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While it’s a struggle to keep my heavy eyelids open, I register the fact his brow is furrowed with concern. “Mmph.” I lift my hand in a little wave that I’m pretty sure is the universal gesture for ‘all good.’ Maybe.
“Hang on.”
There’s a moment of silence before a chill crashes over me and my eyes snap open with a start to find Cruz hovering over me. “Are you washing my dick?”
“It’s pretty messy.” The cool rag makes a few passes over my spent cock before I feel the waistband of my joggers snap back into place. “Even though most of it hit the wall.” Cruz gives me a helpless little shrug that seems part embarrassed and part stunned, like he didn’t know such a thing was possible or that he could be responsible for it. It makes me want to laugh, but I’ve got just enough sense in my lust-addled brain to know that might make him self-conscious, so I hold it in.
“Are you, uh…better?” He asks when he climbs into his bed.
“Much.” I sink deeper into the mattress with a heavy sigh. “You?”
“What about me?”
It takes all my strength to turn my head to look at him. “You just jerked me off like it was no big deal, and that’s not usually something friends do for each other.”
“I told you, straight and ACE doesn’t mean prude.”
“You could be gay, and it’d still be something friends don’t usually do for each other.”
He dismisses me with a wave of his hand. “Extenuating circumstances.”
“Spoken like a true hero.”
“Wow, that orgasm really messed with your brain. Jerking you off doesn’t make me a hero.”
“Spoken like a guy with a massive hero complex.” I yawn, loudly. “Seriously, you good?”
It’s a few seconds before he speaks softly, “Yeah. I’m good.”
He sounds sincere, and even if he isn’t, I’m quickly losing the battle to stay awake, so I’d probably pass out mid-conversation, which I doubt he’d appreciate. Rolling on to my back, I let my eyes fall shut, wondering if the events of the evening mean I can fully trust Cruz, or whether they should make me even more wary. After all, hero complex or not, what he just did is not friendly behavior, no matter how much I enjoyed it.
I drift into a deep, sated sleep before I can answer that question. The best I’ve had all year.
Chapter nine
Cruz
The door flies open so fast it slams against the wall with a resounding crack, causing me to jump in my desk chair.
“Sorry,” Liam mumbles, dropping his bag on the floor and disappearing into the bathroom, causing me to wonder if the last six days have been an illusion.
Up to this point, I thought things were more or less normal between us after I offered him a hand in the literal sense. Neither of us is ignoring what happened. Although, I think it’s fair to say we might be going out of our way to acknowledge that it did, but it’s no big deal. Like, I’ll say how’s it hanging today, and he’ll say left of center.
It’s ridiculous, but it seems to break the ice or whatever. And once we get that little elephant out of the way we basically act like we did before I put my hands on him. Though I sort of hate that we have to go through that little routine, it was working. Or so I thought.
Given the scowl he was wearing when he barged into the room, a look that had become increasingly rare in recent weeks, maybe it isn’t.
I press my ear to the door, praying he doesn’t fling it open without warning, but it’s silent on the other side. No shower running. No toilet flushing. What is he doing?
I knew there was a risk of things getting weird when I gave him a hand, but in my defense, I really did think I could do it without changing our dynamic. Maybe that was naïve… I shouldn’t have assumed he’d be able to shrug it off the same way I can, although I’m not exactly shrugging it off, either.
Not completely.
I still think about it—a lot—and not because it was the first time I’d ever touched a man, but because it was the first time I wasn’t trying to force myself to stay in the moment. For some reason, it wasn’t an issue with Liam, and I'm not sure how to process that.
Truth be told, I kind of got wrapped up in the noises he made, which were just like the ones I’d heard coming from the shower when he touched himself. And the way he moved his body… Touching him didn’t feel like a chore the way I expected it to. The way it did all the other times I’d been with someone.
Tiptoeing back to my chair, so he doesn’t know I was trying to spy on him, I let my mind drift back to that day. Again.
