Page 22 of Hex and the City
I turned my head halfway toward him, a little too tired to bother rolling all the way. “Hmm?” I said, loud enough that he would hear me, but soft enough, in case he was asleep.
“Forgot to moisturize,” he whined, following the statement with a brief snort before returning to a steady rhythm of breathing.
“Weirdo,” I mumbled, weirded out to find myself smiling.
The covers shifted as he moaned in his sleep, as he moved a little closer. I could no longer feel his breath on my nape. Instead it was blowing on my back. He must have been curled into a ball, knees pulled up to his chest. I resisted the urge to turn and look.
It was oddly comforting, Max’s breath on my back. It felt so regular, and routine, and normal, so unlike everything else that had been happening in my life. I didn’t mind a bit of spontaneity — in fact, I was sure that I thrived on it.
But taking things slow could be nice, too. Hanging around Dos Lunas for a little longer might not be so bad. I exhaled through my nostrils, more a snort than a chuckle. Tiamat was right. I couldn’t believe I was crediting a chaotic dragon goddess for her helpful advice.
Maybe I didn’t have to keep running so hard. I shut my eyes, relaxed the muscles in my neck and my jaw, letting the breath on my back and the faintest sound of snoring lull me to sleep.
My eyes flickered open. The world seemed darker, even though I knew it was already nighttime when I’d closed my eyes. Was it later, or earlier? God, I must have woken up ahead of my alarm. I reached for my phone groggily, checking for the time.
Twenty minutes to go time, or thereabouts. Good. I could squeeze in a few more minutes. If I didn’t wake up from my alarm, Max sure as hell would.
Wait. Was that his hand on my waist? His breath smelled of mint, and was much, much closer this time, just by my ear. His breathing was louder, too.
And what was that poking against my butt?
I froze. Oh, God. Max’s morning wood. Except it wasn’t the morning yet, and it wasn’t wood. It was his rock-hard, potentially huge cock. In the dark, I stared down the bed in horror, feeling the familiar sensation of my own dick responding.
What the fuck was I supposed to do? He wasn’t moving, and the pattern of his breathing hadn’t changed, so I at least knew that he wasn’t rubbing himself up against me just to be a perv. Was I supposed to wake him up?
I turned over my shoulder to check on him. The slightest movement made my body shift, made my butt grind against his cock by accident. Max moaned in a distressingly pleasurable way. I clenched my teeth and gulped. Now I was fully hard, too.
And then I saw his face.
Should have known that looking would be a huge mistake. Max’s sleeping face looked so different from the hard, gruff mask he wore in the daytime. His jaw and his mouth were loose, lips parted. His features seemed so soft, without all the strain of needing to look tough and professional in waking life.
He was fucking adorable, in short, and I hated myself for thinking so.
Max’s eyes fluttered open. I gasped. He frowned.
“What the — why are you staring at me?” He rubbed his eyes, groaning. “While I’m asleep, too.”
I opened my mouth to reply, finding I had absolutely nothing to say in answer. He answered for me as his brain registered the rest of his parts, his eyes traveling down my body, widening with slow, gradual horror as he saw his hand on my hip, as he saw his raging bulge against my —
“Oh my God,” he yelped, taking his hands off me like he’d been burned. It was a little insulting, but also kind of flattering, knowing that I was the hottest thing in the room. He knelt on the bed, one hand covering his bulge, the other grabbing for the covers. “Oh, God. I didn’t mean to — sorry. Fucking sorry.”
I leaned up on my elbows, assessing the situation carefully. Two ways I could go about this, mainly. I could mock him relentlessly for stabbing me with his red-hot iron poker, or I could be the decent, mature person and tell him not to worry about it.
A third, more tempting option didn’t seem very feasible, considering the abject terror and shame in his eyes, as well as the fact that we needed to get ready for the anomaly soon.
“Don’t worry about it,” I told him, choosing what I thought would be the most unlikely path for me to take. “We’re dudes. It’s — guy stuff. Happens, you know?”
He pressed his lips together and nodded, a weak, grateful smile breaking through his mortification.
But I couldn’t help myself.
“If it helps at all,” I added, my gaze momentarily flitting toward his boxers, “you’ve got absolutely nothing to be embarrassed about down there.”
Max shut his eyes and sighed.
“If anything, you’ve got plenty to be proud of.”
He reached for his pillow, using it to cover his presumably very red face, smothering the sound of his horrified groans. I bit my lower lip to stop from laughing. I was only telling the truth. Big boy had nothing to be ashamed of.
