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“He’d either lay down or just sit on the bed, facing me.”
“Naked?”
“No. Usually he’d pull his boxers down just enough to, you know, hold it.”
“So, you didn’t really see much?”
“I mean, I saw enough. And remember, my teammates are like my brothers, so the whole thing was more about him reacting to another body in the room than either of us reacting to the other.”
“Hmm, okay. Sounds like maybe things are different with me since I’m not a brother but that doesn’t tell us whether you like cock or not. You need to see one to be sure.” He stands up and whisks his shirt over his head, flashing those tight abs as he hooks his thumbs in the waistband of his shorts and guides them below his hips. When they’re low enough, his cock springs free, slapping against his stomach and bobbing in midair as it comes to a rest, pointing directly at me.
Oh. That’s… I’ve never seen that before.
Even after all the hints that he’d do it, I never actually expected Tripp to whip it out, and the quiver between my legs suggests I don’t hate it. Still, my eyes ping pong between Tripp and the coffee table, unsure of where they’re supposed to be focused in this scenario.
“Don’t be afraid to look. Hell, you can touch if you want.”
He steps out of his shorts and comes closer, placing his cock directly in my line of sight, no more than two feet away. And while my brain hasn’t consciously decided to look, my eyes seem to have a mind of their own. Slowly, tentatively, I let myself take in the man before me.
He’s got a great body, lean and lithe yet still cut, sinewy limbs sporting a soft golden hue from his time in the sun. And the part of his body he likes to tell me is spectacular… It’s long and thick, with skin fair enough that I can see the blue vein pressing against the otherwise smooth surface. Smooth.
Smooth?
“You don’t have any pubes.”
“Nope.” He pops the ‘P’ and grins mischievously. “Things are so much more sensitive without hair. Want to feel?”
I blink up at him, trying to get my bearings as the pressure between my legs seems to increase. “No. Uh, no.” I shake my head and avert my eyes.
“That’s not how this is gonna go.” Leaning down, he hooks a finger under my chin, forcing me to look at him. “You’re supposed to watch. Actually, scratch that. You’re going to direct.”
“I … What?” I swallow thickly. “I said I didn’t want to touch.”
“You don’t have to. But you do have to tell me what to do.” He backs up a few paces and clasps his hands behind him.
“I’m not… I don’t…”
“See this?” He swipes a finger over the tip and holds it up for my inspection. “I need to come. I’m desperate for it. But until you give me some direction, I’m just going to stand here. Waiting. Hoping.” He tucks his hands behind his back again, rocking his hips forward like he’d fuck the air if he could. “Take pity on my poor swollen cock, Noah. Tell me what to do.”
Despite the playful pout, Tripp has a daring look about him, as though he enjoys being on display. Thrives on issuing a challenge. Whether it’s my competitive nature that refuses to back down, or my desire to understand what’s happening, I can’t stop myself from taking the bait.
“Fine.” I exhale heavily. “Stroke yourself.”
“How?” He sways his hips, showing off his length. “Fast, slow, gentle, hard?”
“Whatever you want.”
“No, it’s whatever you want.” His hazel eyes meet mine, gleaming with challenge.
A memory of Luca jerking himself furiously comes to mind, and for reasons I can’t explain, that dictates what comes out of my mouth.
“Hold it gently. Go slow, root to tip.”
I see the shiver travel up Tripp’s body as my words sink in, and a similar one washes over me as I watch his eyes flutter closed when he takes himself in a loose fist. With a relieved moan he moves his hand along his length, back and forth, skin stretching taut as his fist hits his pelvis, and bunching up as he moves to the crown.
The motion is fluid. Languid. Yet his muscles strain beneath the surface as if it takes tremendous restraint to handle himself with such care.
His chest rises and falls with long, deep breaths, a tempo you could set a watch to, though when he abruptly rocks to the balls of his feet, chasing his fist, the rhythm falters, and he seems to gasp. Then moan, trapping a plump lip between his teeth in an effort to contain it. That’s… God, he’s beautiful like this. Coiled. Primed. Aroused.
