Chapter 3 The Beginning of the End #2
With my hands on his chest, I straddle across him in my underwear, and start kissing my way slowly down his abs, teasing the perfect line of hair beneath his navel with my tongue.
The feelings I’m having are more than sexual—I can’t stand the fact that he heard Sheena spouting all that bullshit about me marrying Harlow.
Well, that and her insulting his cologne, I’m not sure which he hated more.
He holds the back of my head and pets my hair softly, while I slide his briefs down.
This is new for me, but I want to do it.
With his thick cock in front of my face, I look up at him, his eyes are locked on me, watching as I tentatively lick him, before taking all of him in my mouth.
The taste is…surprising, and I quickly find myself desperate for more.
What feels clumsy to me, must not feel clumsy to Sivan, because his hips are rising every time I take him deep.
No more than twenty-four hours ago, I wouldn’t have thought this was something I’d be doing—but here I am sucking my best friend off.
“Mmmm—fuck, Vincent.” He grabs under my arms and lifts me gently, moving my body onto the bed. “Lay down,” he growls, then climbs atop me. He’s kissing me even more intensely than before, moaning into my mouth, while sliding his hands down my sides.
“I don’t want to hurt you,” he murmurs.
Of course, it hurt like hell at first last night, but right now, I’m rock hard, and at this point, the pain I’d feel from not coming would be much worse. I need him to fuck me.
Three loud bangs on my door stop him from going any further.
“Vincent! I’m coming in!” Matteo shouts. Before I can tell him not to, he’s already inside the room with us.
Well, there’s nothing I can do about this now. Sivan is on top of me completely naked, our bodies loosely covered by only a thin white sheet.
Sivan drops his face onto my pillow and whispers, “Make him leave, I can’t move right now.”
“We have bigger problems than your position,” I whisper back. “You realize that, right?”
“What the hell am I looking at?” Matteo asks.
I raise my right hand up and wave. “Well, no one told you to come in, but I’m assuming you’re surprised that I’m not dressed yet. Is that right?” I ask facetiously.
Sivan chuckles into the pillow. “You just said we had big problems and you’re joking around.”
“Well, he can clearly see what’s happening. What the hell am I supposed to do?”
My room is quite large, so Matteo can’t hear our whispers, and with Sivan’s broad shoulders blocking my view, I have no idea how he’s reacting to this.
“Tell him to leave,” Sivan whispers. “I like him, I don’t want to be rude.”
“Matteo, just tell my dad I’ll be there in a few minutes and tell Sivan’s dad that he’ll be there too. We don’t really need to talk about this.”
I can hear his footsteps heading back toward my door. “Uh, yeah. You got it,” he says as he leaves my room.
Sivan raises his eyebrows at me. “Do you want to get back to it, or do we have to actually go to the meeting?”
He can’t be serious. I place my hands on his chest, pressing him back a bit. “Sivan, do you understand what just happened? Matteo just saw us naked on top of one another. He’s probably freaking out. I have no idea what he’s gonna do.”
“So, what you’re saying is, no sex before the meeting that we’re both not going to?”
“I think not,” I say with a chuckle. “And we better get to that meeting. Matteo is good at covering for me, but I have no idea what he’s going to be like after seeing that.”
Sivan kisses my lips softly and stares into my eyes. My face feels incredibly flushed. “Are you worried that he’s going to tell someone, or are you embarrassed that he saw us?”
I close my eyes and kiss him without a reply.
The truth is, I sort of feel both of those things, but I also feel happy that Sivan didn’t seem to care at all that Matteo saw us.
For some reason, I’m kind of flattered that he wasn’t embarrassed.
I think if I would’ve let him, he would have gladly thrown Sheena out while yelling in his underwear.
Hmm…just the thought of her seeing him in his underwear makes me mad, and it didn’t even happen.
God, what are these emotions? Where did they come from?
“Alright,” Sivan sighs, pressing his forehead to mine before sitting up.
He’s looking down at my dick that’s currently poking against the fabric of my underwear.
He said alright like he agreed we were gonna get up, but he’s pumping his eyebrows at me, trying to gauge my interest. I’d be lying if I said I didn’t want him, because I absolutely do. But no, we really need to leave.
I cover my eyes with my hand to avoid the temptation of his dick. “Stop, we have to get dressed. And you’re gonna have to wear my clothes. Yours are probably all wrinkled.”
He’s looking over my body while he stands from my bed. “I’m gonna wear your clothes? I mean this in the nicest possible way; I had sex with you last night—we are not the same size. Your clothes aren’t going to fit me.”
“Well, some areas are close in size, but yeah, your shoulders are broader than mine,” I say and roll out of bed.
“My shoulders? You think I’m talking about my shoulders?” He bites his bottom lip and raises his chin, looking around my body. “I’m talking about that ass you got back there.”
“My ass?” I glance at my own reflection in the mirror. “Wow. Just wow. I can’t believe you just said that. What size pants do you wear?”
Sivan lifts his pants from the pile in the corner and jumps into them, wrinkled as they are. “Not wearing your pants, and we’re not talking about the sizes of our pants, either.” He lifts his white dress shirt from the floor. “Now this…this is too wrinkled. I may need to borrow a shirt.”
“Nope, wear your own damn shirt,” I say, walking toward my closet. “Talking about my ass and wearing wrinkled pants. Forget it, you’re not wearing one of mine.”
He’s walking toward me with a mischievous smile. “Why would me talking about your ass be a bad thing? I really like your ass. And who cares about my pants?”
“Who cares about your pants? You’re kidding, right?
” I ask him as I thumb through the jackets in my closet.
“You care about your pants! You’re always obsessed with your clothes.
Did you hit your head or something? Is that what happened?
Last night, before we came in here, and, you know…
did that.” I gesture toward his pants. “Did you fall and hit your head?”
He’s looking down at his pants that are absolutely full of wrinkles, trying to smooth them with his hands.
“Come on, they’re not that bad. Also, no, I didn’t hit my head.
If you don’t loan me a shirt, I’ll have to wear the wrinkled one, and I think that we both know that out of the two of us, you will be the one most embarrassed by that.
You care much more about clothes than I do. ”
“Really?” I ask while tilting my head at him. “You think I care if you show up wearing wrinkled clothes? Hardly. Why should I care about that? Your dad will probably be pretty pissed though, and my dad will definitely make fun of you.”
“I don’t know…you seemed pretty embarrassed when Matteo came in here,” he says grimacing.
“Of course, I was embarrassed! You were halfway—and then the—and he just—and you… Shut up. That and this are two different things.” Standing in front of my mirror, I finish buttoning my jacket, while Sivan stares at me from behind.
Between the stuff he’s saying and the way he’s looking at me…
I’ve never been more confused in my life.
I don’t even know what the hell is happening right now.
What we did felt good, and the way I feel for him is definitely different than I’ve ever felt, but I still don’t know what this means for us.
Our gazes meet in the mirror, while Sivan cuffs his sleeves. He’s looking at me like he wants to eat me. “You’re very hot, you know that?” he says. “I wonder why I didn’t notice until last night?”
“I don’t know, this just started for me yesterday, too.” There’s so much more I want to say, but I’m distracted by him buttoning the most wrinkled shirt I’ve ever seen. Well, his jacket should cover his shirt anyway, and besides, it’s none of my business if it doesn’t.
“Come here,” I say while waving my brush at him. “I’m leaving my hair down today, but you want yours up, right?”
He gives me a confused look while walking towards me. “Uh…yeah. Why? Are you gonna put it up for me?”
“I was going to, but is that weird?” This was a stupid idea—why would I think he wanted me to brush his hair?
“I hate brushing my hair, and since I didn’t dry it after the shower last night, it feels all tangled. If you want to brush it, I’m not gonna turn that down,” he says, then sits in front of me.
I used to love when my mom brushed my hair for me; she’d do it every night when I was little.
Among all these confusing feelings I’m having, there’s this want to take care of him.
What is that? After a few strokes, the brush refuses to move—it’s completely stuck.
I wince, applying pressure to the hair just above the tangle, carefully trying to pull the brush out.
“Oh wow, this is a big-ass knot back here.”
He nods in agreement. “Told you. I knew it would be a mess. I never go to bed with it wet.”
“Lots of firsts last night, then,” I say awkwardly. Eventually, I work my way through the knot and pull his hair tightly atop his head in a bun. “There, perfect,” I say.
He stands and looks in the mirror on my wall. “That feels great. I’m usually the only one that can get my hair right. Thanks for doing that.”
“Anytime.”