Page 77 of Maybe You

The nerves start to ease again.

Because it’s hard not to feel wanted when somebody looks at you the way Sutton looks at me. Heat dances in the depths of his amber eyes as he takes me in. He slides his palm up my side and chest and doesn’t look at all bothered by the strange texture of my skin.

“We’ll do something fun today,” he says, then casually flicks my nipple before he starts rolling it between his fingers and thumb.

My stomach clenches at the feeling.

I don’t know what he means by fun. As far as I’m concerned, it’s all been fun. But whatever it is, I’m willing to go along with anything he has to offer.

This is how people get in trouble.

And I don’t give a fuck.

“Yeah?” I ask breathlessly.

He simply waggles his brows at me and toys with my nipple some more until my breathing has been reduced to harsh pants again. My cock strains against my stomach, but my hips are trapped underneath Sutton’s weight, so I can’t move.

He lowers himself so that his lips brush over my lips, and his cock slides against mine. It’s all very brief, and the lack of any kind of real pressure is pure torture.

He sits up again. His dick juts up from the neatly trimmed patch of dark blond hair. My mouth goes dry and my chest jolts as I watch him lazily stroke his long, hard cock. All the while, his gaze stays on me, intense and heated, until it starts to feel like he’s jerking off at the sight of me. My own cock jumps at the thought.

Sutton quirks his brow at me.

“What were you thinking about just now?” he asks, eyes going heavy-lidded with lust.

“You.”

He hums, satisfaction evident on every feature of his face, and he keeps stroking himself, teasing and slow. I try to take my own dick in my hand, but he bats my hand away.

“Mine.” He gives me a heated look.

“Didn’t anybody ever teach you to share?” I pant.

“It never stuck.”

With those words, he moves forward and rests all his weight on his left hand. His cock is against mine, bare, silky, and hot. I suck in a breath and try not to come on the spot. A two-year dry spell does absolutely nothing for stamina. That’s conclusively proven now.

Sutton sends me a wolfish grin, spits into his palm, and takes both our cocks in his hand.

I gasp and scramble up on my elbows again, no embarrassment, just a fervent need to watch.

Our cocks are pushed together in his fist, intimately fitting against each other, tight and warm.

He starts to stroke us both.

“Oh, shit,” I say emphatically. The sensation is intense and new, and he has long fingers and a strong grip. His hand moves up and down in a steady rhythm, and everything is overly sensitive by this point.

Sutton leans down on his elbow. He nips at my neck before his teeth scrape over the skin. He sucks, and I turn my head to the side to give him better access.

All the while, he keeps jacking us off, his hand sliding up and down my cock. He starts moving his hips, thrusting his dick into his fist, and the feeling changes. The pressure changes.

My lips fall open on a moan. Sutton bites down on my earlobe.

Jesus Christ.

The moment I start to get used to whatever he’s doing to me is also the moment he changes things.

The urge to come ramps up.

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