Page 55 of Contingently Yours
So to speak. He doesn’t need to know my cousin and his husband aren’t sex therapists.
“They? Who is ‘they?’”
“My cousin, Shaw, and his husband,” I mumble absently, reading Shaw’s message that pops up.
Not all men are created equal, but the middle knuckle is a safe bet. Why???
Me: No time to explain.
Terry: Why do you think?! Seriously, Shaw, you did not just help him!
Fucking Terry. I don’t have time for this. The man has no respect for emergencies or the rules of not monopolizing a chat.
Me: How do I stimulate one?
Terry: For the love of baby Jesus! STOP! Do not proceed!
“Your Uncle Lou’s son?” Lucas squawks.
Great. Now Lucas is about to freak out. It’s not like Shaw is going to tell his dad what his employees get up to.
“It’s fine. He doesn’t gossip with his dad.” Bending down, I flick my tongue over the tip of his cock again, producing a gasp from him. I can’t believe I have the urge to gobble it down my throat—that’s a new one for me—but I think we’re beyond questioning how we got to where we are.
“Just relax. I’m going to make you feel good,” I murmur, slipping my knees underneath his thighs so I’m seated with his legs straddling mine. He looks positively scandalous like this, and I will now see this image every time I look at him. It’s taking everything in me not to just toss my phone over my shoulder and go in blind. But I’ve always been good in the bedroom, and it’s imperative that I shine more than ever this time. If I’m going to boldly go where no man has gone before, I’m damn well going to make sure I do it right. The guy hasn’t been touched in four years—he’s not getting mediocrity from me.
Shaw: I can’t believe I’m saying this, but…just massage it. Slow, gentle circles.
Terry: And LUBE!! Lots of lube! Jesus, Shaw. You’re going to send a man to the hospital and scar him emotionally for life in the process.
Me: Message received. Going in. Talk later.
Dropping my phone on the mattress, I glance down at Lucas. He looks sufficiently horrified—not the kind of look I want to see on a lover’s face.
“You ready?” I ask him, flashing him a reassuring smile to let him know Shaw and Satan are no longer in the room.
“For what?”
“To come for me again.”
My words and bedroom voice are enough to take the edge off his expression. He swallows and glances down at himself on display for me. Drizzling lube onto my hand, I’m liberal with the pour. I don’t fucking need Terry to tell me to use lube. I’ve done anal before. I’m not a fucking idiot. Heart hammering, I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t nervous, though. I have no idea if he’ll like anal play the way the women I’ve done it with did. The determined part of me that wants to make him fall apart, however, isn’t ready to give up yet. He freaking carved out my soul with his redeeming qualities list. I can’t live like this unless he’s as big a mess as I am right now.
Reaching between his cheeks, I whisper, “Tell me to stop if you don’t like it. Okay?”
When my slickened fingertips connect with his ring, he flinches and sucks in a breath. There’s something inherently adorable in how he clearly did not expect that to be my intention, and his reaction to the touch. His mouth falls open as if he’s about to say something, but nothing comes out. His asshole is apparently another one of his speechlessness buttons—noted.
I glide my hand up and down through his seam, lubricating the mess of soft, dark hair to his silky flesh. He’s so freakingwarm there. Maybe it’s his natural body temperature, but I like the idea that it’s for me. Do people get hotter the more turned on they are?
My cock twitches, feeling how tight his pucker feels against the pad of my finger, knowing no one’s ever been there before. I don’t know where these possessive thoughts are coming from, but they make me want to brand his entire furry body with my mouth.
Later, Andrew. Focus.
Holy shit, pleasing someone has never required this much thought. If he says anything about the way my hand is trembling, I don’t think my pride will recover.
I rub his thigh, and his muscles relax beneath my touch. His breathing turns more labored as he stares, gaze flicking back and forth from my hand to my eyes.
“You like that?” I venture, tracing my fingertip around his entrance.
His reply is a garbled noise. He reaches one hand above him and grips his pillow in his fist. Mouth floundering for words, he looks positively flabbergasted, caught between disbelief and arousal. I want to tip the scale to full arousal. I want to see the Lucas I saw in the outdoor shower, the one who was helpless to the passion I stoked in him. I want to hear my name on his lips and know that it’s the answer to who he thinks has sunshine coming out of their ass.
