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"Yeah." He lets out a laugh, nodding. "Can't believe we're actually doing this."
I smile. That makes two of us.
* * *
"So, what would you like to do?" Locky asks, closing the door to my bedroom behind him.
We'd talked on the way back to the house whose room we should do the deed in. Then Locky made me swear never to use the termdo the deedever again.
I've only ever snuck a few passing glances into his bedroom whenever he's left the door open, but it was enough to let me know that if we wanted to have sex on a clean surface, it'd have to be in my room. Because even Locky's bed is messy and full of whatever he tips out of his messenger bag when he gets home from the clinic. Plus clothes. Towels. Even a cereal bowl one time. I'mnotjoking.
"What do you mean?" I ask as his gaze flits around my room.
It's not much. A bed. A dresser. A wardrobe. But at least it's neat and tidy.
"What are you into? Top or bottom?"
I glance over at my bed. It's a queen, not a bunk. Only has one level. What the hell is he asking me?
He sees my blank face and asks, "Do you know what those words mean?"
I shake my head, my cheeks flushed. "I just want to fuck you. Not up with all the latest lingo."
"Lingo. Right." Locky licks his lips, walks right up to me, and plants a kiss on the tip of my nose. "You're cute when you're clueless. Top is the insertive partner, bottom is the receptive partner," he explains.
"I knew that," I lie. "Which one are you?"
"Bottom all the way."
Right. The fucking himself with the dildo. Makes sense. I have absolutely zero inclination to ever do that.
So there are dudes who are tops and dudes who are bottoms. Will you look at that, you really do learn something new every day.
"I'm a top," I tell him.
"Great."
He nods. "Okay." Then looks at me.
"Okay." I chuckle. "This just got weird."
"It did, didn't it? How do we make it not weird?"
Think I know a way. Acting on instinct alone, I pull Locky in close and press my lips to his. It still surprises me how soft they feel, and for a moment, I wonder how sex with a man will be different from sex with a woman.
That thought—all thoughts—dissipate when Locky pulls back slightly, locks his eyes on mine, and says with a grin, "That'll do it."
He crashes his lips into mine and this time, it's game on. The kiss grows, becomes this frenzied, desperate thing. My hands find his hair, his shoulders, his ass. Mouths fused, we start tearing clothes off each other.
One early observation? This early part of proceedings is so much easier without having to deal with bras. Those clasps are finicky as fuck for a guy with big hands.
I get Locky shirtless, pantless, and breathing heavily in no time. I drag my hand down his neck, cupping his meaty pec, kneading the flesh like dough. His eyelids flutter, and he makes an approving moan.
He latches onto my hands and walks me back until my calves hit the side of my bed. Sliding his hands down my pecs, he traces the circular tattoo on my chest before tugging at the waistband of my briefs. "May I have the honor?" he asks, smiling.
"You may."
I'm smiling, too, as he slides my underwear down my legs, and I step out of them. Locky sinks to his knees as I perch myself on the edge of the bed. His face is inches away from my erection. He looks up, and there's hunger in his eyes, but there's also something else.
