Chapter 27
Emmett
This is … weird.
Beyond anything I’ve ever done before.
I’ve never wanted to touch.
But Tristen is laying here with his length stretching up to his belly button, the tattoos on his chest staring back at me as Hatley whispers gentle encouragement.
And I want to do what he says. What Tristen acknowledges is okay.
So why do I feel so wrong?
My stomach flips when I inch my hand up higher on his leg. It’s just his thigh, and the hair is catching beneath my nails, but shouldn’t I be … hard?
Like they both are?
There’s a thickness in the air that I don’t understand. Some of it a byproduct of Hatley’s heavy breathing and maybe my choppy breath.
This is not how it normally happens.
I swallow hard to keep my head from drifting and inch my hand up higher.
Tristen shakes beneath my touch.
“Just like that,” his friend whispers and it feels odd to have such a gentle statement floating around in the air during a moment like this. “You’re driving him crazy, Em. Keep doing that.”
I don’t even know what I’m doing. Or why it’s driving him crazy when normally I have to—
Swallowing the thickness gathering in my throat, I shove my hand up until it’s wedged between his leg and his groin with nowhere else to go, and slam my eyes closed.
My stomach turns.
His balls are hot on the back of my hand.
Oh, God, I’m touching another man.
This is gay. So beyond gay.
The back of my throat burns.
“You made his toes curl, Em,” Hatley breathes out and my stomach rolls with a wave so strong that my eyes pop open.
Staring back at me is the leaking slit of Tristen’s erection. The entire tip is wet. There’s a puddle collecting on the trail of hair from his belly button and sliding along his flat stomach to his hip.
“Look at his toes.”
I swallow and guide my sight down to where his feet are clenched tight, the digits drawn in on themselves.
“You’re shaking, bub.” The words are so busted up and cracked that my sight shoots up to brown eyes with blown pupils.
His jaw is clenched. His eyes hooded.
That burning in my throat intensifies.
“I want to,” I say on a weak whisper and blink back the itch in my eyes.
“Only if you want to.”
My breath catches.
He can’t mean that … can he?
“You’re in control, Em,” Hatley adds.
That’s not true. I’m taking orders like a good little—
“Emmett,” Tristen rasps and licks his lips. “You’re in control. Do what you want.”
A shiver racks down my spine so violently, it dislodges my hand.
He’s just trying to be nice. It doesn’t mean anything.
But does it have to mean anything?
I’m panting as I hover a hand over his sac, the warmth of it nearly burning me. I’m damn near hyperventilating when I cup them.
My breathing stops all together when Tristen lets out a choked gasp.
It’s a deep sound. Like maybe what I’ve done feels good.
“That’s the shit right there,” Hatley mumbles but I can barely hear him over the rushing in my ears.
I’m touching Tristen’s balls … I’m holding another guy's balls …
Throat dry, I swallow hard enough that it clicks.
My stomach flips when I roll them in my palm, the weight heavier than I thought they’d be.
Tristen’s caged groan makes something inside me tingle, and I gasp.
“Em,” he says on a rumble that makes that tingling spread. “Please.”
I grow hot all over, a sweat prickling at my skin beneath the hoodie.
“I-I …”
“Grab his dick, Emmett,” Hatley instructs, his soft command breaking through the pulse in my ears and Tristen’s length flexes.
My stomach tightens.
“Ffffuck, I need to come,” he groans out, his balls drawing up tight in my hand. “If you don’t want to, it’s okay. But I need to. P-please, Em.”
Something deep in the core of me twists up and I lean back, silently releasing Tristen.
He immediately wraps his hand around himself, his muscles gone taut as he wildly jerks his length.
That twisting inside me gets tighter.
“Watch him, Emmett.”
I am. I am.
I don’t think I could look away if I tried.
My breath is choppy as Tristen’s groans fill the room, the shake of the bed squeaking with his movements, his skin flushed and shining.
Tighter.
“Fuckfuckfuckfuckkkkkkk.”
His hips lift at the same time his head falls back, stretching his neck and the tattoos there.
I gasp, that building pressure coming undone.
And he comes.
His length shooting strands of white into the air that land on his stomach. His chest. His chin.
Hatley’s deep timbre follows, and I press the heel of my palm against my crotch.
The pressure spreads the wetness in the underwear, and I shudder.
Did I … come?
The realization has all the blood rushing from my head and it’s like I can feel how ghostly white I just became.
I go to jump up, to run, to find someplace to hide away my shame of coming without even being touched.
Am I that desperate?
How else can I justify what’s happened here?
My first voluntary encounter and it’s with two guys instead of one. A boy instead of a girl.
If it was my actual first, maybe I wouldn’t want to throw up.
My eyes burn and my wrist scrapes along the callouses holding my hoodie sleeve.
“Thank you.”
Completely oblivious to my inner panic, Tristen tugs at my sleeve just hard enough to disrupt the way I’m propped up, and I fall back as Hatley climbs out of the bed.
“Bub, look at me.”
My breath hitches with a dry sob and I shove my free fist into my mouth and bite to keep the tears from forming.
I’ll never be right.
“Emmett.”
Rough fingers find my chin, and I’m so tense that even my normal reaction to touch is suppressed as he guides my face up.
I’m panting in his face, a mess, practically falling apart beside him and he’s … smiling.
Lips stretched, showing a peek at his crooked front tooth, cuts and splits all over his face from the fight earlier.
Watchful brown eyes.
A softness to his gaze.
And it’s … aimed at me.
Instead of malice or hate shining back.
My stomach rolls.
“I’m bi,” he blurts out quietly and I swallow against the burn.
“H-hi, Bi. I-I’m Emmett.”