Page 35 of Christmas Miracle
Which was huge, John knew, for someone as loyal as Brett was.
“Roll over,” Brett suddenly instructed, and there was an odd sound to his voice that John didn’t quite know how to interpret. “I think that your pectoral muscles might be pulling on some of the other muscle groups.”
John turned over obediently, and Brett had been straddling him the whole time. He didn’t really move, either, just shifted up a few inches so that John could shift his position. Then he was right back on him, and while John hadn’t been sure before, he was now. The press of Brett’s cock against his own was unmistakable. Brett was aroused, just as aroused as John was, and had been the whole time.
Once more, Brett’s hands dug in, and this time, it was on John’s front. John gasped as thumbs rubbed at his pectorals, and it seemed that Brett had been right. There was a lot of tension there, a lot of soreness that he had just been ignoring.
But this had never happened before, John realized. Not while Brett was massaging him, anyway. There was a definite line between a massage and sex, one that Brett hadn’t ever really blurred. But when Brett’s thumbs flicked against John’s nipples, that all changed, and John had no real idea what was going on.
“Brett—” he started, but Brett, his eyes still burning just as brightly as they had been when he’d come into the house, cut him off.
“Just don’t talk,” Brett instructed, as he quickly stripped off the rest of John’s clothing, and John, confused, did shut his mouth. The truth was, he wanted this too badly to question it too much, even if he would like to know exactly what this was.
Still, it was him, John, that Brett was touching like this. No one else. That had to mean something, right?
It was the most sensual experience of his life. John had to admit that. Brett’s fingers knew their way around the muscles on his front, too, and he did massage him, rubbing over his chest, down over his stomach, his sides. Down, slipping over his navel, brushing over his hip bones, kneading and stroking the whole way.
Even before Brett touched John’s cock, he was throbbing with need. Part of him even wondered if that was what Brett was after, if he was still angry with him and wanted to drive him crazy. If so, it would be very effective, because the uncertainty, the sensuality, the silence, it was all driving him so insane that he could barely breathe.
Brett’s fingers did settle around John’s cock, though, cupping it, palming it, rubbing at the slick head of it with the pads of his fingers. And it was not the first time that Brett’s hand had touched there, but it was the first time that it had seemed like he was massaging him there, too, and he was just as skilled at it as he had been at touching him everywhere else.
It wasn’t quite a massage, not quite a handjob. The combination was going to make John come, though, and no matter how much he groaned and gritted his teeth and tried to hold back, a whole new kind of tension was growing in him, in his throbbing balls and his pulsing cock, which oozed precum like it was never going to stop.
“Come for me,” Brett whispered, and those three words were enough, more than enough. They released something deep inside of John, let him relax his control, made him cry out and thrust his hips up, fucking deep into Brett’s hand as he shot pearly ropes of his fluids all over himself, Brett’s hand, and a glistening strand even shot up to splatter against Brett’s stomach, still clothed.
“We’re not done,” Brett informed him, and John groaned softly. The whole thing had been so strange, almost surreal, and he didn’t know what any of it meant, but he did know that despite his orgasm, it had been unsettling.
Which wasn’t enough to stop him, not even close.
