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Donovan props himself up on an elbow, half sitting up in bed, and squints at me. “What?”
I shake my head. “Mom went. My brother went. Dad sent a card. ‘Congratulations on your big day.’ With a new credit card enclosed.”
Donovan examines me. “You’ll never be your own man if you spend your time trying to please your parents.”
“Easy for you to say. Both of your parents loved you unconditionally. I’ve never known what love looks like without hoops you have to jump through to attain it.”
“You sound like a circus animal.”
“I feel like one.”
“So what do you want?” His eyes are on mine. So dark. So penetrating. They cut right through. “Not you—Leonard King’s son. You. Jason. What the hell do you want?”
I swallow hard. My throat is dry. “I don’t know.”
“Yes. You do. You’re just too afraid to take it.”
I reach out and grab him. His surprised mmf! gets muffled against my lips.
But he doesn’t pull away. He doesn’t push me off. After a moment, his tongue finds my teeth, and he invites himself into my mouth.
The way his tongue curls against mine sends a jolt down my spine and straight to my cock. I hear myself groan as we sway together. Our bodies find each other as I dig my tongue into his mouth, drinking him in deeply.
“I’m too high to bottom,” Donovan pants when we break for air, “just grind against me.”
“Okay…”
Donovan rolls himself over, ungracefully, like a flopping fish. I press my body against his, sealing myself to him. His back, my chest. His ass, my hips. I push his hair back, and it’s so straight, so stubborn, it sticks up like porcupine quills when I rub it the wrong way. I nuzzle against the back of his neck, inhale him, and nibble his shoulder, the bit his shirt leaves bare.
I roll my body against his, slowly, with purpose. I move the way I would if I was inside of him, and the notion makes me swollen with need. When Donovan pushes back against me, adding friction, it’s not in tandem. I have a rhythm, but he has a purpose—to bring us both to sloppy climaxes, and fast. He slots his rear against me and wiggles, grinding on my cock in a way that takes the breath from me.
I regain control and press him tightly into the mattress. I grind on him, and he grinds against my bed.
The noises he makes are animal—throaty grunts and shaky uhs into the mattress. I don’t even know if he’s aware he’s making them. His face is to the side, and his eyes are tightly closed, concentrated, mouth open in pleasure. He grips the bedspread under him, balling it. A sound escapes him, loud, and it sends a bolt of panic through me.
I try to remind him, “My parents are downstairs…”
“I don’t care,” Donovan growls, and the noise sends shivers down my spine. “Don’t fucking stop.”
He reaches up and grabs the back of my neck, holding me tightly, pinning me there. I want him. Badly. I want to feel our naked bodies together. But somehow this—even though we’re both fully clothed—feels just as good. Seeing him unravel underneath me is almost more than I can take, and I don’t want this to stop.
“Flip,” Donovan says suddenly. He yanks my shirt, and I follow his lead, rolling onto my back on the bed.
Now, Donovan climbs on top of me. He drapes his body over mine, molding us together like wet clay. I can feel him now—his erection bulges, radiates heat. He ruts unevenly, and I feel his cock hunt on my pelvis before it nuzzles against my cock, and his jerky thrusts send such a hot friction through me it makes my throat dry.
I don’t know where to put my body. I’m suddenly six feet of awkward. Where should I put my arms? My hands? They’re stuck to my sides, useless. Yet Donovan gyrates over me as if it’s the most natural thing in the world for him.
“Do you want me to fuck you?” he asks suddenly.
My brain freezes. I know the answer, but my tongue won’t let me say it. So I sputter out a “Huh?”
“I said…” He twists his hips in a way that sends sparks from my groin to my toes. “Do you want me inside of you? Have you?”
“Have I…uh…?”
“Have you ever had someone inside of you?”
Somewhere on my shelf of trophies beside my bed sits a first-place award for debate team. But all my oratory skills go out the window at his question. I’m fumbling over my words. “I don’t…uh…no…”
