Page 62 of Budding Attraction


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His hips pound mine as he fucks into his fist, hand squeezing tighter with every stroke. My balls are pulling up, my grip on his ass almost punishing, and every time he thrusts, our balls are crushed together, pressed tight, delicious ripples spreading outward.

“Holy shit …” I gasp, rocketing toward the edge. My orgasm is so close, building so big, I’m seconds away …

“Grab my nipple,” he begs.

My fingers close over the bar and tug.

Ford lets out a loud gasp before his teeth sink into my lip, and he goes stiff. The sharp sting of pain through my haze of desire sets me off. My cock pulses in his hand, thighs tightening as I shoot my load all over my abs. It feels like the longest orgasm in history, and as I ride out the high, I keep playing with the barbell, my grip gradually softening until it grounds me, helps me shake off the haze.

Ford slumps forward, face buried in my shoulder, and I wrap my arms around his shoulders.

Neither of us talks for a really long time.

I’m trying to catch my breath, trying to process what happened and work out where I’m at with it all. Ford stays hidden, and I’m not sure what’s on his mind, but we both take the moment to ourselves.

And maybe it’s the orgasm talking, but I don’t regret that for a second.

It was incredible.

“We need to get cleaned up,” I say when I become uncomfortably aware of the cum drying on my skin.

He’s slow to appear. “We do, but … well, I’d kinda like it if you didn’t run off this time.”

“You want me to stay?”

“Only if you want to. I’m not done snuggling with you yet.” He tries for the usual teasing smile, but it’s uncertain. That’s not an emotion I’m used to from him.

And his lack of confidence helps me find mine. “On one condition.”

“Yeah?”

“I get to borrow the same sweats as last time,andI take the left side of the bed.”

“Joke’s on you—I would have given you anything you asked for.”

20

Ford

Orson’s a natural.I glance over at him from where I’m working with my sixteeners to see him helping one of the kids with the steering column on their car. His calming presence does well here. Where the kids are used to me being maybetoopassionate about cars that I skip steps and start talking about things too advanced for them to follow, he slows it down. He’s their quiet, and I’m their chaos.

My grin widens as I think of us like that. Two parts working together.

There’s no denying Orson’s got me twisted up and hardly able to recognize myself. I’ve always been an affectionate guy, open to dating but never getting that pull to anyone, and now Orson’s in my life, I never want him to leave it.

He’s like a new plaything I’m suddenly obsessed with, and I’m worried by how quickly that feeling has snuck up on me. The last thing I’d ever want to do is get bored and hurt him, but surely this kind of deep attachment isn’t normal. I wanted him to stay at my place all week; I wanted to cook him dinner and watch him wash up, have some more orgasms, but mostly just spoon on the couch, watching reality TV.

Now I’ve got that small taste of domesticity, I don’t want to give it up. When we talked about hooking up last week, Orson said he didn’t do casual, but we never went into details about what that meant. Are we friends who hook up exclusively? Are we dating? More? My thoughts won’t stop cycling through all the possibilities—including the bullshit ones that make no sense but late at night I’m convinced are real. That Orson is only using me. Experimenting. That it all means nothing and he’ll walk away happy and sated, leaving me to doubt every move I’ve made with him.

That’s not Orson, but my insecurities don’t like to play fair.

“He your boyfriend?” Daryl asks.

I turn my attention back to the soapbox car I’m working on. I’m supposed to be checking the steering has been put together properly and won’t malfunction midrace, so being distracted right now isn’t great timing.

“Ignoring the question,” Erin pipes in. “So that’s either an ‘I want him to be, and he’s not’ or an ‘I’m not talking about my sex life with kids,’ but we’re sixteen, so I don’t think that counts.”

“Yeah, it’s not like we’re virgins,” Crispin says.

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