Page 74 of Strange Lad

“Yes. I’m…fine.”

“You sure?”

“I’m good. Your turn.”

He searches my face but must not find anything. “I want to be closer.”

I swallow hard. “H-How much closer?”

“On your lap, babe.”

Shit. “Alright,” I rasp.

“Don’t tell me alright if it really means no. That word can be used, and I’ll respect it even if I’m ready to drill a hole in your leg.”

The way his eyes harden on me makes me snort and chuckle. I do believe him, and judging by the bulge in his crotch, he’s not lying about the drilling part. Shaking my head, I gently tug on his hand, urging him to do it.

“Words, Oli. Tell me.”

“I’m good. Get on my lap.”

“Shit,” he wheezes, blushing.

Last time we tried this, I freaked out, so I use every coping mechanism in my arsenal to keep me grounded and present as he gracefully straddles my legs. Once he’s seated, and the only increase in my pulse is due to our nearness and his pretty face, I smile.

“Your turn,” he breathes.

Goosebumps burst over my arms and pebble my nipples. I glance between his eyes and mouth, wondering if now is the time. Ultimately, I chicken out. “Put your hands on my face,” I say instead.

He does, gently cupping my cheeks and rubbing his thumbs over my beard. “Scratchy,” he teases.

“Beards do tend to be scratchy,” I agree.

We are both nervous. Jorge is trembling, which sends vibrations straight to my nuts and soft cock. “Put your hands on my hips,” he tells me.

Fuck.

Slowly, I lift my hands from my sides and find the dip of his waist, easing my fingers lower to rest over the bones. A soft moan leaves him when I gently knead the area, taking the time to savor this moment. I’m touching him again. Feeling him with my own two hands, claiming him as my own without even meaning to.

“You pick again,” I tell him, sneaking my thumbs under the hem of his shirt so I can stroke his skin.

“Jesus,” he groans. “I’m hard as a rock right now.”

I peek down, and he sure is. “Pick, kitten,” I whisper, looking into his eyes.

“W-We need to b-be closer,” he studders and quivers when I apply pressure with my thumbs, gliding them over the arch of his pelvic bone.

“Then get closer.”

A breathyfuckblows over my lips as he presses his front closer. I can feel his cock against my stomach, the warmth of his palms seeping into my cheeks. Focusing on the honey-gold flecks in his brown eyes, I tilt my head up as he swipes his thumb over my lips. His head dips down, so close I can feel his breath merge with my own. That pink tongue swipes out again, darting over his full bottom lip.

“Close the distance,” he tells me, giving me an out. Giving me a choice.

Because ultimately, I can stop this. He’s allowed me that control. Having control over your body is a gift most people take for granted. Having a partner who understands that is a fuckingtreasure.My chest bumps into his as I straighten, banding myright arm around his middle. Sheer need swallows up all other thoughts. Part of me considers warning him that I might be terrible at this, but I decide against it. I have something to prove right now.

I’m going to prove to myself once and for all that I can do this. I can take whatIwant. So I do. I obliterate the space between us and press my lips to his. For long seconds, neither of us move. We’re suspended in this bubble of reality where nothing and no one can enter. His lips are soft and plump and fit against mine like they were created just for this purpose. I can smell the mint on his breath, the aftershave coating his chin. And when he whimpers against me, I move.

I kiss him again, firmer and with intent. His hands slide into my hair, arching into my hold, rubbing his erection against me. A shot of panic runs down my spine, but I hold him to me and part my lips instead. Jorge takes the invitation, gliding his tongue in between them and swiping over mine. Electricity fizzles over the muscle, ricocheting off my teeth, over my tonsils, and settling in my lower abdomen.

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