His kiss was fire, and I was addicted to the burn. He pulled me on top of him, crushing us together, and slipped his tongue into my mouth oh-so-slowly.
I groaned, at war with myself. I still couldn’t handle the thought of him fucking me, but as he deepened the kiss, my resolve cracked. I slid my hands under his T-shirt. My palms met warm, electrifying skin, and I needed more. So much more.
The T-shirt had to go. I grappled with it, and eased it over his head, and his torso was as fucking glorious as I’d imagined it, broad and ripped, not lanky and scarred like mine.
Gus toyed with the hem of my T-shirt. He wanted it gone, I could tell, but he was too polite to be as presumptuous as me, and I was glad of it. I needed this moment to drool over him, not drown in a pity party of low self-esteem.
I kissed him again and laid my hands on his strong chest. His low moan and the heat of his skin made my head spin, and I could almost ignore the wobble in my shoulder as it protested at bearing my weight.
Almost, but Gus saw it, and I found myself on my back before I could blink. Gus nudged my legs apart and lay between them. The new angle gifted me the mind-bending friction of his dick pressing against mine. I sucked in a shaky breath. He smiled and tucked a wild strand of my hair behind my ear. “Feel good?”
I nodded and closed my eyes. “So fucking good.”
Gus chuckled, low and sweet. He brushed his lips along my jaw, and down my neck, and finally let his hand slip under my T-shirt. His palm ghosted over my abdomen and up to my chest. I shuddered and dragged him down into a kiss that was messier than any we’d shared so far, in this lifetime, at least.
My dick was so hard it hurt. I wrapped my legs around Gus’s waist, trapping him closer, and arched my back. God, I wanted him. I wanted him to ignore everything I’d said and tear my clothes off. To lie over me, kiss me, and fuck my fears away on the living room floor.
But at the same time, I didn’t want that at all. I wanted to kiss him like this forever and forget anything else existed, as if there were no consequence to how he made me feel.
Most of all, I wanted him to fly like I was.
He was still wearing too many clothes, but instinct told me he wouldn’t lose any more unless I did.
I stopped kissing him only long enough to yank my T-shirt off and lob it somewhere over his shoulder. I lay back and let him look at me, focussing on the rapid rise and fall of his chest, and his reddened lips. Next to him, I was a weed, but the way he gazed at me made me feel like a fucking king.
Gus returned his hands to my torso and swept over my skin with a featherlight touch. “In case we never do this again, you should know you’re beautiful.”
“Go home, dude. You’re drunk.”
I expected him to laugh.
He didn’t. His dark eyes narrowed. He gripped my chin. “Don’t do that.”
“Do what?”
“Let the truth bounce off you like you don’t deserve it.”
“You have no idea what I deserve.”
“No?”
“No.”
“Then let me show you how I see you.”
I had zero clue what he meant, but with his gaze piercing holes in my soul, I could only nod.
Gus undressed me, stealing my clothes piece by piece, and folding them into a neat pile by the couch. It was so civilised, the way my cock jutted out from my body seemed vulgar, but I had nowhere to hide. My only sanctuary was hiding in his jeans. “Take them off. It’s only fair.”
He shrugged and unbuttoned his fly, revealing that he wore no underwear.
I scrambled to help him, rising up on my knees so fast I almost gave myself whiplash. I knocked his hands away and pushed his jeans down his hips. Gus wriggled out of them, and suddenly, or so it seemed to my Gus-addled brain, he was as naked as I was.
There was nothing but skin between us, and I didn’t know what to do with that. My body thrummed with desire. I wanted to touch him everywhere. But I didn’t know how. I mean, I knew how, but Gus was so ridiculously gorgeous, I didn’t know where to start. And I was scared too. I hadn’t been sober and naked with someone in so long, I couldn’t remember it. Gus hooked up all the time, with dudes who had more going for them than chronic pain and a grumpy cat. Scratch that, an awesome cat, but still, that didn’t make me a sex god like Gus.
I stared at his dick. He sat back, leaning against the couch, and let me. Relaxed. Casual. All the while my blood roared in my ears.
“Billy.”
I blinked. “Yeah?”
Gus beckoned me closer and reached for my hand. He tugged me onto his lap, so I was straddling him in real life and not just in my skittish dirty mind. “Stop worrying,” he said. “I heard you when you said you weren’t ready to fuck. We don’t have to do anything, and we can stop whenever you say the word.”
“I don’t want to stop.”
“That’s fine too. More than fine. Just relax, okay? Stop thinking. It’ll only get us in trouble.”
I wondered if he was talking about himself too. If he meant he’d stopped thinking so he couldn’t contemplate what on earth we were doing crawling around his living room floor with no clothes on. But as I settled on top of him, and his dick dug into my back, his advice was abruptly easier to follow. I kissed him. And he kissed me. My hips began a slow grind back and forth, rubbing my cock along the ridges and bumps
