CHAPTER TWENTY DEAN
CHAPTER TWENTY
DEAN
Yeah, we’re just friends.
Who am I kidding?
Who on earth am I kidding when Nick is wrapped around me like some kind of panda or drunk koala, sleeping in my childhood bed and sighing into my fucking neck, while I lie back and let my fanciful heart run wild?
This is why I barred myself from any repeats. That rule sure flew out the window, and now I’m paying the price by falling for the most irresistible guy I’ve ever met.
In a fading act of self-preservation, I try to wriggle away, but all Nick does is half wake up, mumble some kind of complaint, and then grab me tighter.
Hookups don’t do this. Friends don’t do this often.
For the past week, this has been nothing short of a ritual—we’ve mostly gotten over jet lag, and we’re waking up at a reasonable-ish hour now, but one of us is always in the other’s arms. And as soon as we hear my parents leave for work, things heat up.
It’s just like Thanksgiving break all over again.
We survived, and holy hell, that was a damn hornfest, which is probably how we survived.
With a groan, I break free from Nick’s warm, vise-like grip and slide out of bed, changing out of my sleep shorts into underwear and sweats, before putting a hoodie on and slipping out of the room.
I triple-check the door and make sure it’s latched shut, in case it swings open and reveals my not-exactly-friend sprawled shirtless across my bed.
“Hey, kid,” Dad says when I tiptoe into the living room. “Just you this morning?”
He’s strolling around, going between his breakfast oats at the dining table and the TV that’s tuned to the Economic News channel.
“Yeah, Nick’s still asleep.”
“I’ll bet. He really can’t be comfortable on the old air mattress.”
We wouldn’t know.
I simply shrug, trying not to give anything away. Having Nick here has been interesting, to say the least, but he’s gotten along perfectly well with my parents, who seem to have taken a liking to the well-behaved side of him.
They’re probably just excited that I have friends—I haven’t been the best at telling them about what’s going on, and when most of my friends graduated before me, sharing details about my sparse social life would have just made them feel sorry for me.
“What have you two been up to, anyway?” Dad continues. “It’s unfortunate Mom and I can’t step away from the business while you’re here.”
“Don’t worry about it.” Christmas isn’t a thing here, and their shipping business doesn’t stop for anything. “Mostly just…” Making each other come our brains out while I try not to fall harder for him. “Relaxing and taking time off school.”
“No touristy things?” Dad raises an eyebrow. “He can’t come to Hangzhou without any sightseeing.”
“We’ll get around to it,” I say. “He mostly came here because he wanted to spend time with me.”
Fuck. This is why I shouldn’t talk about anything remotely emotional before I’ve had coffee. I hold my breath when Dad keeps his eyebrow raised, and I search for the right thing to say.
“His original family is complicated,” I explain. “And he didn’t want to spend Christmas alone, so he goes everywhere with me.” Even to the police station to renew my ID card, apparently, and he said it was fun.
“Makes sense.” It’s still clear from Dad’s expression that he’s a little confused. “Anyway, I have to get going, but I think I can come back early today. Us three can do some tourist things if you have the energy.”
“That would be great. Thanks.” I offer a smile, because I really am grateful. My parents have hectic freaking schedules, and while that gave me an early primer to being independent, it’s also minimizing the chances of them catching on to me and Nick.
When Dad leaves, I’m left alone, and even when we’re in different rooms, Nick’s presence is everywhere, from the knowledge he’s on the other side of the wall, or—Jesus Christ—his smell lingering on my clothes and skin from when we’re constantly cuddled up in bed together.
Hopefully, it’s generically masculine enough for it not to be a dead giveaway that we get closer than two friends should.
The worst thing is, I think I’m low-key addicted, and I’d probably relapse if I tried to get any distance from Nick. Even lying on the couch alone makes my core ache, and I fight the urge to get on my feet and return to the bedroom.
The sex is amazing, and it’s because it’s with him specifically. If I get all analytical, the sensations themselves are better for sure, but not outrageously so. It’s the little intimate things themselves that make the experience so much better.
I’ve gotten really fucking good blowjobs before, but Nick kicks it up to eleven and snatches my damn soul out by giving me those ruinous, adoring eyes.
I’ve given head before, but not to someone who’s so damn vocal about what it does to him, while caressing my head and telling me I’m amazing.
Banging is second nature, but not with a guy who insists on doing it face to face every time, like he doesn’t know that every second of staring at his pleading, blissed-out face chips away at my weakening resolve.
It’s the way we get comfortable with each other that digs right into the vulnerable areas of my heart and makes me fall into a tailspin of feelings. As in, everything I tried avoiding when I limited myself to one-and-done hookups, then promptly ignored when Nick came along.
Still, I can get a little revenge. Maybe I can make him go all soft, too, so at least I won’t be alone.
Destructive? Maybe. But it’s only fair.
Some kind of restless sleep comes for me, and I slip in and out of a half-nap on the couch for a few hours until the sun blazing in my eyes wakes me up for real. It’s a good thing I’m alone, because I have raging morning wood again.
In my groggy state, I’m so much more susceptible to my deep-set desires, so I head back into the bedroom, messing up the air mattress bedding in case I forget later, and wriggle beneath the covers to press myself against the warm, snoring lump I’ve come to adore.
God, adore. Like we’re lovers.
He stirs, and I nudge him, waiting for him to roll over and sprawl all over my chest like he always does.
“Hey, we have the house,” I murmur into his hair. “You know what that means.” I shuffle down to give his hard dick attention, but he stops me with a slow grab under my arm.
I make the mistake of looking at him and his cute, sleepy smile.
“Let me wake up first, my god.” He stretches, his shirtless form making my mouth go dry, so I chug water from the bottle on my nightstand and offer it to him.
After he’s done, he rests his head on my pecs, fingers sneaking under my shirt, and as soon as he gets comfortable, I hook a thumb under his jaw and tilt his chin up so I can kiss his forehead.
I heard it’s something some athletes do after a win, but I’ve started doing that because it makes him blush, which is sexy as hell.
He stays silent, blinking, which makes his dark, thick eyelashes bat. “Aw, hell,” he whispers. “Now I don't want to leave.”
Good. Serves him right for turning me into a total sap. I hope he's feeling the exact same kind of agonizing affection as I am. I hope he's also all achy in his bones and trying not to smile too much and holy shit he's hugging me even tighter now.
Not that I had a chance anyway, but yeah, I'm not getting over this.
My fingernails make gentle scratches at his scalp—I know he likes it, and before long, he’s squirming around.
“Can we do the, you know…” He makes a fist with one hand and sticks the index finger of his other into it.
No, we can’t. I’m already in my feelings, and if I fuck Nick on his back the way he wants, with nowhere to look but his deep, pretty eyes, I might never recover. At this point, the most I can do is eat his ass while he goes to town on me, because that way, I don’t have to look at him.
But I’m already staring into those deep, pretty eyes, and I don’t have the strength to deny Nick anything.
So I nod, trying to focus on how good his ass feels and how horny he makes me.
Doing that makes my stomach churn with how lewd I’m forcing myself to be, but I power through it, grabbing onto Nick’s waist, flipping him over and landing a firm swat on his bare asscheek.
“How are we feeling about backshots?” I ask, spreading his legs and massaging his taint. Yeah, the whole back muscles, tight waist, and round ass combo speaks to me, but saying it straight up doesn’t feel right.
Again, it’s lewd, and—
“Hurry up and fuck me already,” Nick complains, and I snatch the bottle of lube from my bag, opening it and making a frustrated squirt onto his hole. At least he’s not rolling over and making this ten times harder.
It isn’t fucking fair how he’s still staying so vulgar while I’m still trying to hold myself together.
I jam my fingers into him, a little harder than I need to, and open him up.
We’ve long since tested and done away with condoms, so I make quick work of slicking my bare dick up and aligning it with his entrance.
And as always, the pure bliss that comes from sinking deep into him nearly knocks me backward, and I let out the loudest, most desperate moan I think I ever have.
Nick tenses up, shushing me, but all that does is tighten the walls of his ass around my erection, drawing another, quieter moan out of me.
“Aren’t you the one who wants us to be quiet?” he hisses, and I smack his ass again.
“The walls are concrete, remember?” I say. “Nobody’s gonna hear you scream when I pound you hard.”
Way to deflect.
“God. Fuck yeah,” he forces out, pushing back into my cock. “Give it to me.”
I draw back and make one forceful thrust, and then…I don’t continue.
Picking up the pace would feel great. The kind of primal, ball-slapping sex we’re both going for would feel great, but I can only keep it up for two more reluctant pumps before slowing down.