Page 23 of Cherry Picking
“I want to pick you up and throw you on the mattress.”
A grin spreads across my face. “Yeah? Do it.”
Both hands grip me under my ass as he takes us away from the wall and across the hall to my bedroom. Not his. That might feel too real. But I can’t muster a complaint when he kicks the door open and quite literally tosses me onto the bed with enough force to make my head spin.
I like it.
“Feel better?”
He cocks his head and crosses his arms, examining me with a smirk that makes my own dick twitch in my sweats. It gets even more excited when I give him a thorough once over and see him stroking a thumb over the outline of his erection.
“Why do you insist on tempting me?”
Because I have no sense of self preservation?
I prop up on my elbows and ignore the heat telling me to pounce him.
“Because you need to stop feeling sorry for yourself.” His nostrils flare, but I continue. “Try and tell me it doesn’t feel good to have your hands on me. Tell me you don’t want to know what it feels like to be with someone who can take whatever you need to dish out.”
Riley looks at a loss for words, so I push up onto my knees and grip the band of my sweats to shove them down.
“I’m going to touch myself,” I say slowly, stripping my shirt off and trailing my fingertips down my chest. “If you want to watch, stay. If you want to touch … the offer is on the table. If I’m fucking this up, turn around, and I promise I won’t bring it up again.”
I’m out of my damn mind. But I want him, and he wants me, and I need to find a way to keep him from looking like a kicked puppy whenever we aren’t in practice. I want to see him smile, and I want to see that lust-filled look he’s got in his eyes right now.
He watches me as my fingers dip to my waistband. He watches as they slip beneath and toy with my cock, as I squeeze my balls in my fist and tug until a moan slips free.
Our eyes lock as he turns, but not away—no—he pivots just enough to shut the door, and then he’s gasping soft and needy as I free myself from my briefs.
Riley’s stare sends little bolts of electricity through my nervous system, feeding the ache between my legs that isn’t remotely eased by the firm grasp I have on my shaft.
“Oh god,” I groan on a slow upstroke, dragging the foreskin down to smear the buildup of precum. A few pumps and the awareness of Riley’s attention has me so turned on I could combust any second.
A rough, warm hand touches my cheek, and I lean into the feel of fingers tracing my jaw, walking down my neck, and groping my chest as something thunks the floor in front of me.
I open my eyes and have to squeeze the base of my dick hard to keep from losing this load too early.
Riley Easton is on his knees between my legs, gaze bouncing between my face and my cock like he can’t decide where he wants his mouth more.
“Gonna touch me, Easton?”
That tantalizing pink tongue peeks out to swipe across his lip, and his large hands land on my thighs.
“Thinking about it, Foster.”
My breath hitches as I give myself another slow stroke. “Think faster.”
He grins and forces my legs wider apart. “Is this what you thought about the day I caught you in the shower? Me on my knees?”
A whine dug straight from the depths of my need sneaks out, and I slam my eyes shut to ignore the hot breath that dips toward my cock. “Something like that.”
“Yeah?” Those thick fingers wrap around my shaft, replacing my own, and I’m putty at the first delicate flick of his tongue.
As much as I want to get lost in his mouth, I still have a few shreds of sensibility left in me.
It kills me to press on his shoulder, to watch him pull off and stare at me all lust drunk.
“I’m on PrEP,” I blurt out and cringe at how awkward it sounds. “I always use condoms when I hook up, and I had a screening when I first got here.”
