Page 46 of Beautifully Conflicted

And once again, it’s a nonverbal cue that tells me he’s made a decision, which I only notice because I’m specifically looking for one, so it’s like a neon sign flashingdealwhen I let my finger graze over the tip of his cock and his nostrils flare.

“Want to do this here, or…”

“Top floor,” he grunts as he backs away from the door and stomps into the house, with me scrambling behind him.

The ancient-looking wood stairs creak under our weight as we climb—two whole flights—which are narrow enough that I wonder how anyone manages to get furniture up them. No king mattress to look forward to, that’s for sure. Although, since the goal is to get as close as possible, the extra space isn’t necessary.

A single bulb illuminates each set of stairs, not nearly bright enough to give me the view I want of Bennet’s round ass, but that doesn’t stop me from ogling. Even in the shadows, I can just make out the flex of his glutes as he climbs, which has my cock straining against the zipper of my jeans.

There’s a door at the top of the stairs, and once we’re through it we’re in a massive room, easily two hundred square feet. The ceilings are sloped on two sides though, so you can only stand upright in the center.

Two doors are visible along the far wall, I’m assuming a closet and maybe a bathroom, with a bed, a desk, and a small couch taking up the rest of the space. There’s even a fuzzy blue-ish rug to cover the dark wood floors, which will make kneeling easier on the knees.

Bennet walks straight to the bed and flops onto it, reclining into the pillows stacked against the wall. The movement screamslet’s get this over with, yet his slightly parted lips and unnaturally steady breaths betray his desire. That, and his cock is pointing toward the ceiling.

I drop my coat on the floor and kick off my shoes before crawling onto the bed and kneeling between his legs. Bennet’s eyes track me warily, though he makes no move to stop me as I rest my hand on his thigh. Just stiffens when I make contact, holding himself tensely as my palm glides up his leg, over his abs, to those smooth, beautiful pecs.

“The fuck are you doing?” He glares at me.

I drag my hand through the valley between the muscles. “Foreplay.”

“That wasn’t part of the deal.”

“We both know it’ll be virtually impossible not to love having your dick sucked, regardless of who’s doing the sucking. If you don’t love my foreplay, then maybe your not gay argument is valid.”

Yes, I’m using both reverse psychologyandmy unfair advantage against him. No, I don’t feel even the slightest bit guilty about it.

“If I don’t love your foreplay there’s no reason for you to suck my dick.”

He’s got more functioning brain cells than I anticipated while being felt up, I’ll give him that, but I won’t be deterred.

“I saidvirtuallyimpossible, not impossible.” I slide my fingertip along the underside of his pec before taking the entire thing in my hand and giving it a gentle squeeze.

I’m assuming he must shave, or wax, since there isn’t a trace of hair on his chest, yet there’s a smattering of dark hair beneath his belly button that disappears behind the waistband of his pants. That gives me a little thrill—I much prefer smooth skin to hair when I’m licking a man’s torso—and my dick gives a little twitch in agreement.

Bennet sucks in a breath and holds it as my fingers ghost over his nipple, so I trace little tiny circles around it until it hardens enough to pinch. That simple act has Bennet pressing his lips firmly together in an effort not to react, but while he may be able to control his noises, he can’t control the way his cock bobs and strains against his sweats.

I pretend not to notice, both so he can live in denial a little longer and so I can have my fun. After all, I’ve been waiting years for this, and I have no intention of rushing through it.

Another pinch to his nipple has his dick jumping again, and while I massage his pec to soothe the sting with my right hand, I work his waistband lower with the left. “Let’s give you a little more room to move.”

Bennet inhales sharply as the cool air hits his cock, and though my left hand yearns to reach for my prize, I manage to refrain, grazing my fingers along his hipbone instead.

“Can’t you just get this over with?” Bennet growls as I move both hands to his abs, mapping the peaks and valleys of the muscle with a feather-light touch.

“Not until I’ve collected enough data.”

“The hell kind of data are you talking about?”

“Well—” my hands trace over his arms, his torso, his obliques “—the way you’re barking at me says you don’t like this, and the way your cock keeps twitching says you do. But it’s not conclusive.”

“What would make it conclusive?” Bennet grits, fisting his hand in the bedsheets.

“I’ll know it when I see it.”

“Bullshit. You’re just making shit up so you can put your hands all over me.”

Bennet starts to push himself up, but I stop him with a hand to the chest. “If we stop now, it means I win.”

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