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“I… uh… I woke up because you were making noises in your sleep. It’s dark. I didn’t see anything.” Does that sound convincing? I hope so.
“Hmpf,” he sighs out, then his muscles seem to relax as he pushes his bare knee forward, slowly, until it touches my fingers. My whole body shakes and lights up as the electric warm feeling of his skin lands against all my nerve endings. In a reflex, my fingertips twitch and I caress him.
His freaking knee!
With his tan, smooth skin and soft hairs… My lord, he is magnificent.
If he told me to gobble him down right now, I would.
My gaze is flicking between his intense stare and my fingers, constantly gauging his reaction, soaking in the touch to be sure it is real, and calculating why on earth he is over here.
Have knees always been so erotic? I am a goner. Forever doomed to have a deep-seated knee kink as long as I shall live.
Still drinking him in through my skin, I debate how long this is going to all last, if he is going to pull away any second. If I should pull away, rather than caress his freaking kneecap. But he doesn’t pull away.
Instead, he pushes his knee up higher until he’s kneeling with one leg on my mattress and my hand is consequently forced up his thigh. The very tips of my fingers press just under the hem of his boxer shorts and I freaking gasp out loud.
He chuckles in reply. “You like touching me?”
I swallow so fucking hard it echoes through the silent room, like a comical cartoon gulp sound that is genuinely audible. That earns me another low laugh from the back of his throat. Oh god, to lick that throat… that is the stuff dreams are made of.
I manage to nod at some point to his question, and he leans into me a little bit more, until my hand is up near the crease where his thigh meets his torso, and dammit, if I had any guts at all, I would crawl my hand over and grab his cock.
Speaking of which, when he walked over here, his raging sleep boner had died back, but it is starting to rally now, and I can see the shape of it under his boxers, filling with periodic twitches. It is the stuff ballads are written about… that glorious moment on the precipice of greatness. A moment so palpable, I could sink my teeth into it.
Do it. Just grab him. This is the move, dude. This is your signal. Grab his cock!
My wrist is bending toward him, but at that very same moment, he takes his thigh away, his foot planting firmly back on the ground. He makes a littletsk tsksound that drives me wild.
Then he’s back in his bed, like nothing happened. Like my adrenaline isn’t pumping wildly through my veins. Like I’ll be able to roll over and forget about his knee, about his thigh… yeah, fucking right.
Xander
What. The. Fuck. Something is definitely wrong with me. But I knew that already, didn’t I?
I think I just broke my sobriety. Did I not? Was this not one of the things I wasn’t supposed to do while I was recovering? Toy with people. Play with someone who is helpless. Control a situation and get off on the control. Yup, checked all those boxes.Fuck.
Having a wet dream, that part wasn’t my fault. I couldn’t control that shit. The internet said it was a possible side effect, of not cranking it on the regular. I checked. Surprised it took me over three weeks to have it happen, honestly.
And wow, that dream… total left field. No idea what to make of it. I swear, I’m a twisted fuck who loves all sorts of new shit, but guys? Yup. Guys have never entered my mind.
Enter, Cameron.
I’ve been noticing things about him since we moved in together, but I’ve managed to not think about him in too sexual a light.
Can’t say that anymore.
That dream! My god… if real Cameron was anything like dream Cameron, I’d be done for.
Probably would have to move out.
Wouldn’t be able to have that kind of temptation around.
The way he rides me in that dream… so demanding, so pushy… so noisy, and not because he is putting on a show for me, but because I am really making him feelthatgood.
And my lord, he is sosotight. And warm. He is spread out over me, his legs over my legs as we sit on the edge of the bed. I can see him in the mirror, we don’t even have a mirror in here, but in my dream we do. I watch his small muscular chest as he tenses up, his cock bouncing wildly, spraying like a faucet as I pound into him.
Should have just left it at that. But my sleepy brain is sick. It knew he was right across the room. Saw his eyes on me too. He wants me. I can tell.
