Page 49 of Strange Lad

My cock fuckingthrobsfrom the sensation. “What?” I chuckle, trying not to move so he doesn’t feel what he’s doing to me.

With each hand, he smashes my pecs together like tits. “These are fantastic,” he groans and then jiggles them.

We both crack up because he is a dork. Even with all this tension between us, he still finds a way to make me laugh. “Never thought you were a chest guy,” I tease.

“Me either,” he says in awe. “Kind of want to smash my face in there. Motorboat you real good.”

“Too bad,” I say. “It’s my turn.”

“But I’m not done!” he pouts and drags his thumbs over my nipples.

I hiss through my teeth. Fuck, they’re sensitive. “Sorry!” he squeaks and rips his hands away.

“No, it’s fine. I liked it.” Taking his wrists, I put his hands back on my chest.

He’s so close to me that his breaths are hitting my face. I can tell he wants to fondle my chest, so I coax him to do so, feeling in control for the first time in my life. Like he’s putty in my hands, and I can mold him however I want. While he gently massagesmy pecs, I momentarily blank out on what I want to do next. This is so nice.

“Can I askyouto do something?” I whisper.

“Of course. Do you want me to move?”

I shake my head, feeling the soft brown hair on his forearms. It’s a light dusting that compliments his olive complexion. “I want you to touch my waist.”

My heart shudders as I say it. That spot of my body holds so much pain, so much fucking negative energy. It’s a test of my own. How will I respond knowing Jorge is touching me there? That…that it isn’thim.This rare bravery I am experiencing could vanish at any moment. I could be triggered as quick as lightning, so I’m taking advantage of it, holding it tightly.

“Are you sure?” he asks.

I nod.

“Tell me if it’s too much. I’ll stop. Okay?”

“I’ll tell you,” I promise.

He sucks in a breath, and his fingers shake slightly. Slowly inching them down my chest, he feels my abs on his descent. The lower he goes, the faster my heart beats. I can feel the panic just beneath the surface. It’s thrashing and banging to come forward. It’s demanding that I acknowledge it. To go back to that moment when my control, my voice, and my choice were stolen from me.

I swallow hard, and I close my eyes when his hands settle on the dip in my waist.

“Talk to me, beautiful,” he whispers.

“I’m okay,” I rasp, focusing on the sensation.

“You can touch me there, too. If it’ll help.”

More butterflies dance inside me. I grab his waist with my left hand, settling right over the bone. After long seconds, I finally open my eyes again and find his pooling. “That’s it. You’re doing so good, Oli.”

“More,” I tell him before I change my mind. “Touch me more.”

He shimmies off my thigh and straddles me. His movements are delicate, precise, and unhurried. When the round globes of his ass connect with my legs, I nearly bolt off the couch. Every instinct in me roars to life, demanding I flee. That I protect myself from the hurt, from the darkness clouding my vision, caging me in. Jorge takes my hands and holds them. Simply holds them while I work through my bullshit.

“Too much?”

“No,” I growl. “No. I want this. I fuckingwantit.” I shake my head, determined to stayright here.

“Oli,” he coos.

“I’m fine. I’m fine.” It’s like a broken record with me.

“You’re not. You’re shaking, babe.”

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