Page 14 of Actions and Reactions
I never look at my scars—I can’t—so I focus on his face.
A focused crease I know well has formed between his eyebrows, and it looks so damn earnest and cute I can’t look away.
Even after he’s done with my right leg and switches to the other one, I still can’t help but stare at him, and as I do I finally confess—if only to myself—how right this feels.
Not him washing me, though it’s nice. I don’t want him to wash me every day or anything, but being this close to him...
Bared to him . . .
It’s like . . . the natural order of things.
Like the ground under me is finally balanced again.
I honestly don’t love knowing how big an effect he has on me, because this could all go away any second. We’ve blown our friendship up before, so what’s to stop us from doing it again?
What or who is going to stop me?
The problem with knowing someone since birth is that we know exactly where our limits are. We know what to say to hurt each other, just like I know every word I would have to say to make Vinny’s day better.
He moves on to lather up my ass and back, and though I jolt at that first touch, I don’t move again until he’s standing in front of me once more. My dick is hard again, but I don’t have the balls to do anything about it, not like Vinny had the courage to do back on the dock.
I’m grateful, though, that he has enough bravery for both of us.
“Thank you,” I mutter when he finally stands up again,and feeling beyond vulnerable I only meet his gaze for a fraction of a second. “I can’t really kneel,” I confess.
“That’s fine, Si. I didn’t do that so you’d owe me or anything like that,” he says. There’s a beat of silence where I can’t find the words to say anything to him, and his frustrated sigh as he reaches for the shower gel again finally gets me to act. I stop his hand mid-air.
“Let me.” It’s a plea, and he obviously understands it by the look of his small smile—which I ignore. I pump gel into my hands and walk around him to wash his back.
I try to focus only on getting the job done, but it’s impossible not to admire every bulging muscle of his back and shoulders, then his ass...
Fuck, it’s perfect. It looks almost fake for god’s sake.
And then when I go to his front and get a good feel of those pecs and his eight-pack... I might become hypnotized by those and the V-muscles that point straight to his dick, because when he touches my chest, I jump.
“Come here,” he murmurs and brings me in.
He’s always been taller than me, even when we were really little, so looking up at him isn’t new, but I’m surprised by how natural it feels to tilt my head way back and offer up my lips to him.
I don’t know if it shows how stupid I am, but spending half an hour kissing him under the spray of the jets feels so damn natural I seriously doubt my intelligence.
How couldn’t I see this back then?
Why did I miss it?
I force myself to give it a rest and enjoy every second ofit. I let my eyes feast on his body when we dry off, and when he lies down on his bed and invites me in by patting the mattress.
And when—more hesitant than I’ve seen him since that night at the hospital—he whispers, “Just tell me to stop if you want me to,” I know I more than likely never will.
Want him to stop, that is.
Because he kisses me again before moving on to my jaw, my neck. He teases my nipples and bites down gently on my way-less-defined abs. He breathes in deeply when he gets to my groin, and again I question my intelligence when I’m surprised by the sweet wet suction on the tip of my cock.
Then again, my experience here is . . . limited.
Should I tell him that?
No,I decide, when he takes me to the back of his throat.
