Chapter 11
Lawson
Oakley is staring at me like he’s not sure what he just agreed to.
“But you said…”
“I know what I said,” he replies, walking a step closer, his hands out like he’s trying to calm me. Or maybe he’s trying to calm himself. “I changed my mind.”
“Why?”
“Does it matter?”
Oakley’s eyes travel over my face as I assess him in turn, his breath coming a little short. He looks…upset. Not angry. But ruffled.
“I don’t want you to do something you’re gonna regret, Oak.”
He swipes his hair back, the shake of his head unsettling the strands immediately. “I won’t regret it. Can you just…call it off? With the other guy. Please.”
I pull out my phone, willing to do that at the very least. I don’t know why Oakley is so bothered by the prospect all of a sudden, but I type out a quick apology to cancel and send the message off.
“Done,” I tell him, slipping my phone away. “Now can you tell me what has you so rattled?”
He looks like he’d rather do anything else, but he inhales shakily and nods. “I never said I didn’t want to have sex with you, Law.”
I still, those words not what I was expecting. “You do want to?”
He groans. “It’s not like I ever thought much about it before, all right? You’re my friend. Sex with you wasn’t on my mind. But…fuck. The idea isn’t unappealing, and the thing is I know I’d treat you right. Those other guys… I just… You’re safer with me.”
I don’t argue that. It’s why I wanted it to be Oakley in the first place.
“So if you’re dead set on trying this,” he goes on, steeling himself, “then I’ll do it.”
“You’re not worried about it making things messy between us? You were before.”
He tosses his hands in the air. “It might. But we’ve made it this far, haven’t we? There’s nothing that would stop me from being your friend. I’m sure of it.”
“So…if I walked into your bedroom right now and dropped my pants?”
His groan this time is loud, his hands on his knees before he stands upright again. “Fuck, I never expected to hear that outta your mouth. Then I’d get you ready, Law. And, yes, I’d stick my dick in you.”
“Respectfully,” I clarify after his speech earlier.
His lips twitch into a smile, transforming his expression into the amused one I’m so used to seeing on him. “You’re giving me shit right now, really?”
I shrug. “You’re sure about this?”
“I’m sure about you,” he counters. “So yes.”
Not about to look a gift horse in the mouth, I nod and head toward Oakley’s room.
I can hear his exhale as I turn the corner into the hall, but he doesn’t immediately follow.
I give him time as I step into his familiar bedroom, the walls a light blue, some sun slanting in through the window but the angle such that it’s dimmer in here than most of the rest of the house.
Dropping my pants feels natural. How many times have I changed around Oakley, after all?
My underwear and socks quickly follow, and I shuffle all the articles of clothing off to the side of the room, where they’ll be out of the way.
I unbutton my shirt next, my hands calm, my mind feeling the same as I drop the material on the pile.
Naked, I kneel in front of Oakley’s bed, spread my knees wide, and lean my chest against his mattress.
Footsteps approach from behind me before Oakley inhales a sharp breath, a thump following like maybe his hand catching the wooden doorframe. A series of quiet curses leaves his lips, and I can’t help but wonder what he’s seeing.
A naked man waiting at the side of his bed? Someone to enjoy a brief moment of pleasure with? His friend?
I keep my head rested on my arms, my heart thumping as I wait for him to either come closer or decide this isn’t what he wants after all. He steps further into the room, a drawer opening off to my right. The rustle of clothing follows, and I realize he’s getting undressed.
A frisson of excitement and anticipation rolls through me, and I let out a slow breath.
Oakley kneels behind me, settling between my legs, his proximity impossible to miss. For a moment, I feel charged, the air between us thick like those storms that hit in the fall. When static causes your hair to stand on end and you can practically hear the impending thunder.
Oakley lets out a breath that floats over my shoulder like wind, his voice coming husky. “Do you wanna be touched?”
“Isn’t that a given?”
His laugh is a short thing. “What I mean is… Can I touch you in places other than your dick and asshole?”
“Do what you want with me, Oak.”
“Jesus.”
A warm hand skates down between my shoulder blades, pressure gentle along my spine. I shiver at the feel of callused fingertips dragging over my skin, Oakley’s touch rougher than the one I experienced before him. Those fingertips travel upwards again, mapping one shoulder and then the next.
This time, when they travel downwards, they don’t stop at the base of my spine. Two hands glide over my ass cheeks, down the backs of my thighs, up again. Around my hips, to my lower abdomen, pausing at the base of my cock.
“You’re not hard,” Oakley observes, one hand ringing me as the other skates down the front of my thigh.
“I’ll get hard when you touch me,” I assure him.
As if testing that theory, Oakley works the base of my dick.
An exhale puffs from my lungs, my body reacting as his hand slides over me, the dry touch gentle.
The tightening in my groin is a familiar pressure, but the sensation of Oakley’s hand is entirely new.
He strokes me more firmly as I harden, his thumb rolling over the top of my dick in a caress that has me grunting.
“Feel good?” he checks.
“Horrible,” I deadpan.
Oakley squeezes my dick lightly in reprimand, his touch sliding back over my hip again, fingers trailing down between my ass cheeks. “You’ll be honest if anything feels wrong?”
“I will,” I promise. “But it doesn’t.”
That seems to reassure him because I hear the pop of a lube cap.
Wet fingers brush over my hole, and I ease back against them, my eyes slipping shut.
Apart from my own fingers, it’s been so long since I’ve had this.
Two years since the last time I had sex?
Longer? I can’t even remember, and the anticipation now is lightning in my veins, no longer a low rumble of thunder.
“Oak,” I plead, not wanting teasing right now.
He curses again, a finger pressing inside of me.
I roll my face into the cradle of my arms, muffling my moan against Oakley’s comforter.
This. This has always been my favorite part about sex.
Having something inside of me. Laura only ever used the strap-on, nothing else.
And even that wasn’t often. Oakley’s finger is so much warmer, so much more real.
Oakley’s hand soothes down my side, almost like he’s petting the flank of a horse, his finger easing out and back in again. “All right?”
“Oak. Stop treating me like a damn virgin and rub my prostate already.”
“Fucking Christ,” he mutters, a mix of humor and…something else in his voice. He slides his finger in again with intent, and my toes curl against air.
“Fuck.”
“You’re swearing,” he says, sounding awed.
“Yeah, well, feels good. Again.”
Oakley’s breath puffs from him, his hand gripping my hip as he sets a pace with his finger that has electricity licking over every inch of my skin.
The intentional rub of that digit inside of me, the way Oakley knows how to glide along those sensitive nerves I’ve only been able to coax to life with my own fingers prior to now.
It’s so much better having someone else do it. He was right about the merits of that.
Oakley’s finger slips out, a beat passing before there’s more pressure and then two. The stretch is blissful, an ache that’s like a damn tension release for every muscle in my body.
“Jesus,” Oakley murmurs, a sort of wonder in his voice as he slips those fingers in deep. “You really do like this, huh.”
“Told you,” I manage, gripping the comforter to hold back my groan, every other piece of me languid and relaxed, even as it feels like sparks are setting off across my skin. Like the hop, skip, and jump of a pixie’s feet.
The scraping of stubble over my shoulder blade nearly has me jumping, the sensation far more vivid and real than my imagination.
Oakley does it again, a kiss almost but not, his short beard hairs bristling a path along the top of my back.
He leans over me, his fingers still working inside my ass, something else entirely settling against my ass cheek.
“Feel that?” he rumbles.
My breath leaves me on a pant.
“You still want that inside of you?”
“I do,” I tell him. More than anything.
Oakley’s fingers leave me again, what must be three entering me this time.
He fucks me with them rougher than before, my gut tightening as he does it again and again, his hand at the base of those fingers a pressure against the outside of my hole every time he sinks deep.
I get caught up in the feel of it, more arousing than it has any right to be.
Oakley’s hand is wandering again, the one not finger-fucking me slipping around to my stomach, the span of his grip wide. My cock is rock-hard now, rubbing against the comforter at the side of the bed.
“Oak,” I say hoarsely, my throat dry. “Respectfully… Get your dick inside of me already. I’m dying here.”
He huffs a short breath. “Bossy and to the point. Don’t know why I expected anything less.”
His fingers slip out of me, the man himself retreating.
There’s the unmistakable crinkle of a condom wrapper, and part of me is desperately curious to sneak a peek.
Apart from that single instance when we were teens, I haven’t seen Oakley’s cock hard.
Only soft. But I don’t crane my head around to look, wanting to respect Oakley’s wishes to keep this as uncomplicated as possible.
Surely it’ll be easier for him with me facing away.