Page 44 of Strange Lad

I Melt With You

Ipace in my room, scolding my cock.

Like, what the fuck?

Who pops a boner like that?

For nothing.

The tiniest hug from the most beautiful man. I can’t believe I am my own cock block.

We were making progress. Olihuggedme. He’dwantedto. And now we’re worse off than before. All because of my thirsty ass body craving another so damn bad that it lost its cool and showed all our cards.

“Damn it,” I growl and throw myself on my bed.

How can I fix this?

I’ve had a few days to dig deep into my thoughts and feelings. This isn’t just some curiosity I want to test out. If that were the case, I’d just ask Devon for a blowjob. Come to think of it, I don’t know that he’d do it, but he’d know a guy, I’m sure. I don’t want to get my dick wet. It isn’t about that. I mean, yes, I do, but all in good time. I can get myself off, no problem.

No, this is about making sure that Oli feels safe with me. That I’m not going to hurt him or violate his space.

I just want him.

Ineedhim.

Even if I have to jack off to fantasies forever, that’ll be okay because I never want to see that terrified look again. He’s still out there, terrified, and I’m in here hiding like a bitch.

I shoot off my bed with determination. Throwing open my door, I wince a little when it slams, so I hurry out into my living room.

“I’m not mad,” I rush out when I see his distraught eyes. “Swear. I’m good.”

“Jorge, I don’t know how to do this anymore. I don’t think we can—”

“Don’t say it,” I beg. “Hear me out.”

His jaw clenches, but he nods.

Holy shit, he can’t dump me before we eventry.

I sit on the couch, leaving the cushion in the middle open. Facing him, I wrack my brain quickly. An idea forms, and I’m confident it’ll work. This has to be about trust. I know he trusts me more than most people, but he doesn’tfullytrust me. The only way to show him he can is by doing just that. Show, don’t tell.

“I want to try something.”

“We aren’t doing that again,” he says firmly, stiffening and scooting into the arm of the couch.

“Do you want more than what we’ve been doing?” I ask him, trying not to be too overbearing but putting on my dad voice because it worked earlier.

He thinks about it, eyes shifting from his lap to mine. “Yes.”

“Did you ever play Trustfall as a kid?”

“I did,” he says suspiciously.

“We’re going to do a watered-down version.”

I can see the vein in his neck throbbing, his knuckles going white. “Jorge—”

“Oliver.” His lips part, and he doesn’t look away. “Watered-down.” I lay my palm on the empty cushion, then flip it. “Touch my hand.”

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