Page 55 of Not That Complicated

“Shuffle over,” he said. His words were muffled as he bent over and unzipped his motorcycle boots. He kicked them off and swung his legs up onto the bed. He was wearing mint-green socks with fluffy white sheep on them. He shifted around until he was comfortable. I complained when I was jostled, but only for the look of things.

He stretched out his long, long legs, and crossed his ankles.

Unable to resist temptation, I poked his solid thigh, then attempted to pinch the fabric of his jeans between my thumb and forefinger. “They’re so tight,” I marvelled.

“Ray, you are obsessed with my jeans.”

I was obsessed with what wasinhis jeans. But sure. Let him think I was into his fashion choices.

“How do you even get in them without straining something?”

“One leg at a time. Like everyone else who pays basic attention to fashion and wears jeans that fit rather than shopping in the Sad Dads section of Marks & Spencer.” He couldn’t even keep his face straight while he got that out.

“I can’t help it if I am too much man to pack into your teenager clothes.”

He smiled down at me. Somehow—it must have been when he was jostling me about as he climbed on the bed, it was the only possible reason—I had ended up curled into his side. He gently squeezed the arm he had around my shoulders. “Don’t feel bad. Your arse isn’t that big.”

I pinched his thigh. “I meant my...my stuff. My giant dick.”

He laughed at that. “Oh, honey,” he said.

I shoved myself upright. “Excuse me?”

“So cute.” He chucked my chin, eyes sparkling.

“I have a proper man-sized dick, I’ll have you know, which needs adult-sized clothing that won’t strangle it to death.”

“Okay.”

Yes. It was ridiculous. Adam was bigger than me in every way. Even though I hadn’t seen his dick in the wild, I’d felt it against me. I already knew it was bigger than mine.

I flipped out a hand and gestured at him. “Are you not being choked as we speak?”

“I’m touched at your concern for my cock. But there is Lycra in these jeans. Modern technology is a wonderful thing. And I’m quite comfortable. More than I would be in the stiff old-man jeans I’ve seen you wearing.”

He had a point. There was a reason I wore sweatpants unless I had to go out and about in public. My jeanswerestiff. There was very little give to them, very little stretch.

The only good thing about them was, they were baggy enough that, should the situation very clearly arising in Adam’s jeans right before my eyes occur, no one would notice.

Unlike me. Right now. With my eyes locked on Adam’s lap.

My hand was still on his thigh. His was resting on top. He squeezed my fingers, encouraging me to look up. When I did, he removed his hand and arched his back the tiniest bit. Enough to slip down the bed by half an inch.

Offering.

I glanced back down at the area rapidly filling out. Fascinated, I slid my hand higher up his thigh.

Adam took a deep breath but he didn’t move—not until the loud knock at the door.

I flinched, he heaved an exasperated sigh, then rolled off the bed and strode to answer it.

I flopped back under the covers and tugged the duvet over my head.

Great.

Adam answered the door to my room, and now his co-worker would clock the monster erection in Adam’s tight jeans, go back to the kitchen, and they’d have a big laugh about the sad old man in the luxury suite being seduced by Adam. The gossip would be all around town by mid-morning.

I yelped when Adam tweaked my foot through the covers. “Come out, Ray,” he said.

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