“Shit!” I exclaim, realizing what I’ve done. “Sorry, I’m so sorry.”
He chuckles, but his eyes remain closed. “Can you grab me a washcloth?”
I keep apologizing reflexively as I scramble off the counter, wet a washcloth, and start cleaning my cum off his face. The hardest part to clean is his beard, which takes more time and attention. He patiently waits for me to finish, on his knees the whole time.
“All clean,” I say, my voice strained from embarrassment rather than arousal this time.
He opens his eyes and gazes up at me, a lazy smile on his lips.
I stare back at him, stunned to see him so happy, so at peace, after he just rocked my fucking world.
It doesn’t take long for the awkwardness to settle back in. For me to realize I’m standing in my kitchen, pantsless, while Euan is still hard and unsatisfied. “Here, I should—” I reach for him, though I’m not sure yet what to do.
He waves me off and stands up on his own. “I think that’s enough for one night. I’m going to take a shower.”
“But you didn’t …”
He chuckles and presses a kiss to my curls. “Tonight, I wanted to focus on you.” Then he leaves, probably to take care of himself in private.
As I watch his departing back, I think:But I wanted to touch you too.
Chapter Twenty: Euan
I brace one hand against the shower wall while I work my aching cock with the other. Memories of Alex’s pleasure flit through my mind: his parted lips, his desperate moans, the way he clenched around my tongue, his hot cum coating my face, the salty taste of him. It doesn’t take long until I’m painting the walls with stripes of my own cum. I keep stroking myself through the orgasm until my balls are empty.
Coming so quickly is one of the reasons I didn’t want Alex to finish me. One tentative touch from him might have pushed me over the edge before I could fully enjoy it. The other reason is exactly what I told him: I wanted the focus to be only on him.
Alex is so eager to fulfill people’s needs, to be who they want him to be. He probably would have dropped to his knees and swallowed me down at the slightest hint. While the image of his lips wrapped around my shaft is enough for renewed arousal to coil in my stomach, it’s not enough for me to pursue anything further tonight. Tomorrow, if he wants to do more when he’s not high from post-orgasm bliss, we can enjoy each other further.
I reach for a bottle of shampoo and pause when I see the pink label, the fruity scent. Alex never smells of peaches, which probably means the bottle is Theresa’s. There’s another white bottle on the shelf above it with a pump top. I try to focus on washing myself and not on how many items in this apartment belong to Alex’s ex-girlfriend.
As soon as I’m clean, I turn the shower off and step out. I didn’t think about grabbing a towel or fresh clothes from my suitcase but luckily he has a little shelf full of towels. I grab one and dry myself off brusquely, grimacing at my pile of dirty clothes. A mess of drying precum stains the inside of my underwear, making them less than appealing to slip back on.
I wrap the towel around my waist and open the bathroom door. Both bedroom doors are closed, and I don’t see Alex down the hall. I’m not shy or self-conscious about my body—especially not after having my tongue in Alex’s ass—but walking around his apartment half-naked seems presumptuous, pushing the tentative boundaries we’ve set.
I slip into my room and dress quickly in lounge pants and a fresh T-shirt, then return to the kitchen. Alex is there, microwaving a late dinner. He glances over his shoulder at me, and while there’s a slight flush to his cheeks and his blond curls are messy, there’s no other sign of our recent kitchen activities. He’s also changed into comfortable clothes, and there’s a quiet air of domesticity that’s almost as heady as his arousal.
“Hungry?” he asks.
“What do you have?”
He laughs self-depreciatingly and offers, “Leftover pizza?”
“Sounds great.” It’s an effort to focus on food when all I want to do is rub my greedy hands all over him. After my shower, I feel too clean. I want to go back to being drenched in the smell and taste of him.
He grabs a fresh plate and puts the last two slices on it, then hands me the one that he just microwaved. “It’s still prettyearly,” he says with forced lightness. “So I thought we could watch the documentary about the movie we watched earlier.”
I arch an eyebrow, thinking about all the terrible special effects, the green goo, the exaggerated acting. “How did it earn a documentary?”
He laughs and a more natural smile spreads over his lips. “By being the worst movie ever.”
“Well, that’s definitely something I have to see.”
We take our leftover pizza to the couch and sit down. There’s just enough distance between us to be comfortable without feeling like we’re avoiding each other. At least, I hope that’s how Alex feels.
He starts the documentary. Even though my eyes are locked on the screen the whole time, I don’t absorb a damn thing.
Once the movie finishes, we clean up after ourselves. We don’t say anything but there’s this silent agreement that it’s time for bed. We both walk down the hall. We both pause at our bedroom doors. We both turn and look at the other. Alex’s lips twitch, as if he realizes we’re being kind of silly in our stiffness.
