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4
I don’t waste time arguing with him, mainly because I don’t want to. I lick a long, hot stripe over my palm, wetting it with spit. When it’s enough, I plunge my hand down my pajama pants and grip my length. Wesley’s gaze is searing, heating me all over. He follows my lead, trailing his free hand down his chest until it comes to rest on the waistband of his grey sweatpants.
The sheets obscure the rest of him, and suddenly the most important thing to me is seeing all of him. With my other hand, I tear off the covers, kicking them down our legs to tangle around our ankles.
I glance down at Wesley’s crotch.
“Fuck, you’re big.” The words tumble out of my mouth before I can stop them. “Sorry, I don’t know why I said that.”
Wesley bites his lip hard, teeth sinking into the plump redness. I catalog every detail, every blink of his eyelashes as he rubs the front of his sweatpants. He exhales roughly but doesn’t close his eyes. He’s looking at my hand moving slowly over my cock, hidden underneath my pajamas.
“Take those off,” he says. The command lights up my nerves like a damn Christmas tree.
I do as I’m told, letting go of myself to lift my hips and shimmy my pants down my legs until I’m left exposed. Cold air hits my cock and I grip myself again, hissing. I feel delirious, like I’ve gone mad with want.
“Now you,” I say breathlessly. “Please. Let me see you.”
Wesley groans and stops rubbing himself long enough to tear off his sweatpants. His cock bobs up into the air and, as far as cocks go, it’s gorgeous.
He wraps long, calloused fingers around the length with a familiarity that sends sparks down my back and starts a painfully slow rhythm that makes me sweat just from watching him. I let out a soft, broken sound when he rubs over his tip, gathering precum and spreading it down his length.
I’m not thinking clearly when I press my body closer to his, fitting my front against his side until my hips are in line with his thigh, my cock pressing against his skin. Gasping at the sensation, I press my forehead against his shoulder. It’s all too much, too fast and my hips jerk once, hard. A loud moan rips from my mouth, and I feel so wanton it makes me dizzy.
Wesley says nothing, only shifts his head so he can watch me better. His eyes spur me on, and soon I’m dragging my cock over his skin, rubbing the head with my palm in between thrusts.
There’s a small, heart-shaped birthmark where his shoulder meets his neck. I want to latch my mouth onto it and never let go.
“Ollie,” Wesley practically groans and, somehow, his voice is lower than usual. My breath hitches at the sound of my name, pleasure pooling in my hips. “Oliver, look at me.”
When I tilt my head up against his muscled arm, brown eyes catching blue, he leans down and captures my mouth with his.
For a moment, I’m too starstruck to do anything more than lie there in shock, trembling against him. But when he starts pulling away, something clicks in my head and suddenly I’m gripping his arm and pressing our lips together, swallowing that little ‘mm’ sound that makes me hot all over.
Kissing Wesley is euphoric, and I can’t believe we haven’t done it sooner. His mouth tastes a bit like toothpaste, a bit like the sweet tea he had before bed, and his lips are pillow-soft against mine. When we pull away to breathe, he licks and nibbles at my lips until they’re swollen red. Gasping against his mouth, I grind deeper against his thigh and watch as his fist speeds up over his jutting cock.
“I like the way you touch yourself,” I say, gasping. “You look so good.”
“Christ, Ollie."
Wesley groans again, deep and rumbling, and it’s almost enough to drown out the howl of wind outside. He leans down and kisses me once more, and this time I lose myself in the feeling. I’m too far gone for thoughts. For the first time in forever, my head is empty and all I can focus on is his lips against mine, the pressure building in my balls, the pleasure cresting through me like a wave.
I come with the taste of him on my tongue, my hips jutting against his hip, and the distinct feeling that I would do anything this man could ask of me. Come coats my hand, a few drops landing on his skin.
Wesley’s breath hitches, and he throws his head back against the pillow, speeding up his strokes. His hips pump into the air as he chases the same high.
I want nothing more than for him to feel as good as I did. Without thinking, I force myself to sit up despite the lethargy coating my limbs and straddle his thighs. Absently, I use my clean hand to push up his sleep shirt to expose his tight stomach, watching his abs flex with each thrust. He looks good spread out like this.
“What— what are you doing?” Wesley says.
“Watching,” I say. “You look amazing.”
Wesley eyes me for a moment then juts his chin to where my dirty hand rests on my thigh. “I want to taste you.”
My nose wrinkles. “Is that not weird?”
But he shakes his head frantically, a low groan falling from his lips as his strokes speed up.
Oh. “Okay.”
