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“Well, the last time a man was in my pants was a wee bit ago.”
“I bet he was handsome and strong. Sexy as fuck, too.” Zeke grins, and I laugh.
“Best I ever had, I reckon,” I tease.
“Lucky guy.” He kisses my nose just as his phone rings, then leans forward to see Del’s name. The mood dies out with an audible whoosh as Zeke curses under his breath.
“I should get that. Christmas planning—and no one gets in the way of Del planning a party.” He clears the sexy throatiness from his voice.
“Of course,” I say, moving off him to sit on the edge of the coffee table. He adjusts his dick, and I see the spot of precum staining the grey fabric.
I open my mouth, cheeks flaring and limbs still tingling with how bad I want him.
“Don’t worry about it.” He slumps back and answers the phone. “What do you need?” he says, the tension evident in his voice. His eyes rake down my body, building frustration grips me at all these interruptions. Threats, arguments, and siblings that keep me from what I want. Right now, I want to repay the favour. I’m not done, and I’m not waiting.
I lower myself to kneeling between his knees, and his eyebrow raises with a sharp movement. I put my hands on his thighs and slide them up.
“Uh, I gotta go,” Zeke says and hangs up on his sister, tossing his phone to the other end of the couch. “Fuck it. I’ll call her later.”
He leans forward, taking my chin in his hands and presses his mouth to mine. The kiss feels amazing, the pressure and sensation of it short-circuiting my brain.
I waste no time grabbing him, stroking him outside his sweats and then easily work the material down his hips to free his dick. I love the feel of him, the firmness, the size, the shape as I memorize him with my palm.
When we hooked up before, we went straight for sex. Giving each other hand jobs seems so tame. I think about tasting him, but he still has my chin tight in his hand, keeping his mouth on mine. I love the way his tongue feels, my lip between his teeth, the sound of his groans each time I make it base to tip. I move between fast and slow and loose and tight grip.
By the time I decide how far I’m taking this, his shoulders hunch forward.
“Oh, fuck,” he stutters against my lips, and his body shakes.
He curses, his face buried in my hair, and can’t hold in a snort of a giggle. I burst out laughing as he slumps back into the couch, staring at the mess on his stomach, his sweats, and my hand.
He struggles to hold in his own laugh. “Well, I need another shower.”
“I guess we both really needed that,” I say, struggling to stand only using one hand.
“That was fun.” He stands and shuffles toward the bathroom with a pouty, silly look on his face. “Let’s do that again sometime. But, like, for longer.”
He disappears into the bathroom. I let warm water run over my hands at the kitchen sink, my thoughts drifting to the ease that settles through my body and mind. Not because he finally put me out of my misery, but because of our progress. An argument and an honest conversation. A responsibility to work together and listen to each other.
For the first time in a long, long time, I feel completely relaxed.
Happy, even.
