Chapter 7 Parker #2
Something in his expression clears, and his eyes fall down to my restless leg.
He untangles his hands from where they were clasped in his lap and places his palm on my knee.
My leg stills, and my breath catches when he squeezes.
It may not be words, but it’s something.
I still have no idea if he feels the same way, but at least I know I haven’t made him uncomfortable with my declaration.
If I had, he wouldn’t be touching me, right?
I hold my breath as he lifts his eyes back up to meet mine. There’s something soft in them that has a glimmer of hope blooming in my chest. I exhale in relief and slide my hand to cover his on my knee, then he blurts out the last thing I expect him to say.
“Can I kiss you?”
I'd played out countless versions of Reid's reaction to my coming out,but this hadn’t been one of them—even in the best case version, where he’d ended up confessing that he had feelings for me too and asked me on a date.
Hell, even in the horny version where he dropped to his knees in front of me, right in the middle of the living room, and sucked me off until I came down his throat, there’d still been a conversation first.
But he’s skipping right over that. No confessions of “I like you too” or questions about how I envision a relationship working between us, seeing as we’re roommates.
It’s probably safe to assume that if he wants to kiss me, he has feelings for me too, but the anxious voice in my head needs confirmation. So I ask.
“Does that mean you like me too?”
He says nothing, only nods. But there’s an almost longing look in his eye, and that’s enough for now.
“Then yes, ple—”
I don’t get the whole word out before Reid’s lips slam against mine. It happens so fast that all I can do is hum in surprise. My brain goes offline for a second, and by the time I can get my body to respond how I want, he’s already pulling away.
“Sorry,” he blurts, and I squeeze the hand still on my knee to reassure him.
“No, it’s okay, don’t—” I cut him off, but he barrels forward.
“I’ve wanted to do that for weeks because I—well, I’m kind of crazy about you,” he says, blushing with embarrassment.
“You are?” I ask, barely above a whisper.
“Completely,” he says, so earnest that I nearly melt. “But I messed it up. I rushed it, and…” He lets out a sigh and looks at his lap.
“It’s okay,” I repeat. “Better than okay. It was good.”
“But you didn’t kiss me back,” he says, simply stating a fact. But there’s an edge of disappointment beneath it.
I reach for his other hand, which makes him lift his gaze back up to meet mine. “Not because I didn’t want to. My brain kind of blue-screened, but like, not in a bad way. In a good way.”
He frowns for a moment. “Okay,” he says, not sounding all that convinced.
So I scoot closer until the sides of our thighs are pressed together. I lean in until our faces are inches apart, and I can hear his breath catch.
“I’m good now,” I insist, smiling when his eyes flick down to my lips. “If you wanted to try again.”
He nods, a little eagerly, and it gives me the courage to close the distance this time.
Our lips meet more gently and… damn. His lips are soft.
His hands are bigger than anyone I’ve ever kissed, so when they come up to cup my jaw, it almost makes me feel small.
The prickle of his beard against my cheek is even better than I imagined.
And just when I think it can’t get more perfect, his hands make their way into my hair.
His fingers tangle in my curls, tugging ever so slightly, and I’m pretty sure my consciousness floats right out of my body.
I gasp into his mouth, and he pulls back. He doesn’t go far—his face is still only inches from mine—but I already miss him.
“Too much?” he asks.
I give my head a firm shake. “Not enough,” I say, not caring if I sound needy. I am needy. I need him to keep kissing me. So, I reach up to cradle his neck and pull him back to me.
He kisses me again, hard like he had the first time, but this time I’m ready for it.
It’s raw, unrestrained, almost like he’s just as needy as I am.
I’m obsessed. I go pliant against him with a soft hum as he claims my mouth with enthusiasm.
His lower lip catches mine, nudging them apart, and I outright moan as his tongue licks into my mouth.
God, I feel like I’m floating. I don’t know if it’s because it’s new—kissing a guy—or if it’s specifically Reid, but I don’t remember kissing ever being this good. I want him closer. I want to feel him everywhere.
Gathering the material of his sweater in my hand, I pull him closer. He goes willingly, following my lead as I lie down on the couch.
“Is this okay?” I ask between kisses.
He nods and situates himself on my lap, his knees bracketing my hips. His lips drag across my cheek and down to my jaw. “Is this okay, sweetheart?”
Sweetheart? Yup, I’m a fucking puddle.
“Yes,” I breathe, tangling my fingers in his hair to encourage him.
When his lips meet my neck, I tip my head back to give him better access. He nips at the space between my neck and shoulder, and another moan escapes me as I arch into him.
“Is this—?” he starts.
“Yes, God, fuck, keep going.” I’m pretty sure I’m babbling, but I don’t think I care. I want to lose myself in him.
He groans into my skin, and then our lips meet. Our breaths are heavy, but we don’t pull back for air. Hands roam. I slip my fingers beneath his sweater, exploring his waist, and he gasps a surprise moan. His hips roll against mine, and suddenly I’m very aware of my body again.
He’s hard.
Up until now, I’ve operated purely on instinct.
Other than his size, more angular features, and facial hair, kissing Reid hasn’t been all that different from kissing a woman.
Experience-wise, kissing is kissing. But something about feeling his hard cock grind against mine reminds me of just how new all of this is.
Before I can stop them, the intrusive thoughts bubble up in the back of my brain.
You have no idea what you’re doing.
You’re going to be bad at this.
He’s going to be disappointed.
He’s been out for years; he won’t want to hold your hand while you figure out your sexuality.
I squeeze my eyes shut for a moment, trying to force them back. Dammit, I want this. I want this so fucking bad. Judging by his erection, he does too, and I’m ruining it.
When I open my eyes, I find him frowning with concern. “What’s wrong?” he asks.
“Nothing, I’m fine.” I say, trying to convince myself just as much as him. I lean in to kiss him again, but he stops me with a shake of his head.
“You look anxious,” he says bluntly. Then he softens. “Did I do something?”
“No,” I say firmly.
“Are we moving too fast?”
“Yes,” I blurt out. Fuck. I didn’t mean to say that. I follow it up with a frantic, “No. Maybe. I don’t know.”
He simply looks at me for a moment, then leans in to brush a tender kiss to my forehead. “We can slow down.”
He shifts to sit up, but I clutch him closer. “No.”
“I’m confused. You said that you think we’re moving too fast, but you don’t want to slow down?”
“I know. I know I’m sending mixed signals. I’m sorry.” I squeeze my eyes shut again, willing my mind to slow down.
His hand is on my cheek again, grounding me. “You don’t have to apologize. I’m just trying to understand so I don’t mess this up.”
“You won’t. You’re fine, I promise,” I insist. “I think I just need a minute, but please stay here.”
“Okay, I’m not going anywhere.” His lips press to my forehead again, and I swear, I whimper.
“Thank you,” I whisper.
I attempt to focus on my breathing while Reid brushes his thumb across my cheek in soothing strokes. After a minute, my brain is quieter, so I let my eyes flutter open again.
“Okay, sorry,” I mutter, feeling the embarrassment course through me.
“Don’t apologize,” he says, more gently than I’ve ever heard him speak. “Just talk to me. What happened?”
“Well, um,” I stumble over my tongue, so I swallow and start over. “I was fine—better than fine. But then you kind of rolled your hips, and I felt you were—I guess, are…”
“Hard?” he supplies, surprisingly unfazed.
I feel my cheeks heat at his bluntness. “Yeah.”
“So are you,” he points out.
“Yeah, I know. But it reminded me of the morning we woke up together, and…” I groan. “I don’t know.”
“Are you worried I expect us to act on it? Because I don’t.”
“No,” I blurt. I know he wouldn’t unless I wanted to—unless we both wanted to.
“It’s a natural physical response. It doesn’t have to mean anything,” he assures me.
“I want it to, though,” I admit. “I want to act on it, I just… it kind of hit me suddenly that I don’t really know what I’m doing when it comes to being with another guy.”
“And that made you anxious?” he asks.
“Yeah. Sor—”
He muffles the rest of my apology with a kiss, and although I’m surprised, I melt into it. “Stop reflex apologizing,” he mumbles against my lips.
“What, or you’re going to kiss me again?” I tease.
“If I have to, yes,” he says, completely serious. “Would it help if I told you I also have very little physical experience with men?”
“You don’t?” I ask, unable to hide my disbelief. I haven’t seen him date since I moved in, but he said he’s known he was gay since high school, so I assumed…
He shakes his head. “I haven’t dated since I got my autism diagnosis.
Once I started unmasking, it was hard to find someone who…
” He trails off with a sigh, and shifts his gaze to my chin instead of my eyes.
I’m desperate to know the end of that sentence, but I don’t want to push him.
“Anyway, that means that all of my physical experience is from when I was a teenager—so basically making out and one really awkward attempt at giving a hand job.”
“So, wait, does that mean you’re a virgin?” I wince at the bluntness of the question, but he doesn’t seem to care. He just shrugs.
“I guess that depends on your definition of sex. In the broadest sense, no, since I’ve given someone a hand job. But he didn’t reciprocate, so it feels like I still am.”
“He didn’t reciprocate?” I know that’s not the important part of that statement, but it’s the one my brain gets stuck on. What kind of person lets someone get them off but doesn’t want to return the favor?
“He offered,” Reid says, which simmers my indignation at least. “But I said no. I don’t know; it was complicated.”
I search his face for any hint of what he may be feeling, but he’s not quite looking at me anymore, so I can’t read him. “We don’t have to talk about it,” I say gently.
“No, we can,” he says. “We should because it’s important to be open and honest, especially about sex. Just—” He lets out a frustrated huff. “Would it be okay if I don’t look at you while we talk?”
“Of course.”
He sighs, relieved, then scoots down so he can tuck his face into my neck. My fingers weave into his hair on instinct, and finally I give in to the desire I’ve had for weeks and kiss the top of his head.
He hums and presses a kiss to my neck, then explains.
“I didn’t understand it at the time, but I didn’t really want him to touch me after.
He wasn’t pushy or anything. He was nice.
But looking back, I think I was overwhelmed by the whole encounter.
We were at a party at his house and had snuck away to his room.
So I was overstimulated because of the party.
I also think I wasn’t ready for that step.
I thought I was, but I think it was more that I wanted to know what everyone was talking about.
It felt like everyone in school was talking about sex, and I was the odd person out for not having any experience, so I felt like… ”
“You felt like you were supposed to?” I supply.
“Yeah.”
“That makes sense,” I say.
“It does?”
“I’m pretty sure peer pressure around sex is a relatively universal teenage experience.
You aren’t the first person I’ve heard say they tried things before they were ready because they felt like everyone else was already doing it.
” I kiss his hair again, then place a finger under his chin to tilt his head up so I can kiss his forehead.
“I am glad you told me, though. Now that I know, I can make sure things are different—you know, when you’re ready. ”
“Things are already different.” He tilts his head further back to kiss my chin, then props up on his elbow again.
“I want you. I want to kiss you and touch you. I want you to kiss and touch me, and I know if I happen to get overwhelmed, you’ll take care of me because you always do. I’m ready if you are.”
“I want you, too,” I whisper. “I want all of that.”
“Does that mean now?” he asks.
My lingering anxiety dissipates, replaced by arousal as he stares at my lips. “Yes.”
His eyes flick up to mine, as if doing one last check for any hesitation.
I smile and lift my head to brush a soft kiss on his lips.
I intended for it to be a quick kiss, something to lighten the mood after our talk before moving things to one of our rooms. But he hums and presses closer, his hand coming to cradle my jaw.
With a sigh, I close my eyes, content to lose myself in the kiss for a few moments longer, when suddenly his lips disappear from mine.
Then, the weight of his body is also gone.
I open my eyes again just in time for him to grab my hand and yank me to my feet.
I stumble into him, laughing a little, but he quickly steadies me with a hand on my hip. “Sorry,” he says, smiling sheepishly at me.
I shake my head, dismissing the apology, before dipping down to kiss him. He responds in earnest, his arms coming to loop around my neck. After a long moment, I pull back to mumble against his lips. “Your room or mine?”