23. Benefits
23
Benefits
The only other guy who’d been in my room was my brother, and it was usually to annoy me. Sal intended to please me. Or at least hang out with me. My hands shook as I opened the door. Thankfully, I had been mulling over the possibility of my friend-with-benefits joining me and cleaned up throughout the week. I had fresh sheets, only one empty cup on my nightstand, and a respectable amount of not-quite laundry heaped by my closet.
“Nice, you got the master suite,” he said, looking around. “Must be nice to have your own bathroom. I have a couple roommates, and someone’s always forgetting to flush or leaving hair in the sink. I think it’s mostly this one guy, but he won’t admit to anything.” He narrowed his eyes.
I chuckled at the audacity of someone who could actually piss off Sal. “I don’t envy your situation. He sounds nasty.”
“Yup.” He shuddered. “Thankfully, he’s only on the lease for a couple more months. I can hold out until then.”
“You’re an amicable person. I would’ve sent evidence to the landlord to get him evicted.”
“Huh. Maybe I’ll try that. I just don’t want to make things weird between us.” He gestured at our chests .
“Right.” I fiddled with his hand, unsure what to do next. Push him on the bed, kiss him, or undress? Did he still want to hook up, or would he prefer to chat?
He cringed and squeezed my hand. “Sorry if that ruined the mood.”
I shook my head. “It didn’t. I’m just not sure how to do this.”
“Do what?”
I glanced at the bed. “Sex.” My voice wavered with nerves.
He raised his brows, his lips parting in not-so-subtle shock.
“Not the physical aspect,” I clarified. I’d experimented with toys to discover what I’d liked as far as stimulation. “I mean transitioning from good conversation to…less.”
Heat flared through my chest and wrapped around my neck. Was I too blunt? Or forward?
He brushed my hair away from my face and smirked. “Is this your way of telling me to shut up and kiss you?”
I set my glasses on the silly robot with a big nose I’d made in high school. The world blurred into a hormone-driven haze. “Yes,” I said.
He chuckled and cupped my cheek. “Just to be clear, you can talk to me. Any time. And if you pull on my ear, I’ll take it as a signal to check in.” He tugged on my earlobe.
“Your ear?” I laughed. “Why, to make you listen?”
“Yes. But it doesn’t count if you nibble or suck on it,” he said, pecking, then suckling mine in demonstration. Blood rushed to my breasts and cunt. His hot breath tickled my neck.
Gasping, I clung to his shoulder. “Do you want that?”
“I want this,” he whispered, and kissed me on the lips. I lingered in the pleasant buzz simmering amid our embrace, caressing his face. Each touch ignited a deeper curiosity. I wanted to explore him. Tease him. Find all the special places that’d make him tremble with pleasure.
I tweaked his buttons until they popped open, everything from sternum to hips. My fingers grazed the firm bulge as I pulled the zipper. His pants splayed open, still strained under the denim.
My mouth ran dry. He was real under there. Hard. Warm. Giving.
His shoulders flexed as he dropped his shirt to the floor. “All good?”
“Yes.” I snapped my gaze from his dick. “Sorry, I was distracted. You look really good,” I admitted, my fingers trailing his freckled arms and the soft, slightly hairy planes of his chest peeking through his undershirt.
“Thanks,” he said, his face lighting up better than any switchboard. Those fucking dimples carved their way into my heart.
I ached for him.
He removed the tank top, then bent closer, his eyes flashing with glee. “Can I see you too?”
Oh. He wanted to see me . Naked me. I backed towards the bed and ran a hand through my exposed hair, seeking some imaginary hat. Obviously, stripping would be the next step. He was half-naked. I should be too.
I inhaled sharply and peeled my top off. No big deal. Logically, my bra showed as much skin as a swimsuit. I flung my shirts at the closet, then fidgeted with my beige bra straps. This wasn’t exactly my sexiest set.
He smiled, then sighed wistfully. “You look good too.”
“Thank you.” I rubbed my thighs together, heat coiling low in my belly.
The benefits of this arrangement were even better than I expected. I didn’t need to worry about lingerie or makeup or saying the wrong thing. He’d still be nice.
My stomach fluttered. He rocked on his heels and grinned, his thumbs in his pockets and his star-print boxers tented.
I had to do something. Put on music? No. That’d put too much pressure on a striptease, and I didn’t have a playlist or routine ready. “Can I turn on the TV?” I asked.
He pulled his shoulders back and crossed his hands in front of his pants. “Oh, yeah. We can watch TV. We don’t have to do anything.”
The butterflies in my stomach flapped harder. He was fine just hanging out? Not angry? Not exasperated, even when he was hard and aching and I’d been leading him toward a happy ending? “I meant for background noise,” I said. It’d be distracting, but not too much.
He cracked a smile. “Ah, yes. But don’t put on Space Spies 3009. I actually want to watch that.”
“Okay.” I switched on a movie I’d seen a hundred times, then slid under the covers, dragging them up to my shoulders.
He tilted his head at me. “You good?”
“Just cold.” I had goosebumps, though I doubted it was from the temperature.
“Should I warm you up?” he asked with such an awkward gesture I had to bite back a laugh. If he was going to use a line, he had to commit to it. “I could grab another blanket,” he said.
“Hm, I don’t know.” I wriggled out of my pants, then kicked them out from under the blanket. “I think I need the body heat.”
He snorted a laugh, shed his pants, then climbed into bed with me. “So, you like cheesy lines?”
Not always. I slid over his outstretched arm and rested my wrist over his heart, our pulse thrumming in sync. “I like you,” I said.
“I like you too.” He smiled softly, his dimples a perfect crescent, a peek of joy and what could be.
Our knees brushed as we embraced. Then our lips met, our feet tangled. Again. Wandering. Hard, soft, tender things. He slid my bra strap down to rub my shoulder, then peppered kisses along my collar. Shivering, I dragged his head towards my neck. Everything tingled and flexed .
He groped my ass, his fingers cupping the flesh under the fabric. Every touch increased the urge to fit our bodies together. We tangled and humped just enough to create friction.
My clit throbbed, desperate for attention. Our chests grazed in our rhythmic passion. My bra scraped my nipples in a delicious pinch. I gasped and opened my legs wider.
“You look so fucking sexy,” he whispered.
Good. I held on and believed him. The balm of our trapped heat lubricated our kisses.
He massaged the damp strip of fabric between my legs, then propped himself up to get a better angle.
“Fuck, yes,” I murmured, stroking his jaw. My eyes fluttered shut when he increased the pressure. I humped his hand, seeking more contact. We went slow, at first. I stroked his shaft to determine his shape.
He moaned into a kiss, and I curled my toes into his leg. Did he like me, or a general helping hand? We sent shallow thrusts into the other’s ministrations. The more we kissed and caressed, the more I needed. A knot of tight desperation gathered in my sex.
“Deeper,” I said.
He obliged, pumping his long fingers into my sex. Fuck this stupid fabric. It prevented me from taking all of him. I thrashed and jerked him off, chasing our orgasms. I was so close. So wet.
He withdrew his fingers, and I’d barely let out a bereft groan before he slid his hand under my waistband to palm my thigh instead of my sex. His hazy eyes met mine in a silent question. Should he go lower?
I nodded and kissed him, shifting to let him in easier.
He sucked my lips and dipped his fingers into my heat. My muscles clung to him, greedy for more. He pumped me with languorous, luxurious strokes, then rubbed my clit with the determination of a professional gamer with an analogue stick .
My senses slammed into overdrive. “Oh, oh, oh,” I keened, my hips launching off the bed. Lightning bliss shot through my clit, conducted by his fingertips. Euphoria tingled from my breasts to my toes. “Oh fuck.” I gasped, gripping his shaft.
“You’ve got this,” he said, playing with my clit.
I was electrified. Gone. Fused to passion and sex and this fucking perfect person with his hand in my slit. I clamped my thighs together and moaned, pushing his wrist lower as the waves of pleasure crashed through my senses.
He kissed my shoulder just as it all receded, and I convulsed with one last spark of satisfaction.
“You’re good?" he asked.
Was I good? I’d trapped his hand in my sex. I wasn’t even stroking his dick.
A pleasant buzz rewired my brain and relaxed all my muscles. My legs flopped open on the mattress. His hand remained. "I finished," I said, not sure if I could assess anything with my current buzz.
He stroked the thatch of unruly hair on my outer lips. “Do you want me to stay, or should I let you breathe?” he asked.
“Stay.” I hugged his arm and nuzzled his chest. It’d be cold and dead without him here. No tingles. No buzz at all.
He chuckled. “I meant my hand, but I’m down for snuggles.”
Ugh, of course that’s what he meant. I had to get a grip.
I ran my hand down his chest, then slipped into his boxers and lightly scratched his thigh. He gasped, his nose brushing mine. This way of initiating was his move, but I’d always been a fast learner. When he kissed me, I took it as permission to reach for what we both wanted: an experience…and each other.