Page 39 of Since Day One

“I get that. Though there’s no guarantee my dick won’t think something different. But don’t worry, that doesn’t change the agreement. Men just don’t have control over it like women like to think we do,” he answered lightheartedly, closing his book.

“So what, I just ask and you let me put my hand in your pants and…touch you?”

He shrugged. “If that’s what you want.”

“What if I like how it feels?” I continued, and he slid his legs down from the couch, placing the book back on the coffee table.

“Then you like it?” He furrowed his brows, studying me as my mind swam with so many questions.

“Would you let me do it again?”

He chuckled and leaned back, spreading his arms across the back of the couch. “Why not.”

“Would you think I’m a slut if I wanted to do it again, is what I’m asking?” I bit my lip, feeling my cheeks rush pink and quickly hid them behind my palms.

“Absolutely not,” he firmly stated.

I shifted nervously on my feet. All I needed to do was ask, but there was still this small fear that I would be expected to do more. Or what if I didn’t like it? Then again, this was meant to satisfy curiosity, and that was it. It didn’t matter what my opinion was, just that I would then know.

He’d given explicit consent to me doing this; all I had to do was ask. Closing my eyes, I took a deep breath and attempted to ignore my racing heart.

“Can I please put my hand in your pants….and…touch your cock?” I squeaked out, in disbelief that I managed to voice the question. I couldn’t bear to look him in the eyes, and they remained shut as I was met with silence.

A silence that had me feeling more and more embarrassed as the seconds inched by. Finally, I cracked an eyelid open to find him watching me with an eyebrow raised and a crooked grin on his face.

Once he saw that I was looking, he spread his legs apart and nodded.

Permission. Granted.

I stared at the invitation that was waiting for me but stayed fixed in place, unable to move toward him. Gunnar simply sat still as I fought a war with myself about actually going over to him and doing it. Touching him. Touching him there.

It also felt strange that he wasn’t weirded out by this, that it had even been his idea to offer. So, the only thing holding me back from this was myself and my inability to just relax and go for it.

“Okay,” I muttered to myself and managed to rock forward on my feet. The steps seemed shorter, more of a struggle as I walked toward the couch with my heart racing and sat down. He still had not moved, and I felt my chest rise and fall faster and faster. Adrenaline pumped through my veins, prickling like a thousand tiny needles on the inside of my skin, making me light-headed with nervous anticipation.

“It’s not going to bite,” he teased from beside me, and I rolled my eyes.

“Hush,” I commanded him. My eyes drifted to his crotch. I was sort of aware of what was there, but actually touching it with my hand was an entirely different thing.

And something I had to admit that I’d wanted to do for a while.

Mustering up the small amount of courage I could find, I reached a trembling hand over and slipped under the waistband of his sweatpants. His belly raised and fell rhythmically against my palm, warmth engulfing my trembling fingers that brushed over the top of his boxers.

He raised an eyebrow as I gripped the lip of the underwear and paused. Holding onto the edge.

So close. I was so close.

“Do this for you, Princess. Don’t worry about what I’m thinking, because, trust me, it’s all good things,” he said, patiently waiting like nothing crazy was happening.

I glanced at his soft, kind eyes. “Are you going to tell anyone about this?”

“No. It’s not my place,” he answered.

Taking one final breath of encouragement, I pushed my hand inside his boxers.

And wondered why I had made such a big deal out of it. Warm. Like any other body part. What’s more, I totally liked it. It was almost comforting to sit and just kind of play with it. I purposefully ignored the fact that he was hard to begin with, and that my touch was only making it worse for him. He had explicitly told me to not worry about it, so I shoved that thought aside and let myself explore.

“If I had balls, my hands would be in my pants all the time,” I said, leaving it there as his chuckle rumbled against my arm.

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