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At first, I can still feel his smile against my mouth, and he hesitates for a second, tensing just slightly, but he immediately relaxes, pressing his soft lips against mine, tentatively at first, but opening for me as I slide my tongue against the seam of his mouth.
My body is at an awkward angle, so without breaking our kiss, I shift around so I’m kneeling on the couch beside him, thankful the anti-inflammatories I took after I fell have kicked in. I feel his soft moan more than I hear it, and my heart nearly beats through my chest.
I have to shut this down right now because if I don’t, I won’t be able to stop later. It’s been years since I’ve wanted someone so badly. But I don’t want to rush this, whatever the fuck this is. I don’t know what the hell I’m doing here—I shouldn’t be kissing him, but oh my god, he feels so goddamn good.
No matter what though, I need him to know he’s not just a hookup. Whatever this thing is means so much more.
I know, I know. There’s a boring romantic hiding under all my cynicism.
Pulling back, I slide my gaze over his face like a caress, leaning my forehead against his.
“Jesus, Dylan, if I don’t stop now, I don’t think I’ll be able to stop at all. I have no idea what we’re doing here, and I don’t want to get all weird on you, but I feel a connection to you that I haven’t felt before, and yes, I know that sounds like a line, but it’s true.” I grin. It really is a terrible line. “But whatever this is, it’s not just a fuck. You deserve more than that.”
His lips curve into a smile, and he places a soft peck on my lips, then moves back.
“You’re right,” he says. “I don’t want that either. I like you.”
My heart squeezes. “I like you too. A lot.” With another chaste kiss, I untangle myself from him, my butt protesting as I move, but I settle back into the couch close beside him.
We decide on a movie, settling on a comedy with no sex because I’m not going to be able to handle any extra temptation. Partway through the movie, I reach over and lace my fingers through his, and we sit like that, watching the movie and holding hands like a couple of middle schoolers.
As the movie ends, he turns to me. “I should head home,” he says, and I nod. It’s a monstrous effort not to lean in and kiss him again, but if I do, there’s no way we won’t end up in my bed—or, better yet, on the floor, screwing our ever-loving brains out.
Instead, we stand and make our way slowly to my front door, still holding hands. After putting on his boots and jacket, he turns to me, his face uncertain.
“Thank you for dinner,” he says formally before biting his bottom lip.
I take a half step closer so I’m right in his personal space. Reaching up, I gently pull his bottom lip away from those teeth with the pad of my thumb. Then I slide my hand around to the nape of his neck, pulling him down into another kiss.
Within seconds, the kiss morphs from sweet and tender to scorching hot. He grabs my hips, squeezing them and pulling me in closer so I’m fitted against him, our chests pressed together. Sliding both my arms around his neck, I shiver when I feel his hardness pressing against mine.
Sliding his tongue into my mouth and tangling it with mine, he tightens his fingers on my hips, gripping me hard enough to leave bruises. Imagining the physical evidence of his touch sends another full-body shiver through me from my head down to my toes.Fuck, fuck, fuck.
I force myself to pull my mouth away from his, and we’re both panting heavily as we rest our foreheads against each other, both breathing heavily.
“We… we need to stop,” I whisper, even though I’d rather walk over hot coals than stop kissing him.
With my hands on his chest, I feel his heart racing as he licks his lips and steps back. His grip on my hips tightens again, almost involuntarily, before he lets me go.
“You’re right,” he says, visibly struggling for control. I’m glad I’m not the only one.
“You’re definitely right,” he repeats, shaking his arms out like he’s just lifted a set of heavy weights.
“I, um, I should…” He takes a deep breath. “I’ll get our lawyer to put together a contract for us both to look over,” he says as we reluctantly move apart. “I’ll send it over to you later this week, and then we can make plans and talk about numbers and things. Is that alright with you?”
“Absolutely,” I say, but I don’t want to think about lawyers and contracts when I know as soon as the door shuts behind him, I’m heading straight to my bedroom to take care of the raging hard-on currently pressing painfully into my zipper.
Reluctantly, I let him out the door after kissing him one last time. I force myself to put the dishes into the dishwasher and wipe down the kitchen, but those few minutes don’t do much to calm my body down. My blood still feels like lava in my veins, I’m so turned on. A nice jerk session in the shower will be good. Maybe then I’ll be spent enough to stop obsessing over him, and his amazing mouth, his rough, stubbly skin, and his addictive scent.
But I can’t even make it that far. As soon as I turn the shower on and strip down, there’s no waiting.
My erection stands straight out from my body, hard as steel.
I grip my cock hard, desperate for release. Closing my eyes, I slide my hand up and down quickly. I want to draw it out, take the time to enjoy an elaborate fantasy, and edge myself until I can’t hold out any longer. But my body has other ideas, and before I know it, it’s all over and I’m leaning against the bathroom counter, recovering from the hardest orgasm I’ve had in a while as come drips down the front of my bathroom cabinets.
Shaking my head ruefully, I clean up my mess and finally step into the shower, letting the hot water pound against my neck and shoulders. I keep telling myself there’s no way I could ever have more than friendship with Dylan. I don’t know how to treat him how he deserves. I mean, how could I ever be expected to have a healthy relationship? I’ve never been around one, other than when I lived with the Armstrongs in Pasadena.
But as hard as I try to ignore it, there’s a little voice in the back of my mind whispering that maybe I’m wrong. Maybe we could have more. That little voice is connected to something inside me that feels suspiciously like a spark of hope. I need to extinguish that spark before it grows out of control. Having hope leads to expectations, and expectations can be dangerous.
