Page 10 of Wait for Him

He slides one arm around the back of my thigh and pulls me closer and goes deeper and I stop thinking about composure or control or the fourteen months or Judge Peterson or any of it — there is only this, his mouth, the obscene wet sounds he’s making, the way he keeps adjusting the angle like he is genuinely, earnestly trying to take me apart.

The orgasm builds sharp as he slides two fingers inside and curls them repeatedly. He stares up at my face, mouth open, watching every expression like he’s studying me. “Jesus,” he mutters, fingers still working. “You’re soaking my hand.”

He keeps finding that spot, and my whole body starts to give.

“Right there.” My grip tightens. “Don’t move. Stay exactly—”

Within seconds I'm coming, hard, everything pulling tight and letting go at once until I'm heaving for breath and squirting everywhere.

His eyes blow wide. “Holy — oh, fuck.” The words barely make it out of him.

When I finally still, breathing hard, I look down at him.

His forehead drops forward to rest against the inside of my thigh. His shoulders are heaving. One hand is shaking where it’s still gripping my hip, and between his legs, a dark stain has spread across the fabric of his slacks.

He came.

Without a single hand on him.

He came from touching me.

I look at the top of his head for a long moment, at the flushed back of his neck, at the slight tremor still moving through him, and feel something I was not remotely prepared for settle quietly in the center of my chest.

I card my fingers through his hair. Gently this time.

"Good boy," I mumble. "Such a good boy."

He exhales like he's been holding it since we walked through the door.

Fuck. I really wish I could keep him.

Jackson

"Holy shit, just take the shot already."

"Aww, leave him alone. He's in wuv."

"I hate you both."

I lean over the table, line up the eight ball, and take the shot. It drops cleanly into the corner pocket, which earns me a middle finger from Bennet and another obnoxious round of in wuv from Derrick.

I haven’t been able to stop thinking about Rose since Tuesday night. Haven’t been able to stop talking about her either, which is how Bennet and Derrick ended up knowing every detail, including, and I cannot stress enough how freely I volunteered this information, the part where I came in my pants like a teenage virgin who’d never seen a woman before.

In my defense, I had never experienced anything like that before, and I only told two people about it. One of them has not let me live it down for four consecutive days.

Bennet moves around the table to line up for his next shot. “Are you going to see her again?”

“I don’t even know her real name. Just her username from the app.”

Derrick leans against his cue, grinning at me. “In wuv.”

“I will fucking end you.”

He laughs, thoroughly satisfied with himself, then reaches for his beer. “How was seeing your dad?”

Just like that, whatever good mood I had left from thinking about Rose disappears.

I look down at the table and roll my cue between my palms. I fucking hate talking about this shit.