Page 46 of Inevitable

The air shifted around us, growing more charged by the second. We were both still smiling and catching our breaths, neither of us breaking the contact. I became intensely aware of Bash straddling my hips, his hands on either side of my shoulders as he held himself over me.

Slowly, the smile slipped from Bash's face as his breaths became deeper, heavier. I swallowed hard, feeling a tingling sensation spreading through my body and sweeping down toward my groin. The pupils of Bash's eyes grew wider, swallowing the emerald color like a tempest swirling out from the center.

“BB…” I whispered, noticing that Bash had begun lowering himself ever so slowly toward me on the ground. I wasn't entirely sure he was even aware he was doing it, but it caused my pulse to climb steadily. His eyes broke contact for a second as he flicked his gaze to my lips, and I reflexively wet them with my tongue.

His breathing caught in his chest, and I felt like I was engulfed in flames, my body temperature rising by the second. He inched a little closer…

“Hey you two! Are we…uhh, hi? Whatcha doing on the floor?” Rhys' voice reached us as he sauntered out of his room and into the kitchen, just catching sight of us on the floor as he rounded the island.

The spell was instantly broken, and Bash's eyes shot wide before he scrambled off of me onto his feet.Ugh…sometimes I hate having a roommate…

“Bash is a sadistic tickler and I need a new best friend,” I grunted as Bash held out his hand to help me up. His warm, rough palm had the tingling sensation reigniting and coursing up my arm, so I quickly dropped it once I was situated on my feet again.

“Cool…sooo,The Simpsons?” Rhys deflected, sensing the heightened tension in the room and growing uncomfortable.

Bash and I glanced at each other one more time, and he gave me a soft, heart-stopping smile before turning to load up his plate.

Just like that, I felt the ground move under my feet as the foundation of our friendship shifted a little more.

*****

Bastian

I headed home to Dallas early Sunday morning after spending the better part of Saturday with Micah and Rhys. That close call in the kitchen had my head reeling all day, and when I went to bed that night, I flooded my hand with cum to thoughts of Micah.

I had fought with myself over surrendering to the sinful, delicious thoughts of him months ago, but in the end my lust won out and I gave in to the urges. I had started with replaying the night we hooked up, but soon after I let the thoughts of us together run wild. Fantasies were pulled from the darkest depths of my brain, taking on a life of their own.

Micah bent over the desk in my room as I hold him down, me pounding into him in the shower, his legs hiked up to his chest as I plunge into him mercilessly, my fingers deep in his hot, tight hole as I suck him off and make him scream…

The unfortunate part of the stimulating visions was that they always brought me to climax too damn fast. It was never a problem I had before I started thinking of Micah in that way, but it seemed my body was so tightly wound for him that I always shattered within three minutes each night. It turns out that it wasn't just the idea of fuckingMicah that got me there…

Letting myself recall the way I had him pinned beneath me on his kitchen floor, his face flushed, his breathing ragged, and his dick swelling slowly under me had me blowing my load in record time.Son of a bitch…being so hard up for my best friend has turned me into a two-pump chump. That's not at all humiliating…

As I turned onto the long, winding driveway that led to my house, I cleared my head of Micah and my unfortunate premature emissions, focusing on getting through the next several days with my parents. I was happy to see my mom and check on her, but my dad could go bury his head in an ant hill for all I fucking cared. My goal was to avoid him as much as humanly possible.

I unlocked the front door and called out for anyone who might have been home.

“In here, sweet boy!” I heard my mom's lyrical voice call out from the kitchen. I came around the corner through the arched doorway, and was greeted with a nostalgic sight that made my heart clench and a smile slide onto my face.

My mom had her back to me as she cooked over the stove, the floral apron I gave her for Christmas years ago tied around her waist. Her lightly gray-streaked, chestnut hair was thrown up into a giant clip and she had a blue sundress on that I remembered from when I was a kid. She was barefoot and dancing gently to the dulcet sounds of Frank Sinatra on the sound system hooked up to the kitchen. My mom always was a sucker for the classics, and I grew up with great taste in music because of her.

She spun to face me, and her face split into a huge grin causing the few wrinkles around her eyes to stand out. My mom was still a beautiful woman at her age, and when she wasn't sunk into one of her depressive states, the light that shown through her eyes was warm and inviting. I wrapped her in a big bear hug, the comforting smell of her perfume hitting my nostrils.

“Hey momma, how are you feeling?” I asked before releasing her, looking her over as if there would be visible signs to clue me in to how she was doing.

“I'm really good, honey! It's been a good month,” she said with a smile, looking genuine in her answer. I inwardly let out a sigh of relief that my mom was on one of her upswings for the holiday.That's one less thing to worry about while I'm here, thank God…

“I'm glad to hear that, mom. You know I worry about you,” I ruffled her hair affectionately, and she swatted my hand away, still smiling.

“You worry too much about me, sweet boy. I know I have…hard weeks sometimes, but I promise I can take care of myself. You don't need to give yourself worry lines fretting over me,” she teased, pinching my cheek and making me roll my eyes.If you only knew what your vindictive husband threatened about that…

“I know you can, but that's not going to stop me worrying. It's kind of in the handbook. I think it's under chapter 6, “how not to be a shitty son” or something like that,” I deadpanned, making her smack me on the shoulder and scoffing at me.

“Fine, but no girl is gonna want you if you have wrinkles when you're twenty-five. Might I suggest Botox?” she said, batting her lashes at me in false innocence. I laughed at her joke, mostly because it was so good to see her in high spirits and bantering with me. I couldn't remember the last time that had happened…maybe my senior year?

“Oh! Your father asked to see you in his study when you got here. Run up and see what he wants, and then let him know dinner should be ready in an hour,” she said, turning her back to me to continue cooking.

Fucking great. I better get this over with.

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