Page 40 of Contingently Yours
“I…I can do it,” he rasps, cupping my wrist.
His grip is so lackluster, it feels like I just won an award. “It’s okay. I don’t mind helping my boyfriend out,” I assure him,inching my fingers closer to one side of the hot V at his hip juncture.
The hair gets coarser the lower I go. I reach a patch near the side of his cock, and he lets out a strangled noise. His fingers dig into my wrist, but don’t pull me back. I know it’s just petting in the grand scheme of foreplay, but there’s something so carnal about it. The hair, his reaction—and mine. My balls are drawn up so tight, it feels like I’m going to choke on them.
“Soootufty,” I murmur, running my index and middle fingertips through his jungle, weirdly enamored with how soft it is. “Gotta wash my tuft good.”
My two-inch height difference gives me one hell of a view. His cock jolts upward in the air and he sputters. If he runs on me out of fear of the unknown right now, I might kick his ass. I didn’t know a vein statue in an uncharted tuft jungle could make my mouth water this much.
“Listen to you…fucking mouth breathing just from me soaping you up. You love it, don’t you?
Leaning my hips forward, I press my thickened cock against the back of his thigh. It’s a helpful suggestion. A white flag, if you will, to help him overcome any embarrassment over his current state. “Loveme touching your tuft,” I repeat nonsensically with my lips against that pulsing cord in his neck.
“Andrew…” The breathy croak of my name on his lips is a liquid injection of arousal that goes straight to my dick, making it kick against his thigh.
The soap falls from my grasp, so I replace it with something else solid, wrapping my hand around his cock. I’m winging it here, having only ever specialized in teasing breasts and clits, but so far, determination and instinct don’t seem to be letting me down.
“What?” I rasp in his ear, giving him a squeeze. “Isthiswhat you want? Is that why you’ve been pissy all day? Because I didn’t finish what we started this morning?”
Maybe he meant to say a word, but all that comes out is a garbled, desperate noise. He shudders again, making his cock slip forward in my grip. It’s slick from the soap and water, and I can feel his pulse in it under my touch.
As far as I know, hands don’t have erogenous zones, so why is the feel of his flesh in my grip so thrilling? I want to stroke him and see what other noises I can pull from him. He’sgoodand thinks I’mbad, and the thought of Lucas being enamored with a bad man is a fantasy I can’t seem to eject from my brain. I want to feel what his cock is like from root to tip while it’s soaked, but his little wiggle gives me a better idea.
“Thenmove, Lucas,” I whisper, holding my grip in place. “Show me what you want.”
His hips jerk forward with a full-body spasm. “Fuck,” he gasps.
I say the word with him, completely in awe of the effect my sexy talk is having on him. He’s helpless to it. Totally helpless. And apparently, so am I, because I give him a languid stroke from base to tip.
“That’s it, Tufty. Use my hand.”
I wait. And then I wait some more, suspended in anticipation of him answering my plea. I can feel every rigid muscle in his back pressed against my chest. Feel the way his body is coiled in need as much as my own. The flash of ideas going through my mind about what I want to do to him is astounding. As much as I want to act on them right now, I don’t.
An invisible wall of restraint is stepping on the neck of the greedy voice inside of me. More than I want to listen and give in to that voice, I want him to take what he wants.
Come on, Lucas, I growl inside my head.For once in your life, do something for yourself. Be as bad as me.
CHAPTER 14
Lucas
‘Use my hand.’
He wants me to fuck myself with his fist.Iwant to fuck myself with his fist.
But…I can’t.
What if it’s just another trick, and he makes fun of me for it later? Worse yet, what if the hard cock stabbing the back of my thigh means he actually does want it as much as I think he does? Because if he does, I don’t think I could stop myself, and something tells me there would be no coming back from this. It cannot be humanly possible to feel this lost in someone and not have it change the way you see them afterward. I know now that he’s right—I do have a crush. The pin-hair trigger holding me back is the only thing keeping a crush from turning into a complete pulverization by the life force that is Andrew Broadhouse.
For a guy who teases me about breathing heavily around him, his own is ragged against my ear. It’s a miracle I haven’t already come just from the thought of me having that effect on him. Andrew—with his razor-sharp tongue, an intellect he tries to hide, and a fearlessness I never even saw in battle—is panting in my ear over how much he wants me. No one has ever wanted me like this.
“Fuck my hand, Lucas,” he rasps in my ear like he’s the one who’s begging. “Show me how bad you want my hand.”
It’s the most messed-up request I’ve ever heard, and the phrase is as bossy as he is, but it’s the delivery in his tone that gets me. The way he speaks it… Well, it’s the nicest he’s ever spoken to me. Or maybe I just can’t take it anymore, because I do exactly what he asked. I move.
Rocking my hips forward, I thrust my cock through the ring he made with his thumb and fingers around my tip. Every inch of me plunges through that slick hold like it’s a sleeve of relief until the side of his hand hits my navel. A groan rips from my throat at the burst of static it sends to my nuts and down my legs. It was the right thing to do because it feels so damn good, but it was also the wrong thing to do. There is no way once is enough.
Especially not after he whispers into my cheek, “Fuck, yes.”
