Page 53 of On the Edge

Following him inside, I close the door behind me. We’re the only ones here and there’s no chance of my roommates coming home, but it feels strange to have the door standing open when I mean to have Henri naked within the next five minutes.

“Thanks.” I pat the wall I share with Nate. “Nate’s room is on the other side of this wall.”

“That is nice.” He thinks about it for a second. “Although, Nate does play his music quite loud.”

“That he does,” I agree. “Country, too. It’s hell on earth around here, some days.”

Checking that my cellphone is on silent, I set it on the dresser before sliding my sweatpants down and off. Leaving them in a heap on the floor, I tug my shirt off and drop it as well. I don’t look at Henri until I sit on the side of my mattress and face him, feeling more self-conscious than I ever have before. The “freshman fifteen” were more like twenty for me, and I can’t remember the last time I set foot in a gym. Soft would be a generous way to describe me.

I don’t say anything for a minute, and neither does Henri. He stands there, in the middle of my room, staring at me with an inscrutable expression on his face. Before the silence becomes too much, he bends over and pulls off his socks before tucking them into the pockets of his sweatpants. Grasping the hem of his shirt, he pulls it up over his head. I keep my eyes on him, watching each sliver of skin that comesinto view and feeling heat curl in my chest. This isn’t the first time I’ve seen him without a shirt on, but given I’m half-naked, itfeelsdifferent.

“Jesus,” I mumble, looking at the light dusting of chest hair over his pecs. I hadn’t noticed that before—how did I not notice that before? I want to rub my face on it.

“No, only Henri,” he quips, and then grins as though waiting to see if I get the joke. My mouth is too dry to give more than a half-hearted chuckle, but it seems to please him because he starts pulling down his sweatpants.

When he finishes undressing and is standing in front of me in his boxers, I don’t know whether to send up a prayer of thanks or to cry. He’s devastating. In no universe should a guy who looks like that be interested in a guy like me. My brain is screaming so loudly at me that we are incompatible, I miss what he says.

“What?”

“I wonder if it would be okay for me to join you on the bed? I am a little embarrassed to have you staring at me,” he admits sheepishly. The admission makes me lose some of the tension I’d picked up as he undressed.

“Sure, yeah, of course.” He sits down next to me, thigh brushing mine, skin to skin. The contact obliterates my brain-to-mouth filter. “You don’t have to be embarrassed, though. You look like you were fucking airbrushed. I’ve seenMen’s Healthcover models with less definition than you.”

“Thank you, Atlas. That is a nice thing to say, although a little strange.”

I laugh, bringing one knee up on the bed and turning to face him more directly. This means I’ve lost contact with his leg, so I rest my hand there instead. The brush of coarse hair against my palm is oddly sexy. I’ve always liked how soft andsmooth girls’ skin was, but I can see why this has its merits. I’ve never been so glad to be bisexual than I am at this moment. He stares down at my hand, and I’m just wondering if he wants me to remove it when he puts his on top, completely dwarfing mine.

“Atlas,” he repeats. I honestly don’t know how I could ever have thought the way he said my name was annoying. He says it so often, and each time is like a little treat for my ears.Ah-tlas—it’s fucking sensual.

“Yeah?”

“I think you were probably making a joke earlier about the blowjob, but I would like to do that.” He trails his fingers gently over the prominent vein in my arm, stopping when he reaches my elbow.

“Okay, cool.” I grab my pillow and go to stand up, meaning to crouch down between his spread legs. I’ve never done this before, but I’m counting on years of porn, daydreams, and raw enthusiasm to help me. He stops me with a hand tight on my forearm.

“But I am not sure…”

“That’s okay,” I rush to say. “I’ve never done this before, either. Even playing field.”

He nods gratefully. The truth is, I wouldn’t say it’s a totally even playing field. He’s a virgin, and while I’ve never been with a guy before, I’ve had a lot of experience with women. Sex means nothing to me, and I know for a fact it will mean something to him. Looking down at the pillow still clutched in my hands, I toss it back to the bed.

“New plan. You lie down.” Bending over, I pat the head of the bed. It takes him a solid minute of staring at my hand before he decides to comply. Sliding back, he crosses his ankles and rests his hands on his stomach. He’s looking up atme as I’m staring down at him, and I feel another brick crumble away from my carefully built wall.

Shit.

Slowly, he raises one hand to trail his fingertips gently over my leg, just below the hem of my boxers. I want to climb onto the bed and get his dick into my mouth, but I can’t seem to move. His soft blue eyes are pinning me in place, tingles zipping across my skin in the wake of his fingers.

“You are so pretty,” he mutters, accent thicker than it was five minutes ago. “Like a sculpture.”

“So pale, I look like marble,” I say dryly.

“Do not joke, Atlas. I am being romantic,” he scolds. I snort a laugh, and move his hand away gently. Bending over, I rest my own fingers on the smooth skin just above the waistband of his boxers.

“Can I take these off?”

I never know just how carefully I need to tread with him. He’s painfully honest, so I don’t think he’d just lie there and let me do something to him that he didn’t like, but he’s also completely inexperienced. He doesn’t even like watching porn. The odds of him not knowing the steps of this process are pretty high.

“Yes. Thank you.”

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