Page 68 of Maybe You

“Sit up,” he says.

I’m not sure what he’s doing, but I follow the order. I lean my back against the headboard of his massive bed and settle in.

And then he’s straddling me again.

He cups my cheeks and kisses me, slowly and thoroughly, so by the time he pulls his mouth away from mine, I feel just the right amount of dazed.

“I think we need to take the pressure off you,” he says.

“How?” I frown.

“Jerk me off.”

My heart goes on some kind of runaway gallop inside my chest.

“What?” I ask, like an idiot.

He sends me a shit-eating grin. “Oh. Where the fuck are my manners? My bad. Jerk me off. Please.”

“Um, okay?” I say. Not that I have anything against the offer. I can do that. I absolutely can. Even more importantly, I want to. Really want to. I’m just trying to see how we got here.

“It’ll take the pressure off. And then you won’t be in the midst of one of those decent-people ethical crises you seem to have every few hours where you’re so worried about doing the right thing and reciprocating and whatever else is going through that head of yours.”

And now my brain is finally catching up to what he’s thinking. I’ll make him come first, and then maybe my brain will leave me alone about the whole thing being a giant disappointment for him because… well because then he will have gotten something out of it, no matter what ends up happening.

“Okay.” I straighten my back because this sounds like an actual good plan, and I get to touch him, and nothing about this is about me. I look down at his cock in all its perfect, long, hard glory and lick my lips.

He grins and wraps his hand around himself, and I let out a loud breath. He starts to jerk himself slowly, and my eyes get stuck on the way his cock moves in his fist, the tip appearing and disappearing from view.

My own dick is resting against my abdomen, but neither of us pays any attention to it.

I place my hand on his chest and feel his heartbeat beneath my fingertips for a moment before I move my palm lower. Down his pecs. Past the flat disks of his reddish-brown nipples. Lower still until I pass his solar plexus.

I spend some extra time discovering his abs, my fingers moving over the ridges of his muscles. He’s hard and defined in all the right places. Almost like a sculpture where the artist decided his goal was to create an example of the perfect male specimen.

My fingers move lower, and then I bat away his hand and wrap mine around his cock.

There’s a small part of my brain that still insists on telling me I might not be good at this either, but it’s not overpowering like before, so it’s easier to dismiss. Especially with Sutton’s cock all silky, hard, and throbbing against my palm.

My left hand is on Sutton’s thigh. The hairs tickle my skin. I brush my thumb over the plump head of his dick, and he lets out a long groan. I feel hot, like I’m standing in the midday sun on a hot July day.

Sutton looks down at where my thumb is playing with the slit of his dick, spreading around the drop of precum, and a string of spit lands on the head of his cock.

My heartbeat picks up speed.

I start to move my hand up and down, my palm slippery from a mix of saliva and precum now.

My own dick tingles like somebody’s sent electricity through my skin.

I ignore it. I have way more interesting priorities right now. Like the way Sutton moans when I rub the spot just underneath the head of his cock with the tip of my thumb. Or the way the muscles of his thighs tense when I lick my palm to get it wetter.

I keep my strokes steady and use the sounds he makes as the guidelines. His lips are slightly parted, and he moves his hips in slow, lazy thrusts.

“Fuck, yes,” he groans when I play with the sweet spot underneath the tip of his cock. “More,” he gasps, so I give him more, a kind of warm elation dancing in my chest.

He’s breathing harshly, his eyes hooded when he looks at me, and I’m doing that to him. I move my other hand up his side and over to his nipple. I experimentally roll the small bud between my fingertips, and he thrusts his hips forward with a strangled gasp.

I stroke him faster.

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