More on this book
Community
Kindle Notes & Highlights
He picked something from his lips, and I got stuck watching the gesture. I was used to seeing that generous mouth drawn in concentration, or in the frequent snarls he served up on the court when he was deep in game mode, ever the relentless competitor. I remembered other things, though, from years back: teasing half-smiles. Grins. The dimple when he laughed.
☆ Todd liked this
Something inside me stuttered: my heart skipped a beat, or my breath caught with a sudden, full-body kick of tension. My muscles were wires, and every place where our skin touched wound me tighter. He’d taken off his shirt and jeans at some point, and I splayed my fingers, half touching the fabric of his boxers, half touching his naked skin. I was scared to even breathe, afraid the incremental space between our bodies would spark off with the charge I felt between us.
Some instinct was guiding me that I didn’t understand and didn’t want to stop either. Maybe I was trying to comfort him, maybe I was just justifying it. Fuck, I didn’t know. Maybe it didn’t matter at all.
Our breaths went rough, and a weird but organic sense of inevitability descended, like we were picking up at some unknown point we’d left off on previously that I had no memory of. Had it always been there, lying in wait?
I could tell he was trying to keep quiet, trying to keep his exhales from becoming ragged pants that might say too much. But he liked it. I could tell that much, too. And fuck, I liked it just as much as he did. If not more.
His throat bobbed as he swallowed, and his lips parted. Light from the window hugged his profile, casting dark shadows across his jaw and side of his neck. He was fucking gorgeous. It was the first time I allowed myself to explicitly acknowledge that fact.
And though his dick was in my hand, at that moment it was his mouth I wanted. The shit he said on the court, the way he’d always taunted me, even his smirks seemed to hold a flavor I desperately wanted a taste of.
My gaze had landed on him like lightning drawn to the lone tree in a field, complete with a concurrent crackle of electricity that arced through me.
He also had denim-blue eyes and the kind of American-pie smile that old ladies cooed at and younger ones dropped their panties for. I’d always liked it aimed in my direction.
I angled toward him. I shouldn’t have. I really fucking shouldn’t have. My impulse control had clearly taken the night off, and he’d always been the biggest test of it. Mark Farrow, the boy I’d crushed on before I even knew what a crush was. The first guy I’d ever jacked off to. The first guy I’d ever wanted to kiss. The first guy who’d ever touched me exactly the fucking way I’d wanted to be touched. The only guy I could never have.
“Maybe you called me out here for something else. Did you call me out here for something else?” I posed the question sotto voce, trying for an innocence I knew I’d never be able to pull off. It probably came out as mockery. That wouldn’t be too far off the mark either.
His mouth went slack, his eyes wide open and registering bald surprise, and the instinct to kiss him exerted its own gravitational force. Fear flooded me, along with arousal in equally overwhelming measures. Not for the first time, I wondered what if nothing else would ever be enough, if I was fucked-up to want this, fucked-up that he was driving me crazy right now, even with everything that had happened between us, even with who he was.
We’d been like oil and water for years. That I’d had to force myself to peel away from his hard body and the thick cock throbbing so fucking ready in my hand was infuriating. I’d hooked up with plenty of guys. Plenty of straight boys testing the flexibility of their sexuality, even, which was often entertaining. I didn’t give a shit. Fun was fun and who cared whether or not the dude wanted to acknowledge you in public the next day? Mark Farrow isn’t every other guy, though, is he? No, I answered my own internal musings. He was much more dangerous. Engine of catastrophe. Frat boy
...more
Despite my weird mix of angst and frustration where Chet Pynchon was concerned, he’d already had too much taken away from him.
But sometimes I wondered if happiness was recapturable, if it was fluid or if it was more solid state. Something you either had or didn’t, something that could be yanked away. That same counselor would’ve said it lived in us, I was sure, that we were each responsible for our own well-being. I wondered if he’d ever had everything he knew taken away, though, whether he’d ever felt like he was constantly trying to dig himself out of a hole someone else had dropped him into.
I wondered if he kissed the way he walked. If that swagger reached those full fucking lips, and how easily they’d give beneath mine. I wondered what he tasted like.
“The Farrow charm didn’t work on her? Guess she’s allergic to bullshit.”
“You don’t have any idea what it’s like to be looked at with suspicion basically everywhere you go. To be an already formed conclusion the second you walk through a door. A couple of jabs to the ribs? That’s fucking nothing.”
I already disliked him, and it wasn’t just because he kept looking over at Mark like he not only agreed with his taste in ties but also appreciated the sexy mahogany sweep of his stupid hair.
It drove me crazy that even now I felt a level of comfort with him I’d rarely felt with anyone else. That even when we were antagonizing each other, there was something about sitting across from a guy I’d known since I was three that was reassuringly familiar.
Fuck, he was sexy when he was flustered. I kept my arms slack at my sides, the metal cabinet cool against my suddenly feverish skin. I was afraid any move might scare him off, and I didn’t want to scare him off right now. I wanted him to stay right where he was, the masculine scent of his aftershave filling my nose, the heat of his body closing in on me.
I’d been expecting something violent and sloppy. Needy and uncouth. Maybe even a little savage. I would’ve liked that, too. But this was pleasure in concentrated points. Focused and intense. My dick throbbed with interest as he slipped his tongue inside my mouth and ran it along mine, coaxing and way too fucking sensual. Definitely not the way I’d expected him to kiss. Fuck if I could find the willpower to put up an argument about it, though. Mark’s lips were too fucking warm, his tongue too velvety on mine, and he felt too fucking good against me, all gym-honed muscle and hard lines. And I’d
...more
I liked the way he wore his arousal, not trying to hide it. It was in the color flushing his cheeks and parted lips, and it had a crossover effect on me, amping me up and winding me tighter. I wanted to touch him bare skin to bare skin, take the length of his cock in my hand, then grip it hard. Give him a rough, dry jerk that would sting as much as it would feel good. He wanted it, too.
his fingers moved tentatively over my back and clutched at my hips. Catch and release, catch and release. Like he couldn’t commit fully to any one spot on me and wanted to sample everything.
I liked the noises he made, too, soft and muted, like he was restraining himself. I wondered what he sounded like when he really let go. I wondered if I’d ever hear it.
He swallowed hard, and then his mouth fell open. Head tilting back, faint lines formed at the corners of his eyes when he squeezed them shut. I knew that look. I fucking loved that look on a guy in general, but even more on him. That I’m-fucking-dying look, the one that meant pleasure was hammering through him. That he was losing control.
“You were going to get me hard and then walk away. Like I did to you that night. Weren’t you?”
He knew what he wanted, and fuck if I didn’t want to give it to him. Forehead to forehead, we moved together. I fucked Mark fully clothed the way I would’ve if there weren’t yards of fabric between us. I could imagine it—skin to skin, sticky with sweat, his ripped abs flexing with every thrust. My pulse soared, my dick throbbed, my breaths came heavy and aching in my lungs. I wondered if he’d like it, if he’d ever thought of doing the same to me. If he’d want to.
I caught his chin, held it, and wedged a hand down the back of his pants. I couldn’t help it. Skin at last. Mark’s asscheek was high and tight and fit perfectly in my grip. I squeezed, then slid a finger slowly down his crack. “God, you’ve got a sexy ass.” I let my fingertip drift lightly over his hole. “Bet you’re so fucking tight.”
I’d gone into that file room encounter last week with a solid plan, and then I’d fucked it up by coming in my pants. I was sure I could’ve held off in better circumstances, but the fucker had gotten in my ear with his growly dirty talk, and I’d been helpless. I felt like I’d lost the most inane competition in the history of the universe. On a technical level, that was. On a physical level, it’d been hot as fuck.
And I wanted to wipe that smirk off his face. I wanted to do that about as much as I wanted to see it up close again. Maybe taste it.
bet you like a lot of head action,” he mused. “Tight grip on your base, and someone that will slurp the fuck out of your crown, then deep-throat you right before you come.”
“Or are you the one on your knees, hmm? I’d be gentle, I promise. I’d let you get a little taste first to see if you liked it. Paint your lips with my cock, then push it just inside. I wouldn’t make you take me deep. Not the first time. I’d let you tease me, get us both nice and worked up until you were begging for more of me.” Chet’s lips curved up, eyes hot. “You gonna bust in your pants again?”
“You’re pretty sexy when you’re trying to hold your shit together.
“He’s probably pitying me for being stuck with you.” “Or trying to figure out whether you’re a top or a bottom.” I tossed my harness into the pile and smiled sweetly at Chet. “You can ponder it when you jerk off tonight.”
“So if it’s so easy to get laid, why are you complaining about not getting laid?” I asked. “Because I have standards.” “But you also eat chocolate Pop-Tarts.” “Quit throwing my completely inane logic back in my face.”
Chet was all of a foot away from me and might as well have been wrapped around me, the way I responded to his proximity. Every atom in my body strained toward him.
“I’ve just opened up a special slot on my dance card for a Rich, Preppy Asshole who just might get drunk and rebellious enough to do something his daddy wouldn’t approve of in a gay bar.”
“If you find my suave, please feel free to toss it in the lost and found with Farrow’s stupid fucking ties.”
With a syrupy smile, he looped his arms around my neck and leaned in close. “Listen,” he said as soberly as he probably could. “If you end up ditching some more of your clothes out here, make sure someone takes a pic. I want to confirm you actually have nipples. Is your dick really molded plastic, or do they give Ken dolls a little more definition nowadays?” “Squeeze it and see,” I suggested with a smirk. “Ahhhhhhh!” He howled with delight. “I was not expecting that. You’re redeemed. For now.”
“Barrett asked me if my dick was molded plastic. I’m pretty sure his interest in me is only scientific.”
As I turned back, my lips brushed against his. The kiss was soft and teasing, seemed incidental at first, and then the initial warmth became a crushing heat that spread through me from that point of contact. I felt it all the way to my toes, and when he ran his tongue over my lower lip, I flicked out my own to answer in kind. “You want to fuck around again, huh? Is that it? Gonna cream your pants for me again? Or maybe you could hold out for my hand this time, hmm?” God, the velvety taunt was as maddening as it was arousing.
You gonna lose it before I get my mouth around you?”
“Fuck you, Farrow, swallow it and see.” I give his sac a hard squeeze and considered his dick. The thick flared head was mouthwatering.
I took him as far down as I could. His fingers tightened the lower I went and then held me in place when I stopped. Only for a second, and then they released. I felt the tension in his body relax incrementally as I started sucking him off in earnest. “Fuckfuckfuckfuck. You have no idea how many times I’ve thought of this.” I figured it was probably about the same number of times I had, but the breathless confession spurred me on and made me want to do better. I wanted to blow his mind so completely that Errol and his man bun were forever overwritten by me and my greedy mouth.
I’d never had a dick in my mouth before, and in my head, it didn’t go down between us exactly this way, but no lie it was fucking satisfying as shit making his legs shake.
He was close. I could taste it, feel it, fucking smell his arousal, and I loved that it was me doing this to him, that it was my mouth driving him crazy.
