Page 64 of My Best Friend Is Broken
His body heat is seeping into me and I feel as if I’m glowing with contentment. He smells good and I want to breathe him in forever.
It is hard to believe there was a time when I thought I didn’t want this, when I assumed I wasn’t gay and didn’t think I liked Liam this way. It is so obvious now. My attraction to Liam is carved into my bones. I breathe it. Dream it. It is a fundamental part of who I am.
Soul mates sounds so very soppy, but I can’t think of a better way to describe what Liam is to me. He completes me, and nothing feels right when he is not here.
I can breathe easier when he is next to me. And have done so since that very first moment we met, when we were four years old. The first day of school. When Liamhad marched up to me with impressively scuffed knees and said, “I’m Liam and I’m your best friend.”
Those words ignited something deep within me. Something that has never gone away, only grown. Grown into this.
Liam stirs slightly. He looks so peaceful. Feels so relaxed. His haunted look is hidden. Sleep has granted him a reprieve from his torment.
He moves again and brushes against me. Through the thin fabric of his boxers, I feel his erection. Just morning glory, I’m sure. Healthy biology. But my cock is rapidly filling in response.
Liam moves, rubbing himself against me. Seeking warm friction. He’s not awake, and I don’t want to disturb his peace.
His hips twist and his cock brushes over mine. A groan escapes my lips.
Liam’s eyes flutter open. He gives me a sleepy look before smiling. “Morning.”
“Morning,” I breathe reverently.
He slides even closer and his lips find mine. The first touch brings my cock to full hardness. I groan and kiss Liam back. There is tenderness in the kiss. Affection. Sleepy, gentle care.
But as we kiss and kiss, a clear hunger grows. Liam is kissing me with need and desire. His hips are moving. So slightly that I’m not sure he is aware of it. But he is rubbing himself against me and it is driving me wild.
My hand slides down between us. It slips into Liam’s boxers. My fingers curl around his cock and we both groan. He is silken and hot, and I love the feel of him against my palm.
I stroke him gently. His mouth goes slack and he forgets all about kissing me. I stroke and stroke. As if I have done this a thousand times before. He grows ever harder in my hand. I pull my head away a little to look at him, and the sight steals my breath away.
His eyes are closed, lashes dark against his pale skin. His cheeks are flushed pink. His lips are slightly parted and his jaw is slack. Liam lost in pleasure is more beautiful than any work of art.
His expression shifts, brows drawing together as euphoria flows over his features. I watch, transfixed, as he orgasms with a soft sigh. It is the most beautiful thing I have ever seen.
My hand falls still. Liam pants. His eyes open, still dark and hazy with lust. A far away look in them.
Shit.
“Was that alright?”
Was it too much, too soon? I didn’t ask, just pounced as soon as the poor man was barely awake.
Liam licks his lips. Grins. “Well, your technique was a little sloppy.”
A laugh bubbles out of me. Unexpected, but welcome. Liam chuckles too, eyes gleaming with that mischievous look I’ve missed so fucking much.
He glances down. At my straining erection and the damp spot clear against the light blue material of my boxers.
He licks his lips again. “Do you...”
It’s on the tip of my tongue to fill his hesitation with, “Want you to show me how it should be done?” But I stop myself just in time and blurtout an, “No, it’s okay,” instead.
I don’t want to ruin the mood by bringing up his knowledge, and by association, how he gained it. And I really don’t want to burden him with any sense of obligation. I don’t want him to feel like he has to do anything.
I’m so hard it hurts, but I won’t die. My burning arousal will fade.
Liam gives me a thoroughly disparaging look. One that sends an icy trickle of guilt and shame racing through my overheated veins, while simultaneously slapping me with some good sense. Liam doesn’t want to be babied. He doesn’t need to be mollycoddled. Trauma hasn’t erased the fact that he is a grown man. With desires and needs.
I nod my head and roll onto my back. I fling the covers off of us and free my aching cock from my boxers.
