Chapter 7
Beau
Our bodies are slotted together, bumping and grinding to the music. My thigh between his, and his hard cock grinding against it. Lust floods his eyes, his pupils blown wide, and his hands rub all over my body.
This music, this dance floor, him. It’s all too perfect.
I know I’m sweating, but seeing the little droplets run down his temple… The urge to lick every drop hits me like a fucking freight train. It is taking every ounce of strength I have to keep my tongue to myself. His jaw is so sharp I could cut myself, but I want to risk it for a taste.
My hand is on his hip, and the other wraps around his neck, holding our gazes tight. His one hand snakes up my side, the other finding purchase where I hold his hip, sliding further until it grabs my ass. I lean into his touch.
We just move together, holding each other close. Grinding on each other.
Fuck, I could come like this.
We’re both breathing heavily, kind of just holding each other, sweat dripping and mingling where our bodies are joined.
Both of our cocks are still very much hard, each heavy inhale and exhale rubbing them more fervently.
I pull off him, carefully unwinding our legs and holding him at a distance.
His cheeks are flushed, either from exertion or from embarrassment, the blush climbing up his neck and standing out stark against the black button-down he’s wearing.
Fuck, I didn’t say anything earlier, but he looks suave as hell.
Our eyes meet, and I wink at him. I don’t know why I do it, just a force of habit, maybe? But it spooks the hell out of him. As if he’s suddenly remembered where he is. The poor guy jumps about a foot in the air and scrambles back away from me.
“You want another drink?” he asks, even though my drink was long since abandoned.
“I’ll go grab you one.” He starts to shove his way back through the crowd.
I let out a chuckle and follow behind him.
No, I want to be sober for this conversation.
Because the hard cock he was rubbing against me warrants a sober conversation.
I grab his shoulder just as he shoves his way up to the bar. He really is about to buy me another drink, the sweetheart, when I interrupt him.
He looks at me, pupils blown, and I know. We can’t do this here. Not with all these eyes.
What’s-his-name, Miguel maybe, looks bummed as hell when I grab Milo’s pinched shoulders and turn him toward the exit. I don’t know if it’s from the loss of business or the loss of the hot piece of ass I have in my hand, but I send him a warning glance.
“Let’s just get out of here,” I purr.
Fuck, I want to call him baby so bad.
For someone so stone-cold sober, he stumbles a lot as we make our way outside. The bouncer gives us another friendly nod, watching Milo with an easy smile on his face.
I try not to openly stare, but it’s hard not to watch him out of the corner of my eye. Milo’s grip on the steering wheel is white-knuckled, and he’s sitting ramrod straight. I’ve never seen such anxiety. I wonder, what does he think is going to happen?
When we finally pull into the driveway at home, I’m buzzing to figure this guy out.
I think it’s kind of obvious that he falls somewhere on the queer scale, but I’m not sure which side he tips toward.
We get home, and I can tell Milo is trying to shake off his anxiety. Like, physically shake it off of himself as we walk through the front door.
We stumble through the front door, a little drunk on the tension. The car ride was almost painfully quiet, both of us clearly lost in thought.
Maybe he’s shaking off the anxiety, or maybe he’s psyching himself up for something. He walks across the living room and flips on the lamp, the light casting the room in a golden glow.
When I finally plop down on the couch, I feel almost too tired to undo my laces. I’m nowhere even close to drunk, but the thought of getting ready for bed feels far away.
Milo walks over, plopping down next to me. The cushioned couch swallows our exhaustion right up.
“What a fucking night,” I say, throwing my head back and letting out a loud exhale that almost sounds like a whoop.
Milo mirrors me, throwing his own head back and letting out a little laugh.
“Everything you dreamed it would be?” He’s teasing me, but I look over at him and smile.
“Almost.”
Because, right now, the only thing that could possibly make this night better is him on my lap. Him straddling my legs, with that thick tongue down my throat. His gorgeous ass grinding against my hard dick and just begging for it to be inside him.
Fuck.
Fuck, fuck, fuck.
I need to calm down.
I can be an adult here.
“So,” he starts, eyes suddenly downcast. He’s looking anywhere but at me. “I think it’s pretty obvious that I’m … that I’m also … or … well …”
“Yeah.” I decide to put him out of his misery. Because he’s right; it is pretty obvious. I think it’s even more obvious that I am too. Or … that I’m…
I’m not ashamed of myself. But I’m embarrassed of how obvious I’ve been in my attraction to him.
“I’m gay,” he says finally, while I struggle with my own internal bullshit. I smile at him.
“I’m bi.”
“I figured.” He smiles back at me. “That’s what made this easier, I guess.” He closes his eyes. “Knowing we have the same secret.”
We both just sit there, lounging on the world’s most comfortable couch with the world’s most uncomfortable confessions hanging between us. We watch each other for what feels like hours but has to be only a minute or so.
I don’t know why, but I feel like there’s something about him that’s inexperienced. As if he doesn’t quite know how to handle his queerness. Does he not…? I don’t even know how to ask this, but I feel like I have to know.
“I downloaded Grindr the second Bianca and I broke up.” I laugh a little, thinking back to that awkward first hookup in Dallas.
It was weird and uncomfortable being with a guy for the very first time.
It’s the only time I’ve done anything like that.
It was awkward and fast and not at all what I’d hoped for. Milo deserves better than that.
When I look over at him, he looks confused.
“I know you know what Grindr is.”
He nods in affirmation. “I know what it is. I just don’t understand.” His eyebrow cocks in utter confusion. “I don’t understand how you can risk using a dating app like that. What if you’re found out?”
“It’s pretty easy to stay anonymous.” I sigh. “Guys are either in a similar situation, or they’re just good people.” If anyone is going to be understanding about being in the closet, it’s other queer people.
Well, he’s not a Grindr guy. Okay, good to know.
So how does he…? What does he…?
“So how do you handle it?” is what I finally settle on, because that seems like a safe-enough question.
“How do I handle what?”
Okay, maybe too safe of a question.
“How do you handle dating, fucking? You’re not out, obviously.”
“I, um … I …” The flush starts at his chest and blooms up his neck and across those freckled cheeks.
Oh.
Oh.
“You do get to hook up, right?” I know it’s not my business, but the blush spreading across his cheeks just made it feel like my business.
The shake of his head is so small and so shy, my heart leaps in my chest. Does that mean what I think it means?
“Milo,” I ask tentatively, because I’m about to ask the most personal question ever and I’m not quite sure I deserve the answer. “Milo, are you…?” Okay, maybe I’m about to half -ass asking the most personal question ever.
His face is beet red, so I know he knows what I’m asking. The only question is: will he actually answer it?
“Milo…?” I start again, when he interrupts me.
“I’ve never had sex,” he blurts out, immediately staring down at his big hands. Hands that I’ve had very inappropriate thoughts about. I mean, a virgin’s hands have no right being that veiny.
I’m kind of stuck. I’m not the most emotionally mature person I know, but I’m definitely not the most emotionally immature person I know. That has to count for something.
“Do you want to…?”
“Oh my god, yes.” He closes his eyes and lets out a long-suffering sigh. “I’m going absolutely wild.” His hands clench and unclench, those veins popping out as he flexes and relaxes.
So Milo is a virgin, okay. I was going to suggest dating apps but maybe not so much. I can just picture him opening it for the first time and immediately being assaulted with a dick pic. Or meeting up with someone and having the worst, most awkward sex of his life.
He can’t lose his virginity that way; he just can’t.
He should be taken care of that very first time. He should be cherished. He should be cared for and made to feel good. His first time should be all about him, and he is just not going to get that on an app.
He could really only get that from someone who understands what he is going through. Someone who has been where he is and knows the struggle.
The same thought spins out in my head over and over. Do I suggest it? Do I really go there when I barely know him? When I’ve only been here maybe two weeks.
“I just never wanted to sleep with someone random, you know?” Milo kind of squawks, nervousness taking over his voice entirely. “I don’t like that I will not know what to expect. I don’t like that it could be bad. That I could ... that I could mess it up.”
Oh, sweet baby.
Okay.
Okay, maybe I should suggest it.
“I get it,” I say, my hands coming together to clutch in front of my body.
They sit on my lap and do a great job of hiding my excited cock.
He knows what I am about to suggest, and he is very enthusiastic about it.
“The first time is kind of scary.” I close my eyes and nod a little, getting really into my pensive conversation.
I need him to know I am only suggesting this because I care.
“It’s important to do it with someone who understands you.
Someone you trust will take care of you. ”
He turns his head and cocks a brow. Maybe I’m being too subtle?
“Yeah, you really just want someone who can hold your hand through the experience. Who you know will do their best to make that first time, magical for you.” I look at him with wide eyes and an innocent smile. Or at least, what I hope is an innocent smile.
He cocks a brow.
“What do you mean?”