Page 30 of The One Decent Thing

“Then let me —”

“No!” I jumped up, putting some space between us before I cracked and shoved my tongue down his throat. “No, Sebastian, not happening.”

I was too turned on, too worked up, and too overwhelmed to articulate what I knew was true: that if it was an effective deterrent, then he didn’t want to do it, and if he didn’t want to…that made me another Brody. Worse than Brody. I stood there, chest heaving, cock fully hard, and fixed in place by Sebastian’s pleading look and the softness of his parted lips.

“I can’t get laid either,” Sebastian said, and my gut clenched into a knot. I knew where this was going. Sure enough, he went on with, “It’s kind of a win-win. Right? I learn not to apologize so much, and when I forget I get some action too.”

I squeezed my eyes shut, hoping my brain would come back online if I wasn’t seeing him for a second. It didn’t help. I knew he was there. “Don’t try to make this about — it’s not right. You know it isn’t.”

I heard the rustle of Sebastian moving around on the bed. “Aidan, look at me.” That wouldn’t have been enough on its own, but then he followed up with a soft, “Please?”

When I opened my eyes, Sebastian had shifted to the foot of his bed and knelt, sitting back on his feet. His knees were spread, and his jeans were tight enough that the outline of his cock stood out starkly against the fabric. He was hard, probably aching as much as I was, and my resolve crumbled and blew away like a handful of sand.

Maybe my confusion and near-terror — and I knew I wasn’t hiding them — made Sebastian feel better about whatever was going on in his own head, because his posture eased a little.

“Lie down?” Sebastian gestured at the head of the bed. “I like that better than on my knees on the floor.”

Fuck, fuck, fuck. We were doing this. I was doing this. I was letting Sebastian do this to me, and I’d never wanted anything more in my life. Feeling like someone else had control of my limbs, I moved to the bed, sat, laid back against Sebastian’s pillows. They smelled like him: his shampoo and whatever other crap he put on his hair, and justhim. The comforter was still warm where he’d been lying down.

Awkwardly, I shifted my legs onto the bed and laid them out straight on either side of Sebastian so that he was framed in the vee. I clenched my fists with the effort of not reaching out and touching.

“Just hold still,” Sebastian said, his voice quavering a little. “Let me do the rest.”

Chapter Fifteen

Sebastian

“Just hold still,” I said. Christ, I sounded like I was about to have a panic attack. “Let me do the rest.”

I wasn’t actually panicking. I’d passed so far beyond panic, between the condescending jerk I’d been out with that afternoon and the crying over my inevitable lonely death afterwards. This was more like the high after you’d already lost your shit going down a roller coaster and went swooping back up to the top. A jittery, jumpy energy was consuming me, like in the moment when I’d walked out of my parents’ house for the first time. A recklessness that came over me sometimes when panic simply wasn’t enough anymore. It gave me the courage or the insanity to suggest this to Aidan

This. His dick in my mouth. Or at least it would be, once I managed to move. He was totally non-threatening, laid out on my bed with his hands at his sides, but he still managed to be intimidating as hell. The memory of high-school Aidan teased at my consciousness and made me shiver. I didn’t think that guy would’ve snapped and beaten the shit out of me for being too gay with him any more than I thought this one would. Still. That sneer, the way he always found the right words to get to me…it was all right there under the surface.

Not to mention, he was huge. All over, I was pretty sure, as I eyed the impressive bulge in his jeans. It looked like he was smuggling a Pringles can in there.

And I had permission to touch as much as I wanted. At least, I thought so. Below the belt, anyway, even though I was longing to run my hands over his torso. God, those pecs. His abs were probably amazing too. He’d mentioned a couple of times how there wasn’t much to do in prison besides work out, and it showed.

I leaned down and set my hands on his thighs, sliding them upwards toward his groin. Aidan held perfectly still, gazing down at me through half-lidded eyes. In the dying light of sunset, his eyes glowed golden.

Getting his jeans open took some effort, since my hands were shaking, but I got the button out and tugged the zipper down, the faint scrape echoing loud under the beating of my heart and the hoarseness of my breath.

It wasn’t as big as a Pringles can, thank God, but — almost. The head peeked out of the top of his boxers, flushed deep red and shiny at the tip. Slowly, slowly, I bent further until my face was hovering over his cock, and I flicked my tongue out, skin on skin for just an instant.

The taste of him set all my nerves on fire. God, it had been so, so long. I’d panicked the last time I tried to do this. Aidan made a guttural sound deep in his throat, and his hand slid over the back of my head, fingers tangling gently in my hair.

I couldn’t help it; I yelped and jerked back, sitting back up and panting.

“Sebastian?” Aidan’s eyes were wide open, now, and he braced himself up on his elbows. “What — I’m so sorry. Did I hurt you somehow?”

“No. You didn’t.” What was I supposed to say? Every time I told a guy the truth, that I had so many hang-ups about giving head I hardly even knew where to start, he’d just peace out and find one of the many, many gay men who could suck cock like a porn star. I couldn’t have hands on me. I couldn’t get fucked in the mouth. I couldn’t swallow. None of the stuff most men wanted. My face was heating up and that telltale tingle had started in my fingertips.

Aidan sat up all the way, his abs flexing under his tight t-shirt. Even through the incipient panic, that was so damn hot. “Hey,” he said. “Hey. You don’t have to do this. I want you to, okay, believe me, but you can change your mind.”

If he’d pressured me, I probably would have changed my mind. But now it was, like, a challenge I had to rise to. Or that he had to rise to. Either way.

“Just don’t hold my head down?” I glanced up at him through my lashes and didn’t see anything but understanding on his face. The tingling faded away again. “It, um, it freaks me out.”

Now he looked like he understood even more, maybe more than I wished he did. How did he always know when I was messed up over something? And why was he always so nice about it? And why the hell couldn’t a guy who was gay and available want to understand all my screwed-up quirks and be nice about them and let me suck him off?

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