Chapter 13 Connor
Connor
Reality sinks in as Dane and I sit in the Beemer, parked in the long driveway behind Thalia’s car. We sit long enough for the interior lights to cycle off, but there’s enough light coming in from Artie’s security LEDs to see Dane’s hand as it creeps over the console to touch my knee.
“Don’t freak out,” he says.
“I’m not.”
“You’re shaking.” His hand moves higher, to where my own hand trembles in my lap. Holding it, he says, “All you have to do now is go to bed. Quiet that mind and get some sleep.”
I squeeze Dane’s hand for all the warmth I can get. “Easier said than done.”
We head inside the cold, silent house and go our separate ways when the hallway delivers Dane to his bedroom and me to mine. I’m expecting Thalia to be asleep, and my unquiet mind races with what I’ll say during tomorrow morning’s inquisition.
Why were you out so late?
Who were you with?
What did you do?
But when I open the door, Thalia’s bedside lamp is still on, the bed is still made, and her block-heel party shoes are gone from their space in the shoe rack. Shutting the door and taking in the silence, my mind swirls with other questions.
Why is she out so late?
Who is she with?
What is she doing?
The hypothetical worst-case-scenario answers don’t affect me like I think they should.
Visions of her messing around with other guys at whatever party she didn’t want me at flash in my mind, but it’s not jealousy I feel.
No anger, disappointment, or betrayal. It would be too hypocritical of me as it is, when I spent so much time kissing Dane in that diner that our food went cold and people at other tables were glaring.
Besides the fact that I have no business being territorial right now, I’m just…
not. I’ve never been more okay with Thalia doing her own thing without me.
The fear of missing out only emerges when I hear the shower turn on from behind the bedroom wall.
I’m down to my t-shirt and boxer briefs when I muster the courage to slip into the bathroom.
Dane’s always going in there when I’m showering anyway.
Half undressed, Dane drops his shirt to the floor and tips his chin to me. “Hey. Need to brush those pretty teeth?”
Yes, but that’s not the first thing on my mind right now.
I shut the door behind me and let my eyes feast on forbidden fruit. “I gotta shower too.”
“‘Kay.” He smirks, fingers plucking at the button on his jeans. “Well, I called dibs, so…”
Saliva pools in my mouth as I forget to swallow, watching Dane shimmy out of his jeans and expose his Calvin Klein briefs. The bulge in the front is impressive enough to make my heart beat quicker, defined enough that I can tell which direction his cock lies.
“I didn’t hear you call dibs.”
“You mean, you can’t read my mind yet?” Dane’s eyes stay on me as he leans over and peels his socks off one by one.
Stepping forward, I meet Dane in the middle of the room. His energy grows stronger with each step I take, and by the time my hands are on his body, it’s like I’m part of that energy too.
“Can you read my mind?” I ask, watching my hands as they explore Dane’s torso. It’s slightly sticky with the evening’s sweat, and it’s smooth save for the line of fine dark hair below his navel. I trace the plane of his chest down to his stomach while Dane’s larger hands sneak up my shirt.
“I’ve been able to read your mind since the first time I saw you,” he says.
Finally, I swallow. I take my hands back only to lift my arms high, and Dane pulls my shirt up and over my head at a careful pace.
My nipples bead in the cool recycled air, but there’s already a cloud of steam seeping from the shower stall.
I float my arms to Dane’s shoulders while his circle around my waist.
I lean in, and our bulges graze. The sensation pushes a shudder from my lips as I brush them across Dane’s.
“What about Thalia?” he whispers.
“She’s not here.”
Needy and horny, I nip at Dane’s lips like we’re a pair of prom kings slow dancing in the center of a basketball gym. Little kisses that would be so innocent if not for my cock growing harder against Dane’s.
He licks his lips and ends up licking mine too. “Are you sure about this?” he asks, fingers already sneaking under my waistband to mold his palms around my ass cheeks.
He’s a top, I remind myself. The one who gives the dick. As terrifying as that is, the taboo of it is too enticing to turn me off. Crazed with lust, I know I’d do anything for Dane, even the stuff that scares me. Especially the stuff that scares me.
Tipping my head to the side, I kiss his smooth jaw all the way to his ear. “You said I don’t have to feel guilty, right?”
A soft moan buzzes from his throat, hands gently squeezing my ass. “Not with me, puppy.”
His earlobe is salty on my tongue as I suck it between my lips.
I kiss the stale sweat from his neck and latch my mouth over the thick vein pulsing with Dane’s lifeblood.
It reminds me of the laundry room and that no-name punk sucking on this same spot like he had the right.
None of that was Dane’s fault, though. He didn’t know he was mine yet.
“Fuck,” he moans, rocking his erection against mine.
I slurp off his neck, and let a dribble of my spit roll down to his collarbone.
I move to his shoulder, then to his chest. Dipping my head down, I follow the glint of steel until my mouth hovers over a brown, budded nipple.
The first lick triggers Dane’s hands to squeeze my ass, fingertips grazing that untouchable place that’s always been off-limits to everyone but myself.
My hands traverse his taut body unencumbered while I tongue his piercing.
“Holy shit,” Dane breathes.
He loves this, I can tell, but does he love it as much as I do? If he can read my mind, he knows I’m obsessed. After the first taste, I can’t get enough. I close my lips around his nipple and smack on it until Dane squirms.
“Connor,” he whines, jumping his hands from my ass to my head and prying me off.
As soon as I’m upright, Dane’s mouth is on mine, open and panting, hungry like he didn’t just devour half a cheeseburger. He latches onto my lips and slobbers on my tongue, moaning with the same desperate yearning that floods my own body.
He pulls away with kiss-swollen lips and shoves his underwear down to his ankles. “C’mon.” He backs up to the shower and pulls open the glass door.
But the sight of him immobilizes me. Of all the times Dane has had his dick out near me, this is the first time I’m seeing it in all its throbbing glory. Long and thick, the maroon head exposed and drooling clear fluid that hangs like a fishing line from the glistening tip.
With one foot in the stall and one on the shag bath mat, Dane reaches out to me, palm up. Breaking out of my trance, I shove my boxer briefs off and slap my hand into his. Then I follow him into a plume of steam and under a spray of hot water.
Dane touches me with no holds barred. Not an inch of my body is off-limits as his hands roam my every ridge, curve, dip, and divot. He touches me in places that should shame me to enjoy, but it only makes me more frantic to come.
With Dane’s mouth on my neck and his fingers massaging the outside of my asshole, I look down and marvel at the sight of our boners crossed and rubbing together like cricket legs.
My eyes roll when Dane grips my cock—not stroking but squeezing in firm enough pulses to almost hurt.
As badly as I want to feel the weight of Dane’s cock in my hand, I’m still too chicken-shit.
I’m an expert at stroking my own dick, but now that I’m confronted with someone else’s, I’m stage fright.
“So hard, baby,” Dane murmurs into my ear. “Are you close?”
I lick the shower water off my lips and hum. “Mhm.”
He backs me to the shower wall where the spray doesn’t reach.
The tiles are cold against my overheated skin.
My heart races as Dane pumps shower gel into his palm.
This time, he reaches his hands around both our cocks, hugging them together and stroking them in tandem.
Suds form as the underside of my shaft grinds against the underside of his, and I’m not sure I’ve seen anything so wicked. Not sure I’ve done anything so wicked.
The few times I contemplated gayness in my lifetime, I could never wrap my head around man-on-man foreplay.
Fucking, I get, because fucking is instinctual.
Find a hole; put a dick in it. Simple. But the sensual stuff—the touching, feeling, licking, loving parts—I didn’t get it until now.
The only difference between straight foreplay and gay foreplay is gender.
My mind expands beyond the broken barrier of uncertainty until I’m filled with uninhibited pleasure.
I’m not sure if this realization makes me bisexual, or if nutting all over Dane’s dick is enough, but right here and right now, I know I’ve never felt this emotion before.
Hand behind Dane’s head, I bring his forehead down to mine, and I come through a whiny moan and my eyes looking into his.
He crashes our mouths together, devouring me again while he strokes the life out of me, overstimulating me to the point of whimpers. I fist my hands in his hair while he ruts against me with an animalistic fervor.
Warm globs of something splatter my stomach, and I’m too frenzied from my own prolonged orgasm to bask in the realization Dane just climaxed all over me.
Suddenly, his movements cease, and the euphoria of relief is almost as good as the euphoria of getting off.
With another firm squeeze of my poor, softening dick against his newly spent erection, Dane pulls his mouth from mine, rolls his forehead against mine, and quakes with a hard-shuddered moan.
With my eyes sprung open, it’s a breathtaking sight.
There’s so much I want to say, and it surprises me that none of those things are: this was a mistake.
Instead of saying anything, I snake my arms around Dane and pull him against me.
Holding each other, breathing against each other, and coming down from the most devilish high of my life with each other, I fight against the bad thoughts.
The what did I do?’s, the what am I doing?
’s, and the what the fuck am I going to do? ’s.
And worse: This isn’t me.
Because if this isn’t me, why am I so happy?
Why is it so hard to let go?