Page 61 of Tell Me Again

“Slowly, what?” he asks, his eyes half opening as he straightens up.

“Fuck, I said that out loud?”

He laughs. “You said...” He leans in closer to me again, his lips grazing along my jawline until his breath is hot against my ear. Then he whispers in the sexiest voice I think I’ve ever heard, “Ahh, yeah, slowly, though.”

I screw my eyes shut and groan as both of his hands slide downward to my hips.

Slowly.

His chest is rising and falling, and he’s still close. And I can still feel his hard shaft against my thigh. And I can think of exactly how slowly I want to stroke up his length. And exactly how slowly I want him to—ah, god, I want him inside me. Nice and slow. Shit, that’s too much.

“Uh, I was thinking that . . . c-coffee . . . coffee brews slowly?”

He reaches down between us again. “I don’t think that’s what you meant,” he murmurs as he presses his hand firmly against me. When my dick throbs into his touch, he makes some indistinct sound and rubs up and down along my length.

“It’s not. It’s—fuck, Josh, I-I—”

How the fuck did we both get so bold? And how the fuck do we stop for a minute so we can talk?

“I’ve never felt like this before, Coop,” he says, and there’s something a little deeper and more serious to his voice now, even though he’s still stroking me.

But, yeah, it’s that. “Me—me neither, and I—fuck, that feels so fucking good, and I just want...”

I can’t think anymore, because he starts kissing my neck again. But this time, he’s slower, and it’s less urgent and more sensual. Hot, wet, slow kisses.

Both of his hands slip under my shirt and caress upward. “I’ll be slow, if you’ll let me,” he whispers as his fingers brush over my nipples.

Fire shoots through me. I’m fucking on fire, and it’s bright and so warm and so good.

“Ahh, god, that’s—that’s . . .”

He flattens his palms against me, and his hands slip back down to the waistband of my pants. His fingers run along the edge, under the top. They’re asking a question. He’s asking a question.

Do I want him now? God, yes. Yes, I do.

But what does that mean, exactly? And what does he want? Ah, fuck if I know.

He’s stopped and straightened up a bit, and he’s watching me with some sort of eager expression, I think. I’m not really sure. Maybe I’m too distracted still, and my body is all thrumming and shit. And it feels so fucking good.

But I’m supposed to be doing something. I’m supposed to be answering his question.

Fuck.

“I-I’m not—I’m not ready,” I choke out. “I-I mean, maybe I am. I’m just not really sure. And I... I wasn’t thinking about coffee.”

Yeah, duh, dumbass, he knows that already.

His hands pause, still at my waistband, and he purses his lips. God, his lips—they’re swollen and red from kissing me. And his eyes are dark with what can only be desire. And his neck is so fucking inviting—this expanse of skin that’s just waiting for me to taste it again.

Yeah, I’m still a dumbass. So easily distracted.

“What were you thinking about?” he rasps, and I tear my eyes away from where I’d been staring at his neck.

“I was thinking about...” I push away from the counter, and I reach out to set one hand on his hip. I can feel him shiver. “I was thinking about how slowly I’d...”

My hand moves lower until I find him, and he groans and drops his head to my shoulder. Fuck, I can feel how hot he is, even through his jeans, and I can feel his dick throb as I stroke him. Slowly.

“Godddddd, Coop.” He’s trembling now, clinging to me.

---