Page 15 of Until We Kiss

Rory’s hand lands on my shoulder, and I jump. Then we’re walking out, my toes sinking into the hot sand, the sweet taste of my pink monstrosity quenching my parched throat, the throb of my cock against the seam of my shorts. For the tattooed guy? For Carter?

“You’re so damn perfect, bro.”

Carter.

“That’s it. Take me to the back of your throat. Just like that.”

Carter.

“Ilovethe way you tongue my cock.”

Carter.

“Everything’s gonna be okay, Theo.”

I can’t get his imaginary words out of my head. Even through the entire pink monstrosity. And the second one, where I talk with Maxim a little more. The fuckingthird, where I find out he’s from New Zealand.

I don’t know what I’m doing. I’m even more clueless when Carter jogs over later, those bananas tight against his thighs. He reaches down to adjust his junk casually as he stops in front of my towel, grinning down at me.

I… fuck…

He plops down on my towel. “How many of those have you had?”

I lift my cup. “This is my third.”

“I’ll catch up.” His shoulder hits mine, warm from the sun.

We’re so close I can feel granules of sand on his skin rubbing against my biceps, see his amber eyes darkening. They’re so pretty. They show every emotion he has.

“You gonna hook up with that girl?” I bumble out, and fuck… did I justaskthat?

His lips part, his shoulder stiffening against mine, people all around us, spring break craziness. But I’m so fucking tipsy that the only thing I can notice is Carter. His eyes. The way he looks at me.

If you told me to suck your cock right here, I would. I’d crawl onto my knees, the sand rough and warm against my kneecaps, and I’d shimmy off those banana shorts and lick along the full length of your shaft before swallowing you down. I’d do it in front of all these people, even though I have no clue what I’m doing. I’d do it for the first time. For you.

And if I told you that. If I let it out?—

“Why would I?” His chest expands as he breathes.

I flinch, trying to sort out his meaning in my tipsy, not-sure-what-the-fuck-is-happening thoughts.

“I don’t understand,” I mumble.

“I don’t either.” His forehead wrinkles. “You’re hot. And then you’re cold. And then…”

“What?” Am I really so tipsy that I can’t sort out this conversation?

He groans, then shakes head. “Nothing, bro.”

Bro.

It’s a slap across the face. I know he doesn’t mean it that way, but it still stings.

We’re friends.

Friends.

Friends.

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