.
“Right. So I think that was good. Believable, I mean. It was probably enough practice.”
“Yeah,” I agree, trying to calm my wildly racing heart.
“Well.” He bites his lip, and I instantly think of the perfect, slight twinge of pain when he did it to mine.
“I’ll let you get to sleep now.”
“Yeah,” I say again, stupidly.
Because what the hell else can I say?
I can’t tell him how much kissing him affects me.
How it feels like so much more than practice.
How I want it to be more, and it’s getting harder and harder to pretend that’s not the case.
I’ve wanted Brenden Sanderson for so damn long.
And I’m afraid getting this taste of him, this tease, has opened the floodgates for me.
I’m not sure I can hold back my desire any longer.
But I’ll have to keep trying.
Because the last thing I want to do is ruin the relationship we have by pushing for something more, something that could never work anyway.
I’m having the best dream, a warm body in front of me, my cock rutting against supple ass cheeks.
My hips keep rocking, seeking more, seeking entrance.
Someone moans.
Was it me?
My eyes fly open.
The dream vanishes in an instant, and reality hits me so hard I gasp.
Once again, my dick is trying its absolute best to press into Brenden’s ass through the barriers of our pants.
My instinct, now that I’m awake and in control of myself, is to bolt.
But before I move, I realize that something solid is resting on top of my ankle.
His foot.
Can I disentangle myself without waking him?
I hold as still as possible and try to steady my breathing, because goddammit , my dick is throbbing with the need to come.
Any small twitch from Brenden’s body might be enough to set me off.
“ Mmf .” He lets out a tiny whimper in his sleep, and my dick jerks in response.
Fucking hell.
If I don’t do something fast, he’s going to wake up to my rock-hard erection stabbing him in the ass.
Carefully, I slide my leg out from under his foot.
I attempt to move away from him in this awkward, hips-first maneuver, but he lets out a louder whine this time and presses his ass back like his body is subconsciously seeking my heat.
When his ass bumps into my cockhead, my sweatpants aren’t enough of a barrier anymore to keep me from losing it.
The orgasm is so close, I can taste it.
And then—
“Travis?”
Fuck, shit, damn it.
“Sorry,” I mutter as I roll quickly away, practically falling out of the bed.
I run for the bathroom, slamming the door closed behind me.
Somewhere in the back of my mind, I feel vaguely guilty for possibly waking other people up.
But the situation is fucking dire.
There’s no way I can will this thing to go down.
I’m way too far gone for that.
With one hand, I roughly shove my sweatpants past my knees, and with the other, I reach for the tap on the sink, turning the water on.
Brenden was probably disoriented when he woke up.
There’s a chance he didn’t have time to register what was prodding him.
Maybe he’ll just think I ran off because I really needed to piss.
Feeling like such a creep, I wrap my hand around my dick and give it a long, firm stroke, finally offering myself some relief.
I speed up on the next stroke, adding a twist of my wrist at the head, and I have to bite my lip to hold in a moan.
Even with the water running, I’m worried about being too loud.
I need to be fast, so this doesn’t look even more suspicious.
Which shouldn’t be a problem, considering how on edge I am already.
But a sudden knock on the door makes me freeze, hand around the base of my dick.
“Can I come in?” a small voice asks.
“I’m, uh...” I clear my throat when my words come out too husky.
“I’m not decent.”
There’s a long pause, in which I assume Brenden’s walked away.
But then he says, very clearly, “You didn’t answer my question.”
What the hell?
Is he fucking serious?
A million thoughts fly through my mind in the span of only a few seconds.
Thoughts like, Absolutely not , and, He’s my friend , and, We can’t do this , and, It’ll fuck everything up.
But then my dick overrides my brain, and I croak out, “Um. Okay.”
The doorknob turns slowly, then the door cracks open and Brenden’s face appears in the gap.
I’m just standing here frozen, slumped sideways against the sink with my hand still on my dick.
I can’t let go, because that will leave me even more exposed.
As if it’s possible to be any more exposed than this.
What if he somehow didn’t know what I was doing in here?
What if he thought I was hurt, and he was only concerned?
Well.
If he didn’t know before, he does now.
And instead of fleeing, he opens the door all the way, steps inside the bathroom, then closes the door behind him, leaning his back against it.
For a few long moments, we stare at each other.
Despite the immense awkwardness of the situation, my need to come hasn’t become any less urgent.
My dick hasn’t gotten the memo that we should both go into hiding immediately.
Brenden steps closer, and I hold my breath as he reaches out, slowly, slowly.
But then his hand moves around me to turn off the tap.
Right.
Yeah.
My heart is pounding so hard, he must be able to hear it now.
He steps back again, and I still haven’t moved.
When his eyes deliberately trail down my body, I almost moan.
Gaze lifting back up to meet mine, he raises his eyebrows.
Like a challenge.
Still not understanding what reality we’re in, I begin to stroke myself again.
He steps forward, and I go faster.
Then he moves in even closer, the small space of the bathroom putting him right in front of me in only a couple steps.
His hand comes to my hip, and I break at the contact.
All self-restraint lost, I grab the side of his face with my free hand and yank him to me, my lips crashing onto his.
I kiss him hard as I jerk myself harder.
He grabs my bare ass and squeezes, which is embarrassingly all it takes for me to shoot off like a rocket, my cum landing who-knows-where between us.
And then it’s over.
Our kissing slows to a stop, and I reluctantly separate from him.
I pull up my sweats, ignoring the sticky mess.
Then my eyes drift downward, and I can’t help but notice the erection that his thin pajama bottoms don’t do much to conceal.
I glance back up at him, words failing me.
I’ve obviously fallen into a parallel universe.
That’s the only explanation for all this.
And please, just let me stay here.
I don’t want to go back.
Brenden blushes, looking unbelievably shy now.
Like somehow watching me jerk off wasn’t a big deal, but him getting turned on by it is.
“Oh,” he says quietly.
“Um. Yeah.”
I reach out for his waist, but he shakes his head.
“You don’t have to.”
“Do you want me to?” I ask him.
He gives me another deer-in-headlights look, and I almost apologize for offering.
Apologize for all of this.
But then he bites his lip and nods.
That’s all I need.
Surging forward, I back him against the door before dropping to my knees.
His sharp intake of breath only spurs me on.
I’m mindful of the way his cock is jutting straight out as I begin to lower his pajamas, but once they’ve safely cleared his erection, I quickly tug them down to his ankles.
His cock is thinner than mine but a bit longer, the pink head glistening with a drop of precum that begs to be licked.
So I stick out my tongue and taste it.
The slight flavor of salt hits me, and I dive in for more.
He lets out a groan as I wrap my lips around the head.
I glide my mouth down over his length, stopping before I take him too far.
I’m tempted to force myself to take him deeper until I’m gagging on him.
Sloppy, choking blowjobs are great, but I don’t want that for this first time.
I want to savor him.
My mental faculties are returning, and I’m dimly aware that this will probably be the last time, because what the hell are we doing?
But that’s even more reason to go slow, to enjoy every delicious second of his cock in my mouth, and to make damn sure he enjoys it too.
I pull off him to lick a long stripe from his base all the way up to the tip, where I swirl my tongue around his head.
I’m back down and tonguing at his balls when his legs start to tremble.
Glancing up, I’m treated to the sight of him with his eyes glazed over and mouth fallen open.
His hands are hovering around my head like he wants to grab it but isn’t sure he’s allowed.
“You can touch me,” I assure him.
“However you want.”
As my mouth gets back to work, slowly sucking him down again, his fingers twist in my hair and tug, causing me to moan around him.
That makes him moan too, but then I hear a thunk .
When I look up to check on him, he’s got his head tilted all the way back against the door, baring his throat in a sexy way that makes me want to wrap my hand around it.
If only I could reach.
“You okay?” I ask.
He uses his grip on my hair to guide me back to his cock, so I’ll take that as a yes.
I suck him off in earnest now, unable to hold back any longer.
I use my hand to gently cup his balls as I press the tip of my tongue to the spot right under his head.
He lets out a string of curses as his knees buckle.
So I move both hands to hold his hips, pressing them firmly into the door.
Once he seems stable, I let go.
“You can fuck my mouth,” I tell him.
“Can’t. Legs... not working.”
I give him a satisfied smirk before I resume sucking him like it’s my job, using my lips and tongue for all they’re worth.
Then he whimpers, “ So close. ”
Fighting back my gag reflex, I take almost all of him down and swallow around his head.
He explodes in my mouth, his whole body shaking as he empties down my throat.
I don’t pull off until he pushes weakly at my shoulder, and I know he must be getting sensitive.
My joints creak a bit as I stand, and when he reaches out to hold on to me, I’m not sure if it’s for my benefit or his.
His eyes have regained focus, but he avoids looking at me, even though his hand is still on my waist.
Everything we just did hangs in the air between us.
How are we supposed to move on from this?
How do I explain myself?
Because it was my fault, right?
My inability to control my body’s reaction to him is what brought us here.
But he was the one who wanted to come into the bathroom.
He had to have known what I was doing in here.
And he essentially encouraged me to continue getting myself off in front of him.
Didn’t he?
Shit, what if I read the whole situation wrong?
What if he was actually disgusted at what he found and expected me to apologize, make my walk of shame out of the bathroom, out of his house, and out of his life?
Did I force something on him that he didn’t want?
That thought curls dread in my stomach.
He trusted me.
I was never supposed to do anything to hurt him.
I’m such an asshole.
But no.
It seemed like he wanted it.
It seemed, for a few minutes there, like I could actually have more of him than what I thought I was allowed.
Or maybe I only saw what I wanted to see.
Maybe I was foolish to let myself believe the fantasy that he might want me the same way I want him.
“Stop freaking out.”
My eyes finally find his, and I breathe a little easier.
Because he’s not looking at me with disgust or contempt.
Not at all.
He’s giving me that soft Brenden look that I like to imagine is reserved only for me.
I know he offers it to everyone though.
I’m not special.
“Did I do something wrong?” he asks.
And when my utter confusion keeps me from answering, he adds, “When you let me come in, I figured it was okay to... participate.”
That makes me chuckle, despite the situation.
“Don’t worry. I thoroughly enjoyed your participation.”
“That’s not even the right word,” he says.
“I didn’t really do anything for you. You did all the work on both of us.”
“Trust me. You did a hell of a lot for me.”
He did more than I can say.
Just looking at him was enough of a turn on, watching him watch me.
And I can’t forget how it was him I was rutting against when I woke up.
His soft, warm body that fueled my desire to an unmanageable level.
“So um...” He glances down at where he’s still touching me and lets his hand fall away.
I try not to regret the loss.
“What now?”
“I don’t know.”
“I don’t want this to make things weird between us.”
“Me neither,” I tell him.
“Maybe this could be...”
“Be what?” I ask, my heart racing when he trails off.
Is he going to tell me he wants more with me?
Is it not such a foolish fantasy?
He gazes at me hopefully.
“Like a fringe benefit of the whole fake dating thing?”
My heart sinks like a stone.
A fringe benefit.
Not the start of something real.
“Oh. Um. Yeah. I guess it could be. I don’t see why not.”
Other than the fact that being friends with benefits with him might kill me.
When he smiles, eyes bright, I know I’m a goner.
That’s it.
I’ve accepted my fate.
I’ll never be able to say no to this man.
And if he wants friends with benefits, then I’ll make sure to give him the best damn benefits he’s ever had.
My sense of self-preservation clearly went out the window days ago.