20. Oli
Oli
Temple Of Love
I ’m having chest palpitations.
Full-blown cardiac arrest.
We are sitting side by side on my couch, no barrier between us, and Jorge watches me expectantly. It’s my turn. I don’t know what to ask for—where to start. A million ideas form in my head, but I’m nervous and scared to fuck it up. What if I clam up? What if I physically can’t? These reservations have weighed on my shoulders all week. It’s why I started playing guitar and planted tulip bulbs. It’s why I fucked up a routine oil change at work.
He keeps swiping his tongue over his lips, and his breath is shallow.
Years of unrequited feelings are finally reciprocated, and I don’t know how to handle it. I’m not necessarily afraid he’ll hurt me or not respect my boundaries. I’m afraid I’ll want to push those boundaries if I make it through this. I’ll rush it. I’ll forget that I’m broken.
“Hold my hand,” I whisper.
He takes it immediately, slotting our fingers together and letting them rest on my thigh just like the first time. “Are you alright?” he checks in.
“Yes. I’m…fine.”
“You sure?”
“I’m good. Your turn.”
He searches my face but must not find anything. “I want to be closer.”
I swallow hard. “H-How much closer?”
“On your lap, babe.”
Shit. “Alright,” I rasp.
“Don’t tell me alright if it really means no. That word can be used, and I’ll respect it even if I’m ready to drill a hole in your leg.”
The way his eyes harden on me makes me snort and chuckle. I do believe him, and judging by the bulge in his crotch, he’s not lying about the drilling part. Shaking my head, I gently tug on his hand, urging him to do it.
“Words, Oli. Tell me.”
“I’m good. Get on my lap.”
“ Shit ,” he wheezes, blushing.
Last time we tried this, I freaked out, so I use every coping mechanism in my arsenal to keep me grounded and present as he gracefully straddles my legs. Once he’s seated, and the only increase in my pulse is due to our nearness and his pretty face, I smile.
“Your turn,” he breathes.
Goosebumps burst over my arms and pebble my nipples. I glance between his eyes and mouth, wondering if now is the time. Ultimately, I chicken out. “Put your hands on my face,” I say instead.
He does, gently cupping my cheeks and rubbing his thumbs over my beard. “Scratchy,” he teases.
“Beards do tend to be scratchy,” I agree.
We are both nervous. Jorge is trembling, which sends vibrations straight to my nuts and soft cock. “Put your hands on my hips,” he tells me.
Fuck.
Slowly, I lift my hands from my sides and find the dip of his waist, easing my fingers lower to rest over the bones. A soft moan leaves him when I gently knead the area, taking the time to savor this moment. I’m touching him again. Feeling him with my own two hands, claiming him as my own without even meaning to.
“You pick again,” I tell him, sneaking my thumbs under the hem of his shirt so I can stroke his skin.
“Jesus,” he groans. “I’m hard as a rock right now.”
I peek down, and he sure is. “Pick, kitten,” I whisper, looking into his eyes.
“W-We need to b-be closer,” he studders and quivers when I apply pressure with my thumbs, gliding them over the arch of his pelvic bone.
“Then get closer.”
A breathy fuck blows over my lips as he presses his front closer. I can feel his cock against my stomach, the warmth of his palms seeping into my cheeks. Focusing on the honey-gold flecks in his brown eyes, I tilt my head up as he swipes his thumb over my lips. His head dips down, so close I can feel his breath merge with my own. That pink tongue swipes out again, darting over his full bottom lip.
“Close the distance,” he tells me, giving me an out. Giving me a choice.
Because ultimately, I can stop this. He’s allowed me that control. Having control over your body is a gift most people take for granted. Having a partner who understands that is a fucking treasure. My chest bumps into his as I straighten, banding my right arm around his middle. Sheer need swallows up all other thoughts. Part of me considers warning him that I might be terrible at this, but I decide against it. I have something to prove right now.
I’m going to prove to myself once and for all that I can do this. I can take what I want. So I do. I obliterate the space between us and press my lips to his. For long seconds, neither of us move. We’re suspended in this bubble of reality where nothing and no one can enter. His lips are soft and plump and fit against mine like they were created just for this purpose. I can smell the mint on his breath, the aftershave coating his chin. And when he whimpers against me, I move.
I kiss him again, firmer and with intent. His hands slide into my hair, arching into my hold, rubbing his erection against me. A shot of panic runs down my spine, but I hold him to me and part my lips instead. Jorge takes the invitation, gliding his tongue in between them and swiping over mine. Electricity fizzles over the muscle, ricocheting off my teeth, over my tonsils, and settling in my lower abdomen.
“Holy fuck,” Jorge growls, mouth coming in hungrier, faster.
I struggle to keep up. He’s eating my lips, sucking out pieces of my soul bit by bit while writhing his beautiful body on top of me. Emboldened, I let my left hand grab his thigh, bringing him impossibly closer. That coaxes another sweet moan from him as he tilts his head to get better access to my tongue. I follow his lead, letting him teach me how he likes to kiss, how he favors a quick nibble on his lower lip before launching into a full assault with feverish pecks.
“Are…you…okay?” he asks between kisses.
“Yeah,” I rasp, fingers digging into his quad.
“So…hot.”
I laugh against his mouth, stomach fluttering anew. We kiss for endless minutes, and he never pushes for more. Even when my cock presses into his jean-clad ass, even when my left hand explores lower to palm his cheek. Jorge keeps me suspended in our bubble. And he hugs me when we finally part, our lips bruised and swollen.
“You have no idea how much I needed that, Beautiful.”
I do know because I’ve needed it for half my life.
W e keep sharing shy smiles while we eat the pitiful toaster oven pizza I made. Jorge doesn’t like the crust, so he’s saving his for the boys. He watches me eat, which is now normal. I tried to look in the mirror while I did so earlier this week to see if I could spot what the hell he was talking about, but to me, I don’t look particularly pornographic. Jorge disagrees wholeheartedly.
“It’s distracting,” he whines, shoving the paper plate away. “The images.” He shudders.
I chuckle, wiping my hands on a paper towel. “What kinds of images?”
“ Lewd ones. Very lewd.”
“That’s a mighty big word there,” I tease, waggling my eyebrows at him.
“Shut up,” he huffs and tosses a piece of crust at my chest. I catch it and bite into it slowly. “You’re a monster.”
I dart my foot out from under the coffee table and poke his crossed legs with it. “Not my fault you have a dirty mind.” I shrug casually and finish the piece.
“Can you blame a guy? That makeout session was hot as hell. I’m still daydreaming about it.” He sighs dramatically, cupping his hands to his chest.
“Yeah?”
“We can do it again if you don’t believe me.”
I laugh, gathering our plates while he gives the rats treats. “Let me brush my teeth first,” I call over my shoulder.
He grumbles something about dating , and it shouldn’t matter . While I throw away our trash, I bite my lip, wondering if I’m okay enough to try…more. There’s been a dull ache in my nuts since earlier, one I haven’t experienced in so long that I forgot it was a thing. Casually adjusting them, I turn around to find Jorge watching me. I flush with embarrassment.
“So, are we going to ignore the boner in the room?”
I blink, brain not quite on board. When it clicks, I swallow. “I don’t know about that.”
“I’m not trying to pressure you…or anything. I’d never do that. But I’ll be honest. If you’re not ready, I will have to hang out in your bathroom for a hot minute.” He jabs his thumb over his shoulder like this is a normal conversation.
I blink again, frozen solid. Is he asking… “Do you want me to get you off?” It’s not an offer but a genuine question.
Because he’s Jorge, he understands the distinction. “I wouldn’t reject the offer. I’ve been horny as shit for like… weeks. ”
I cross my arms, shoulders hiking up while I think about it. Why do I always have to fucking think about it? Why can’t I just do it ? Anyone else would be already offering. But not me. No. I have to go through every possible scenario, debate over my mood, what I’d do in the situation, if I’d be any good at it—it’s fucking ridiculous. I can't ever be in the moment.
I haven’t been with a man since…
“Best go in the bathroom, then,” I choke out, spinning to go do…I don’t know what. Breathe, I suppose.
“Hey,” he coos, coming up to my side. “Does it bother you if I say it like it is? I can totally not say it.”
He isn’t the issue. It’s me. Always me. “I want to…do that stuff, Jorge. It’s not that I’m a robot and am immune to it.”
“I know,” he says sweetly. “But we don’t talk about…you know. What happened to you.”
I blow out a breath through my nose and scrub at my face. “I want to talk about that too. I know I need to,” I add quietly.
“Whenever you want, I’ll always listen.”
Nodding, I swallow down the lump in my throat. “Not tonight.”
“Okay. Not tonight.”
“Please don’t jack off in my bathroom.” It comes out as desperate as I feel. “I could barely handle it last time,” I admit.
Circling so he’s in front of me now, he tilts his head to catch my eyes. “You watched me jack off? Like in its entirety?”
“It was an accident,” I rush out, face on fire. “I didn’t even know that’s what you were doing until the door opened.”
An evil grin rips across his face as his pretty brown eyes glitter with mischief. “You freaky little thing. Did you like it?”
“Of course I did,” I huff. “It was you .”
“Did you…see my dick?”
“No. The shower curtain and your bruised ass prevented that.”
Something like fierce determination washes away the mischief in his eyes as he straightens, palms his hips, and says, “My dick isn’t big. Let’s just get that expectation out of the way right now.”
My eyes snap to his. “What?”
“Yup. I have a tiny penis.” He shrugs. “Besides, it’s not the size that matters. It’s how you use it. Don’t fuck like you have a big dick when you don’t.”
I blink at him, brows pinching. “You’ve thought this through. Like…you practiced this speech.”
Throwing his hands in the air, he makes the universal expression for duh . “I don’t know what kind of penises you are into. I just didn’t want you to be disappointed if we ever do get sexy, and I don’t have ten inches of cock for you.”
The breath I’ve been holding contorts into a cough. I hold it in because I do not want to laugh, but Jorge is so fiercely protective over his—what is probably a perfectly average—dick. And it’s oddly endearing. When he stares at me expectantly, the air bubbles out of my lips, and I laugh.
Fuck do I laugh. It’s clearing all the funk out of my head, and I want to kiss him. So I do. I grab him by the waist and press a quick peck to his lips. He gasps, startled by my rare show of affection, and then his eyes puddle. “You kissed me,” he coos. “Like, all on your own.”
“Suppose I did,” I agree, and do it again. And again.
“Damn it, Oli,” he grumbles, palming my shoulders as I rub my beard against his cheek. “That’s like sandpaper!”
I laugh again, louder and full of gusto. “I can shave it if you want.” My voice is deeper, huskier, as I keep nuzzling him. “But day-old scruff is worse. And itchy.”
He wiggles in my arms, a giggle slipping free as I blow on his neck, where I know he’s ticklish. Then, because he howls in laughter, I dig my fingers into his sides like I’ve seen Phoenix do so many times growing up. “FUCKING FOUL!” he roars, flailing and shrieking. “NO FAIR!”
“I’ve waited so long to do this.”
“If I piss myself, you’re cleaning it,” he threatens.
I indulge my desires for a few more seconds before letting him go. He pants before me, hair wild and cheeks dark. “That,” he points at me, “was uncalled for you bitch.”
I grin at him, and he returns it. After a few beats, we both sober up, and then he asks, very shyly, might I add, “So you don’t care then? About my dick?”
“Not at all. I like the person, Jorge. Parts are a bonus.”