Page 14 of Cherry Picking
“Sorry. I called for you, and when you didn’t answer, I just wanted to make sure you didn’t pass out or anything.”
I let out a self-deprecating laugh and finally take my hands off myself to reach around for the towel on the toilet lid.
“S’alright,” I mumble as I struggle to catch my breath.
It was a hell of a good orgasm.
He doesn’t say anything else. Just pinches his lips together, takes a deep breath, and turns away. Walks right out the door, shutting it gently behind him.
It takes me nearly a whole five minutes to recover, especially with the previous exhaustion setting back in. And when I do, the guilt kicks in right along with it.
Riley is fun to tease and fantasize about, but he’s also a real fucking person who gave me a place to stay and humorsmy flirtatious attitude. He deserves a hell of a lot better than a roommate who jerks off to him every chance he gets.
I get dressed in my pajama pants and a ratty t-shirt, thinking about going straight to my room and passing out, but deciding instead to face Riley and apologize.
“Hey.”
He’s sitting on the couch scrolling through his phone when I come out, and it’s immediate how his eyes ping to me. There’s an edge of panic, but still he smiles. “Hey.”
“Look,” I say, shoving my hands in my pockets and chewing on the inside of my cheek. “I’m sorry.”
He jerks his head hard. “Don’t be.”
“I kind of feel like a douche.”
“Why?”
I open my mouth and slam it back shut. Do I admit to genuinely thinking about him while getting off, or am I the one blowing this out of proportion?
Riley lets out a long, slow breath and rubs a hand down his face. “It’s fine, Griffin. I promise. Just. Can you come here for a minute?”
There’s only a brief moment of hesitation before I cross the distance from the hall to the couch, but there’s a bigger one when he smiles up at me and spreads his meaty thighs, motioning to the floor between them.
“Sit,” he says with that signature amused smile. You’d think he didn’t just walk in on me having an orgasm.
But also—I’m sorry—he wants me tosit between his legs?
I think straight boy needs a lesson on hownotto arouse a gay man.
The masochist in me pushes through and fits myself between him and the coffee table with my back to his hovering frame. His hands come down on my shoulders, and I tense, but then hisfingers press into the knots lodged deep beneath the skin and I turn to senseless putty.
Tiny moans punch out of my lungs as his rough, skilled fingers find every ache, every overworked pressure point, and kneads them down to nothing.
“You do this for all the players?” I mumble and lean my head back, watching his upside down look of concentration.
“Matty used to like this a lot. When he had a long, rough day at the studio, he liked to come back and unwind.”
“Hm, was that your roommate?”
His fingers pause, but then they dig in harder, and my eyes fall shut as I incline back to get closer to the touch.
“Yeah. He was training to be a dancer.”
“Was?”
Maybe I’m pushing it, but all of my barriers are down as long as his hands are on me.
Hot breath blows across my face, but I don’t open my eyes. The hands on my shoulders slide around to my chest, not gripping or groping, but gently traveling down. I feel his chest press against my back, and I swear there’s a slight tremble in the next exhale that skitters over my skin.
