Total pages in book: 100
Estimated words: 99736 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 499(@200wpm)___ 399(@250wpm)___ 332(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 99736 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 499(@200wpm)___ 399(@250wpm)___ 332(@300wpm)
That connection we had is replaced with awkwardness, and while he’s still hard in my mouth, he’s not urgent and needy like he was before my minor freak-out.
I pull off him, trying to fight the urge to avert my gaze from him, and look him in the eyes as if asking a silent question.
“I’m sorry,” he says.
“It’s okay. It’s my fault.” It’s always my fault that I can’t do something normal people can every day.
“No, I shouldn’t have pushed.”
“You didn’t.”
Brody’s lips form into a thin line. “I want you to know that if I ask to do something and you’re not comfortable, you don’t have to do it. You’re free to say no to anything. I’m not going to get mad or frustrated. Ever. Okay?”
I manage a nod.
“Can you come up here?”
I stare at the cock in front of my face. Still hard, swollen, and needy-looking. My stupid issues ruined the mood, but apparently not for Brody’s little guy … or not-so-little guy. Thick and veiny, it’s impressive to say the least. “I don’t want to let you down.”
“Am I allowed to move my hands from under me yet?”
Oops. “Uh, yeah. That’s okay.”
When Brody cups my head this time, it’s less controlling. It’s more like he’s trying to reassure me. “Stand up and straddle me.”
I hesitate.
“You’re still in control here, Anders. You’ll have me pinned to the couch. You can get away anytime you want. I just … I want you close. I want to take care of you, not the other way around.”
Part of me loves that he wants to work through this with me. The other part of me hates it. I hate he even has to think about things like that.
In the past few years, I’ve had countless men warm my bed … or technically, I’ve warmed theirs. I never brought guys back to my apartment if I could help it, but there were a few of the less intimidating guys—guys who appeared even more awkward than me—who I brought back to mine, mainly because they still lived with their parents and there was nowhere else to go.
None of the countless men knew about my issues. Actually, none of them even got a glimpse of the real me. If I ever tensed or started feeling uncomfortable during sex, I’d make sure they got off, and then I would lie and say I’d had too much to drink to come even though I never drank enough to get tipsy, let alone drunk.
I can’t lie to Brody.
He already knows me better than any other guy, but he still doesn’t know every corner of my darkness. He’s only aware of the abstract part of me that was once hurt and now wears the scars of his past.
Yet, he still stares at me with softness, not judgement. Worry, but not pity. Okay, there’s a little bit of pity, but the biggest thing I see in his eyes is protectiveness.
I want to trust it. I’m close to tears because I want it so much, and I’m not sure I can do it.
The push-pull I have towards Brody drives me to the edge of crazy because I’m not in control.
There’s a part of my brain that doesn’t trust and a part of my heart that revolts at the thought of letting someone else in.
But then there are the parts that are so desperate to chase a high I haven’t felt in so long. So, so long.
“Anders.”
Brody saying my name breaks me.
It breaks every single part of me.
I climb into his lap. His cock, which had begun softening, twitches against mine, only separated by my boxer shorts.
When I lower my mouth to his, our tongues meet, but it’s not enough.
I need something … need more.
Brody’s hands stay by his sides.
“Touch me,” I whisper against his lips.
He pulls back. “Are you sure?”
No.
I’d give anything to be certain of sex again.
“Complete honesty,” Brody says. “That’s the only way this is going to work. I can be patient, and I can back off if you need it, but you have to tell me.”
“I want to try.” I’m so quiet, I don’t know if he hears me until he cracks a smile.
This time when he kisses me, his warmth and comfort outweigh the hesitance. When his fingers dip inside my boxers, his softness outweighs his scary hard lines. And when his hand fists around my cock, I shudder from a sensation I haven’t felt in so long. Ripples of pleasure travel over my skin.
My hips rut against him.
“That’s so good, baby,” Brody says. “You’re doing so good.”
His encouragement should trigger something inside me, but his voice is actually one of the few things that sets him apart from my memories of Kyle. He sounds nothing like my ex.
It makes me let go that little bit more.
Precum makes Brody’s strokes more fluid, more rhythmic.