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Atlas Huxley is in my bed.
He’s still asleep, arms wrapped around a pillow and his hair sticking up in all directions. There’s a line of drool dripping from the corner of his mouth, and without thinking I lift my hand and wipe it away with my thumb.
He stirs slightly, and I yank my hand away, not proud of the fact that I shove it down my pants and grip my shaft with slick fingers.
I can feel the memory of every touch, of Atlas’ hands on my body, his lips on my neck and covering my mouth. He tasted like candy, and what I wouldn’t have given to devour him.
But Atlas kept his word, and other than getting in bed and kissing my mouth raw, he didn’t lay another hand on me.
My dick aches for the friction as I pump it slowly, milking precum from the tip until I coat myself with it. My boxers are sticky with it, but it’ll be much less mortifying if Atlas wakes up and catches me jerking off but can’t actually see my dick.
It’s restricting, though, and I can’t get the momentum I need to push me over the edge. So, in a last ditch effort to get it over and done with, I shove my boxers under my balls and hammer my hips into my fist.
I’m not thinking of cocks or tits or asses. All I’ve got on my mind is the way Atlas kissed me. The gentleness with which he gave himself to me.
No one does that.
“Blair?” The groggy voice to my right has me stilling my hand and gripping the base of my cock to keep the impending orgasm at bay, but there’s no stopping the disappointed moan that escapes my throat in response.
The room is silent, but any hope that he doesn’t know what I was doing is shattered when I turn my head and see him watching me with wide eyes. His gaze is on my face, but for a second they flicker toward my waist. He gulps and forces his eyes back to mine.
I drop my hand from my throbbing cock and curse under my breath. I should have just gone to the damn bathroom instead of jerking it like a creeper beside my brother’s best friend.
“You don’t have to stop,” he whispers, and my heart kicks up like a jackrabbit in my chest. “I’ll turn away.”
He makes a move to roll to his other side—to give me his back and a smidge of privacy—but in a moment of pure insanity, I shake my head and call his name.
“Atlas, wait.”
He stops, flopping onto his back, and I have to lick my lips to ease the tingles as they crave contact with his mouth and flushed cheeks.
I swallow roughly, working my jaw to loosen the words begging for a way out.
“You’ve heard me come before,” I say, and he nods with a look in his eyes that coaxes me forward. “You could watch. If you wanted.”
It’s stupid, but I want to ask him to kiss me. That’s all. While I work my cock, I just want Atlas to kiss me like he did last night. But that’s not something you ask the guy you’re supposed to be denying your attraction to.
But asking him to watch you jerk off is perfectly acceptable?
I open my mouth to take it back, but then Atlas settles on his side, those big brown eyes watching me, and I don’t want to.
My movements are still hidden by the comforter, so I start up a slow rhythm. Atlas’ eyes widen, transfixed on the rise and fall of the blanket.
Last night, every touch was like a brand: hot and searing even through my clothes. Now it’s his gaze making my skin scorch and my composure unravel.
Yesterday, I came to the sound of his voice. Today, I’m going to come from the way his eyes follow every little movement.
Fuck.
It’s weird. And for as turned on as I am, the little bit of unease trapped in my shoulders is making my dick flag.
Atlas had a fucking panic attack when we crossed this line before. What if he doesn’t actually want this? What if I do something to set him off again?
I swallow hard and drop my hand, throwing an arm over my face.
There’s a pressure in my chest. One that’s full of trapped emotions and a frayed ball of desire that’s going to plague me all day, but I’d rather suffer through perpetual blue balls than risk hurting Atlas.
It’s the same logic that helped me bite my tongue when all I wanted last night was to have his hands all over my body.
