Page 59 of Love Me Like It's Real
“Nothing,” I reply on instinct.
His eyes narrow and he leans in closer, barely an inch from me. He becomes a blur until I blink and refocus my eyes.
“What?”
My body feels like it’s been drenched in gasoline and is ready to ignite, to match the inside, and I know it won’t take much for me to gokaboom.
“You do know I’m trans, right?” The words have been circling in my head all evening but now that we’re close, so close I can almost feel him as if heisme, I have to ask. I have to make sure.
“Yeah, I do,” he says.
“And you don’t care?”
He presses his lips together. “Why would I?” When I don’t say anything, he brings his hand up and cups my cheek. “We’re not all like your ex, okay? I don’t care. I wantyou.”
I take a second to enjoy the contact, to close my eyes and smell his body lotion in his hand, to feel the goose bumps in the back of my neck and their impact on my desperate body before I look into his eyes again.
“You know you’ll be my second one, right?”
“Huh?” he asks.
“I’ve only ever been withhim. I probably don’t know what I’m doing.”
He licks his lips and grins at me. “That’s okay. You’re my first trans man. I might need some guidance.”
“Okay,” I say.
“Okay,” he replies.
Then we’re onto each other again as if we never stopped.
His hands crawl up my back, under my shirt, the contact leaving me in shivers. I run my own hands in circles around his shoulders, over his chest, over his abdomen but I take pause there, too scared to keep going but too needy to stop.
He sits up and with a face as red as a rose, he yanks his shirt off and places my hands over his ripped stomach. He’s absolutely divine with a six-pack even Henry Cavill would be envious of. I was never one to be turned on by muscles and toning but he’s like a sculpted statue of a Greek god and I his faithful disciple worshipping him with my fingers.
“Don’t be afraid. I don’t bite,” he whispers in my ear before he traps my earlobe between his teeth and pushes my hands further down, to the hard bulge that makes me choke up at the mere sight of it.
His cock is curled up but hard and it pulses in my hand, which only sends a tremor all the way to my core, making me hard as rock too.
I squeeze his groin and with my free hand guide him down to me so I don’t feel rude and greedy.
He expertly slides his hand over my clothes and even though there’s denim and cotton between us he rubs against my cock, making me twitch.
A groan escapes me before I can control it and Hayworth pulls away from my neck to stare into my eyes, repeating the motion over and over again and witnessing the effect it has on me.
He bites his lip as I bite my own. His chest rises at the same tempo as my own and even our blinking becomes synchronized as if neither of us wants to miss a second of this.
The more attention he pays to me, the more immobile he renders me so even when I feel the absence of his bulge in my hand I don’t react. I can’t. He finds the hem of my shirt with his fingers and pulls it off of me. His eyes run over my chest, my belly, my arms. I hold my breath, bracing for something negative, something unexpected but he only touches the scars left behind by my top surgery and whispers: “Does it hurt?”
I shake my head and without looking away he leans down and flicks his tongue over my right nipple. I bite down a moan but he keeps going until I have to physically gag myself to stop me from shouting.
“Don’t hold back. It’s just us adults here,” he says before he feasts on my other nipple and he brings his hand up above my waistband and digs through my jeans and underpants until his fingers make contact with my engorged dick and I just about lose it.
No. Not just about.
Idolose it.
A moan so loud it threatens to shake the foundations of this house, this whole block even, erupts from me and when I come down again I can’t help but laugh.
