Page 52 of Technical Advances

More of him. I wasn’t used to contradictions. I’d all but eliminated them from my life, and they had no place in my work. A plus B equaled X. But no, we had established that A plus B equaled Y.

“Yes,” I spoke into his smile, which had him smiling even wider. “More,” I demanded as he pulled back.

“Bed,” he responded with a nod, finally returning a hand to my chest to push me back, to push us apart.

I couldn't stop the whimper I let out. Our hands remained intertwined, and Benji walked around me until I was once again following behind him, closer this time in the small confines of his room.

He turned toward me when his legs hit the edge of the bed, his long fingers finally finding my belt buckle.

CHAPTER 17

BENJI

For a brief second I heard it in the back of my head: holy fucking shit. But it was gone as soon as it came. This wasn’t about idol worship, or New Day Tech, or Project Orthos. It sure as fuck wasn’t about Beck, or my dad, or money. This was about us. And sure, working on the project may have shown us how compatible we were and how well we communicated with each other. It may have proven how much we liked to spend time together. But being together? That was going to be about Anson and me and moments like the ones we shared in my bedroom that first night.

His hands trembled when he tugged at the button on my pants, and mine were no better as I yanked at his belt buckle.

He lost his balance, and we toppled to the bed.

Laughing, I let out a frustrated, “Fucking pants!”

When his face went from serious to alight with laughter, my heart soared. I slid out from where he had landed half on top of me and stood. He rolled onto his back, his eyes following me, taking me in from head to toe, barely stopping to admire the bulge in my pants.

Barely.

I smirked and leaned over him, my hand hovering over his belt. He nodded slowly but enthusiastically, his smile more open than I’d ever imagined it could be. Finally, I eased his belt buckle free, then I backed up a few steps, letting it clamor to the floor, my eyes still on him, my hands moving to undo my own pants.

“Fucking pants,” I said again, this time in a tone I hoped was silky and seductive even as it sounded performative to my own ears. Slowly, I unzipped my own slacks. He propped up on his elbows to watch, his head bobbing in agreement. His hair framed his face like I had imagined it would—in a moment I’d maybe pictured a couple of times over the past few weeks.

I pulled my neatly pressed pants down until I could kick them off, bending quickly to get rid of my socks. I remembered dressing for our fancy dinner with Anson, excited and distraught all at once to see him again. I’d worn the suit I had on the day we met. The one I planned to wear for graduation.

In that room, facing his hungry eyes and his bare chest, with its salt-and-pepper dusting of hair traveling the center of it beyond where I could see, I suddenly didn’t care about my neatly pressed pants at all.

No one will even notice wrinkled pants under my graduation gown, I thought as I kicked them away. Anson’s eyes locked on mine as if he was too polite to stare at the bulge fighting its way out of my briefs. I could sense a wet spot forming, and the fire in those blue eyes caused my cock to twitch. I broke eye contact to look down at it, sensing his eyes as they raked the length of my body. I gripped myself and squeezed, something I’d done many times before, even occasionally in front of other men. But never, not once, had the move made a noise emit from me that sounded foreign to my ears, one so primal and hungry that for a beat, I thought I should be embarrassed by it.

But one look at the hunger in Anson’s eyes sent that notion right out of my head.

He wasn’t even touching me yet. We remained locked like that for a long beat. I waited for him to make a move.

“Is this okay?” I eventually whispered, squeezing myself again. It broke the spell he was under, and he lunged toward me, his hand enveloping mine as we stood so close that only thin flames danced between us.

His squeeze was firm, his palm warm against my own hand. “Is this okay?” he countered. All I could do was nod my assent as my head snapped back in pleasure.

“Move,” he growled as he batted my hand away, taking over, pressure surging through the cotton, his hand covering the wet spot that I felt growing. My head and some small modicum of my senses returned to find him unbuttoning and unzipping his pants with one hand while the other continued to fondle me. I helped him then, taking over the zipper and lowering his jeans and underwear at one time.

As I lowered myself, his hand lost its connection with my arousal. I wanted to rush what I was doing so that we could go back to touching each other, so that he could go back to touching me there, but rushing had very recently caused both of us to stumble. His hand found my shoulder, and I found myself on my knees.

I noticed he was still wearing his loafers.

I wanted to help him slip them off, but when I leaned back, Anson’s cock looked rock hard, pointing straight out, right in front of my fucking face. I licked my lips, then licked his slit, tasting the salty, clear precum that had formed there.

I leaned back again, grasping his sides and looking up. “Shoes. Off,” I ordered. He lifted a leg, and we wobbled, so I sat up taller, his hands finding my shoulders once more. I leaned down and continued teasing Anson’s tip with my tongue.

I heard the hitch of his breath, followed by the mutter of the word, “Focus.”

I pulled off again. “Oh, I’m focused,” I assured him, my voice heavy as I took him in as deep as I could.

He smiled down at me. “I meant me. I would really like these jeans off.” He cupped my cheek gently and pulled away to sit on the bed and toe off his shoes. He yanked and kicked at the denim and cotton material that had bunched below his knees and tossed them aside as well, with my help.