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It’s during that laugh that I, in one quick maneuver, retract my feet.
His slippery socked feet, without mine there to hold them in place, slide right out from under his body, causing the man to simultaneously let go of my wrists and feebly attempt to stop himself from doing the splits. It’s all the time I need to slip right out from underneath him, use his weight (and slippery feet) to my advantage, and shove him right onto his back.
Then I’m on top of him the next second, grabbing hold of his wrists and pressing them to the mat.
Still reeling from the sudden one-eighty, Chad stares up at me with astonishment in his eyes.
The look I throw down at him is a dead-eyed one. “You know, if I didn’t know any better, I’d say you were giving me the wrong pointers and deliberately trying to make me lose.”
The astonishment in his eyes quickly turns into amusement. “You do realize you weigh so little, I could just flex my biceps and lift you right off of me, right?”
“Not sure if I should take that as a compliment or a threat.”
“You’re just lucky I’m in socks and slipped when you freed your feet from that last hold.”
“You called me ‘infuriatingly adorable’.”
His eyes turn serious, his smile fading. “What?”
“Earlier. When we were in the cafeteria. And you told me your little secret.” I bring my face a few inches closer to his. “You called me ‘infuriatingly adorable’.”
I have never in my life seen Chad blush.
And now, I get a front row seat to the rosy-red sea that slowly spreads from his cheeks to his forehead like a bad sunburn.
“I also believe I called your ass a punk,” he sternly adds. “Not to mention stubborn.”
“You’re blushing.”
“No, I ain’t.”
“As red as the Red Sea. Tell me something, Chad.” I let go of his wrists, squat on top of him so I’m seated over his lap, then cross my arms and rest them on his chest. I lower my face really close to his. “Did you want to do this just to teach me a thing or two about wrestling, or was this an excuse to live out some long-repressed wrestling mat fantasy of yours with me?”
His breathing changes as his eyes dart from mine to my lips.
I feel his heart racing in his broad, muscular chest, its every furious beat thrashing against my arms.
“Are you attracted to me, Mr. Chad Landry?” I ask him.
He smolders me with the two blue flames of his eyes. “You’re really askin’ for it.”
“This was your idea, remember?”
“Lance …”
Then I feel it.
As surely as I feel the hungry, desperate beating of his heart.
I feel it right at my ass—which is pressed against it.
His throbbing hard-on.
I don’t react. I wonder if I even should. We’ve been teasing each other all night, playing back and forth, but he might still freak out if I push too far.
I don’t even know how new he is to this. Has he actually been with anyone before?
Why wasn’t that the first thing I asked him when he came out to me at the table?
I probably should’ve grilled him at least a little bit.
Before I decided to sit on top of him.
And feel his steel-hard boner pressing against my ass through the material of these tight singlets.
Actually, with my body leaning forward so much, it’s pressed more against my own dick than my ass.
Not to mention that I’m not so “soft” myself, what with all this squirming and wrestling and pressing up against his hot and sweaty body that I’ve been doing.
In fact, now that I’ve become so acutely aware of the state of his cock, it doesn’t help my own.
I feel blood pumping down there against my will.
Desperate, horny, yearning blood.
“Well, I guess that’s a first,” he finally says.
I innocently lift my eyebrows. “Uh … What’s a first?”
“You know what I’m talkin’ about.”
“What? Hmm? How … How do you mean?”
Really? Am I really going to keep playing dumb?
Chad sure isn’t. “Poppin’ a boner during a match.”
I bite my lip, pretending to be uncertain for a second. Then I glance down without moving. “Uh …? Oh. Is that what that is?”
“Well, I guess this ain’t really a real match.” A tiny, nervous curl twists the corner of his lips. “I mean, well … you know. We’re just playin’ around here.”
“Right,” I agree, wide-eyed. “Playing around.”
“Is that alright? That I …” He clears his throat. “… got hard? I mean, it ain’t gonna piss you off or offend you or nothin’, right?”
“No, not at all,” I blurt too quickly, my voice cracking. “Why would it offend me? No way. I’m hard, too.”
That last part slipped right out.
My eyes go wide.
Chad slowly nods with understanding. “Ah … Alright, then. Both of us. A mutual issue.”
“Yep.”
We stay perfectly in place, staring at each other, our faces far too close to one another’s to be casual.
