Chapter 6
North’s breath hitches. His hand, large and calloused from years of gripping a football, hovers over my cock. It stays there. Suspended. His eyes are wide, locked on mine. The cocksure grin has been replaced by something I’ve never seen on him before. A flicker of uncertainty.
His phone dings. An intrusive, cheerful sound. Staci. Or one of the dozens of others. I couldn’t care less.
“You’ve been obsessing over my dick all day,” I say, my voice lower than I’ve ever heard it. “Getting me laid. Setting me up with strangers. But you’re the one who couldn’t stop looking. Not yesterday. Not this morning. Not right now.”
His gaze drops to where my hand is still holding his wrist. To my erection, jutting from the opening in my jeans.
“Gav…” he starts, but the word trails off into nothing. His Adam’s apple bobs.
“Just… do it,” I whisper. “Touch it.”
Then he grips me—full on, like he’s making a catch. The contact is a lightning strike. Electricity surges from the base of my spine up to the crown of my head. A choked gasp escapes me. My cock jumps in his grip, a surge of precum wetting the tip.
“Jesus,” he breathes, stroking me once, slowly, from base to head. His thumb smears the wetness around. “That’s…”
He’s looking down, fascinated. The bed shifts as he moves closer, knees pressing against my thigh. His other arm is still slung around my shoulders, holding me, a band of pure muscle. His breath is a warm puff against my cheek.
I reach over, my own hand trembling, and slide it up the hard plane of his thigh.
He flinches, just a little, then relaxes.
I feel the muscles bunch under my palm as I move higher, my fingers tracing the waistband of his athletic shorts.
There, I dip my fingers beneath the elastic, finding hot skin and coarse hair.
North’s fist tightens on me, a reflex. A low groan rumbles in his chest. He starts stroking me in earnest now, finding a rhythm.
Long, measured pulls. It’s so much better than my own hand.
The rough calluses on his palm drag against me in the most delicious way.
I push my hips up, seeking more, and he gives it to me.
“You’re so fucking big,” he murmurs, the words almost lost in the sound of his quickening breath. “So hard.”
My fingers find what they’re looking for. He’s hard, too, pushing against the fabric of his shorts. He gasps as my thumb circles the head, feeling the slickness there. I hook my fingers around him and pull him free. His cock is warm in my hand, the skin soft as velvet over the rigid steel beneath.
“You too,” I manage to say. “Fuck, North.”
We’re a mirror image, our hands on each other, our hips starting to move in a clumsy rhythm.
His arm tightens around my shoulders, pulling me flush against him.
My cheek presses against his chest. I feel the frantic thud of his heart through the thin fabric of his shirt.
The scent of sandalwood and sweat fills my senses.
“Shit,” he pants. “Shit, Gav. I can’t believe we’re doing this.”
“Me either.”
“Why does it feel so good?”
“I don’t know.”
“You’re so warm.”
“I know, I—”
“And smooth. And hard. Fuck, you’re so hard.”
“Your hand is so big.”
“You like that?”
“Y-yeah.”
“You’ve got a fucking cannon, Gav. Goddamn. How could I not stare at that thing? How could anybody not stare at that thing?”
He speeds up his strokes. I follow suit, tightening my grip and twisting my wrist, feeling the pulse of his heartbeat through his cock.
He groans and thrusts his hips desperately into my fist. Then he presses a kiss to the top of my head, a brush of lips against my hair so fleeting I think I might have imagined it.
We both moan as our cocks bump together, the heads catching and dragging. Precum flows freely. Our hands are slick with it. I squeeze my eyes shut and lose myself in the sensation. All of it. The warmth, the throbbing weight in my palm, the musk of his sweat, the wet sounds our movements make.
I need to kiss him. That’s the thought that flashes through my head. Kiss him. Now. I need to feel his mouth. Feel the rasp of his stubble against my skin.
I pull away, just a little, and look up at him.
His pupils are blown, almost eclipsing the brown, his nostrils flared. His mouth is parted, his bottom lip slick. The flush has spread across his cheeks and down his neck. It colors the tips of his ears pink.
I tilt my head back, my lips seeking his. His eyes go wide, and for a split second, I think he’s going to pull away. That this is where he draws the line. But then they flutter shut, and his mouth finds mine.
It’s clumsy at first, just a press of lips.
My neck is craned at an awkward angle, and our noses bump.
Then I open my mouth with a soft gasp, and he takes the invitation.
His tongue slides against mine, and it’s even better than I imagined.
Warm and wet, tasting of Red Bull and spearmint gum.
I moan into his mouth, my whole body arching off the bed.
Everything else fades away. The dinging phone. The boxes. Staci McPherson. There’s only North. The heat of him, the taste of him, the feeling of his hard cock in my hand and mine in his. The world has shrunk to the size of this bed.
North kisses like he plays football. Total abandon, a hundred percent committed.
He shifts, crowding over me, forcing me back against the pillows, never breaking the kiss.
His body is a cage of muscle and heat around me.
His free hand slides up my side, bunching my shirt as it goes, his palm skimming over my ribs, my stomach. My skin tingles everywhere he touches.
He breaks the kiss long enough to pull my shirt over my head. It catches on my ear. He tosses it onto a stack of half-open boxes. Then his mouth is on me again, trailing a wet path down my jaw, my throat. He bites down on the spot where my neck meets my shoulder, and I cry out.
“North, please,” I beg, not even sure what I’m begging for. More? Faster? All of it?
He flicks his tongue over one nipple, then the other, before latching on and sucking hard. The sensation shoots straight to my groin. My fingers, which have fallen away from him, tangle in his hair, holding him to me. I’m lost. Adrift. I’ve never felt anything like this in my life.
He releases my nipple with a pop, blowing a cool stream of air over the wet skin.
Kisses a line down my stomach, lower, lower.
Then he kneels between my legs, pushing my jeans the rest of the way off.
I’m completely naked now, splayed out on my bed, my cock standing straight up, glistening at the tip.
He breathes over me, and then he’s looking up, eyes locked on mine.
“Holy shit, Gav,” he whispers, his voice hoarse. “I want to suck you so bad.”
I answer by wrapping a hand around the back of his neck and guiding him down.
The first swipe of his tongue over the head makes me cry out, the sound echoing off the bare walls.
The second is a long, slow lick from root to tip.
By the third, I have to stuff a fist into my mouth, biting down on the meat of my palm to stifle the noises I can no longer control.
He keeps lapping at me, getting me good and wet, his spit mixing with my precum.
His fist closes around the base, and he drags his tongue up the underside.
Another flick against the slit. A swirl around the head.
Then he looks up through his lashes, a wicked grin tugging at his mouth, before lowering his head and taking me into his mouth.