10. Daniil #3
“Right. Didn’t think about that.”
He walks off to the couch and starts setting everything up for us, grabbing the remote and scrolling until he finds Futurama.
I sit down next to him with our food and our thighs brush together, the contact sending a jolt through me. He shoots me a glance but doesn’t move away, and I focus on my sandwich, biting into it while the opening credits play.
Every time he shifts, his muscles flex under his t-shirt. The fabric clings to him, showing off the ridges of his eight-pack, and I can’t stop myself from looking.
My eyes trace the lines of his chest, the way his arms move when he reaches for the joint sitting on the coffee table. This cabin trip was officially the worst idea in the entire history of bad ideas.
Pure torture. Absolute hell.
I’m going to die here from unresolved sexual tension, and they’ll find my body curled up in a ball of misery, probably with a raging hard-on because my dick has apparently decided to betray me at every opportunity.
He catches me staring and gives me this confused look, his brow furrowing. “What?”
“Nothing,” I say quickly and look away. Heat crawls up my neck and spreads across my face. I pull off my hoodie, so I’m just in my t-shirt and jeans, tossing it onto the armrest. The air feels cooler against my skin, but it doesn’t help the heat building underneath.
I catch him looking at me, his gaze drags over my arms and lingers on my shoulders before he glances away and takes a hit from the joint.
The tension between us is suffocating. Neither of us says anything, and we’re just sitting here waiting for the other person to crack first. I don’t know how much longer I can take it.
I finish my sandwich quickly, wiping my hands on my jeans, and get up to set up Minecraft. Connecting the console, I take the controller and start to sit back down when he catches my wrist and pulls me onto his lap instead.
I go rigid, every muscle in my body locking up.
His arm wraps around my stomach and pulls me back against him. His other hand settles on my thigh, fingers splaying wide, and his thumb brushes once, slow and deliberate. The touch sends heat pooling low in my stomach.
“Relax,” he says into my ear. “Just play. I promise I’ll stay still.”
I roll my eyes because he never has patience for anything like this.
He usually gets bored after five minutes and wanders off to clean or organize something while I play video games.
Loading up the game, I try to concentrate on the screen, but his fingers shift slightly on my thigh in a barely-there movement that makes my breath catch.
Leaning my head back against his chest, I watch as he brings a joint to my lips without a word and lights it for me.
I inhale as deep as I can, holding the smoke in my lungs until they burn, then exhale slowly.
He takes his own drag, and his chest expands against my back.
We finish it like that, trading hits in silence until it’s burned down to nothing.
He stubs the joint out in the ashtray beside him, then his hand comes back to my waist and slides under my t-shirt. His palm is rough and warm against my bare skin with calluses catching slightly as his fingers spread wide and grip. I bite my lip hard enough to taste blood.
“You aren’t doing anything,” he says, tipping his chin toward the screen where my character is just standing there, idle. “You’ve just been staring at the TV.”
Oh. Right.
I’m probably sitting here like a flustered idiot on top of him, frozen and useless. Forcing myself to focus, I start playing and move my character across the screen.
His hand slides higher with his fingers spreading across my stomach, and the heat of his palm against my skin makes my breath hitch. His thumb brushes just under my ribs in a slow drag that makes my entire body feel like it’s on fire.
Then his hand slides higher, and his thumb brushes over my nipple, circling it slowly in a way that makes heat pool low in my belly.
His hand trails back down my stomach, and his fingers trace my V-line before sliding under my waistband.
He drags his hand toward the center, his fingers dipping deeper into my boxers, and my breath hitches hard.
My cock swells hard and fast in my jeans, thick and aching, pressing against the denim until there’s a visible bulge I can’t hide. Heat floods my face and spreads down my neck.
If I stay here another second, he’s going to notice, and then what the fuck am I supposed to say?
I shoot off his lap and turn around fast, walking toward the hallway. “I forgot I need to send some emails. We can play Uno later though and hang out by the pool tomorrow, okay?”
Behind me, I hear him mutter something frustrated under his breath, followed by the sound of him throwing himself back into the couch cushions.
I make it all the way to our bedroom and close the door behind me, bracing one hand against the wall. My cock is straining painfully against my jeans, the tip already wet and slick enough that I can feel it through the fabric.
This is going to be impossible.