Page 53 of Off the Trail

I pull my fingers free, even though he chases those, too, once they clear his mouth. “Bedroom.” He almost slurs the word.

We stumble together across the small living room into the room with the bed, and he kicks the door shut. Now I feel like I can really let go, with more than one closed door between me and the rest of the retreat. It’s not like I’m worried about losing my job, but this is private, just for me and Shawn. I suppose the others will speculate, but I’m not going to give them ammunition. More than the ammunition of my truck parked outside of cabin three all night long, at least.

“Can I stay over?” I ask. “I don’t want to rush tonight.”

Shawn unbuttons his shirt with clumsy fingers. “Sounds good to me.”

It takes a couple of minutes of wrestling with shoes and clothes, but then he’s got nothing on but navy blue boxer briefs. They cling to his thighs and don’t hide the hard line of his erection. I’m down to my boxers, and he’s seen me in my swim trunks, but I still feel more exposed than ever before with him. He’s got an athlete’s body, but I’m a different kind of strong. I’m not ashamed of my shape and size, especially not when he’s looking at me as if I’m more appealing than a bowl of that chocolate mousse. He actually licks his lips as I approach him, and I have to ask. “You have some kind of oral fixation?”

“Oh, ballplayers are all known for not being happy unless they have something in their mouths,” he says. “Used to be chewing tobacco, now it’s mostly gum. You got your sunflower seed fans, too.”

“I haven’t seen you chew gum once since you got here,” I say, calling his bluff.

“I was getting scolded by my dentist. Kicked the habit. But I think I’ve been missing having something in my mouth.” His gaze drops to my crotch and the tent I’m making in my boxers.

“You’ve never sucked a cock before?” I say, to confirm.

“Nope,” he says, smiling dirty and sweet at the same time. “But I think I’m going to like it.”

Shawn Camden is going to kill me. I’m going to blow like a broken fire hydrant the second he gets his needy mouth around me.

“Let’s find out.” We get on the bed, made all neat and tidy by Nita’s cleaning staff. He throws the requisite decorative pillows carelessly over his shoulder. They land haphazardly around the bedroom floor. Quickly, he tugs down the oatmeal-gray comforter. The sheets are crisp and clean. Then Shawn pulls me close. His kiss is as electric as always, and it distracts me from the way he’s suddenly underneath my boxers, one large hand wrapped around my dick.

“Oh, holy fuck.” I apparently don’t have much filter when he’s touching me, the words coming out without my permission. “Feels fucking good.”

“Yeah?” He’s breathless and jerking me slowly. This is maybe the first time he’s touched someone else’s dick, the first time he’s jacked off another guy. The thought is so goddamn hot. I know how it is to be the fumbling newbie learning what’s okay, what works, what’s expected. I was awkward as hell—to be honest, maybe I still am—but Shawn’s way older than I was the first time I gave someone a hand job. Maybe that makes a difference. He’s not hesitant exactly, just careful. And it’s hot that he’s looking to me for approval, when everything he does feels amazing just because it’s him.

“Yeah, love that. Keep going.” The feedback seems to encourage him, because now both hands are down my boxers and he’s getting creative with his fingers, brushing against my balls, the crease in my thigh, the hot, soft, secret place behind my sac. I shiver when he brushes farther back, not quite touching my hole, but close.

“Can I—” He stops moving.

“Yes,” I answer.

He huffs. “You don’t know what I was going to say.”

“Doesn’t matter,” I answer with utter honesty. “You can do whatever you want.”

“You sure you want to give me blanket permission?” he asks, smirking to cover up what sounds like a smidgeon of discomfort.

“I don’t think you could do something I didn’t like.” Maybe it’s too real, but it’s true.

He starts stroking me again. “I want you to feel good with me. Even though I don’t know what I’m doing.”

There’s that undercurrent of insecurity, the one I know all too well.

“You’re doing fine,” I say, mustering what brain cells I have left while being jacked off by the amazing man I’m way too into. “You’re a natural.”

“You’d let me know, though, if I did something wrong?” He sounds anxious, the way he did when he was asking if there were bears in the woods on our hike.

“There is no wrong here, okay? We’re just two guys figuring stuff out together.”

“But you’ll tell me,” he presses. And his concern should be taking me out of the moment, but I’m more turned-on than ever because I like everything about him, even his insecurity, because it shows how much he cares.

“Yeah, okay. I’ll tell you if there’s something I don’t like. You too, okay?”

“I can do that.”

“Okay.” Those negotiations behind us, I think it’s time to move things along. “So, by the same token, you tell me when you like something, okay? And I’ll tell you when I like something. And we can keep doing more of it.”