Page 85 of Man On

His eyes very blatantly run up and down my body before he settles back on my face. "Grey sweatpants, no underwear, and that t-shirt is tighter than Danny’s. Who the fuck do you think you're kidding?"

I look down at myself. How can he tell I’m not?—

"I can see the outline of your cock down your thigh, Lane. If you were a girl, those pants would be a miniskirt so short I could see cheek."

"I'm not a girl. And I'm not trying to impress you. I'm getting dressed for bed, idiot."

"Since when do you not wear underwear to bed?"

Since there's not room in them for the hard-on I get thinking about your mouth on me every night.

"Since when do you pay attention to what I wear to bed?" I snap.

"Since you started getting a big, hard boner for your big brother, that's when."

He's leaning forward, all but physically holding himself back from entering my room. He hasn't come in since I yelled at him and kicked him out for snooping. I didn't really care, I don't have much and there's nothing to hide in there. I was feeling vulnerable and exposed. The last straw was seeing him with his hand on one of my Beatles albums, specifically the one with the yellow border. It was the first one I bought, with Mom’s help. I got it off eBay for twenty bucks. A double-sided record, Strawberry Fields Forever and Penny Lane. My only prized possession, more sentimental than my grandfather’s Bible.

"Awfully conceited to think this is for you," I say, trying to borrow some of his aloof attitude. My erection is obvious, and it's too late to hide it. My hand rests over it, not stroking or doing anything, just pressing it down so it's slightly less distracting.

"I think it is for me," he says, relaxing against the doorframe. He unbuttons his jeans and slowly drags the zipper down. "I've got one for you, too," he says, pulling it from his boxer briefs. Unlike me, he doesn't try to hide it. He flaunts it, stroking the wide shaft, closing his fist over the tip and circling before going back down. Slow and steady, watching me the entire time. "Take it out, Lane. Let me see how hard you are for me."

My body moves on autopilot, like it always does whenever he commands me to do something in that husky tone. My sweatpants fall around my ankles, and my dick is in my hands.

"I can't decide if I want to suck you or fuck your face again first," he rasps as he pumps his fist up and down, circling over the head.

"I can't decide if I want to let you do either of those things at all," I reply. I shouldn’t let him. I shouldn’t want to let him.

A slow grin spreads across his face. "You know you want it, little brother."

"Not if you're going to go spouting off to all your friends," I tell him sharply.

"Ahh, there it is. I knew you were mad about that. Don't worry, it threw them off our tracks enough.”

“Danny definitely was giving me a look like he might know something.”

“That’s just because he wants your dick,” he scoffs. “Don’t worry, baby. It's how I talk to everyone. You’re the only one that knows I actually pinned you and sucked the cum out of you."

Jesus, help me.

"Goddamn I love it when you look at me like that," Noah groans, reaching with his free hand to cup his balls. He tugs and rolls them gently while his other hand continues stroking, and I make a mental note that he likes that, before shaking the thought out of my head and meeting his eyes again.

"Like what?"

"Like you hate me. Your nostrils flare and your pupils get so big they make you look mindless, like a shark who smells blood," he says, eyes boring into mine.

I suck in a breath. "I do hate you." Liar.

"I fucking love that," Noah groans, tilting his head back.

"You have issues."

"Clearly. Right now, my biggest issue is that I'm not fucking your throat right now. I'm curious how hard and deep you can take me."

Saliva pools in my mouth, and I swallow. I liked sucking him, liked his flavor on my tongue and the feel of him battering my throat and the way he babbled when I was doing something he liked. I felt powerful. Impressing him with how much I can take is more appealing than it should be.

"My other issue is that I'm not currently swallowing your cum. It's become my favorite snack, and I'm famished." The word rolls off his tongue salaciously.

"That, uh—seems like a problem," I say, forcing my words to be clear and slow. No more stuttering if I can help it. Though I miss the mark at sounding disinterested. Then again, I'm standing in the middle of my room with my dick in my hand, drooling while my stepbrother jerks himself. Which should be my job.

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