Page 76 of Strange Lad

“I know,” he says sweetly. “But we don’t talk about…you know. What happened to you.”

I blow out a breath through my nose and scrub at my face. “I want to talk about that too. I know I need to,” I add quietly.

“Whenever you want, I’ll always listen.”

Nodding, I swallow down the lump in my throat. “Not tonight.”

“Okay. Not tonight.”

“Please don’t jack off in my bathroom.” It comes out as desperate as I feel. “I could barely handle it last time,” I admit.

Circling so he’s in front of me now, he tilts his head to catch my eyes. “You watched me jack off? Like in its entirety?”

“It was an accident,” I rush out, face on fire. “I didn’t even know that’s what you were doing until the door opened.”

An evil grin rips across his face as his pretty brown eyes glitter with mischief. “You freaky little thing. Did you like it?”

“Of course I did,” I huff. “It wasyou.”

“Did you…see my dick?”

“No. The shower curtain and your bruised ass prevented that.”

Something like fierce determination washes away the mischief in his eyes as he straightens, palms his hips, and says, “My dick isn’t big. Let’s just get that expectation out of the way right now.”

My eyes snap to his. “What?”

“Yup. I have a tiny penis.” He shrugs. “Besides, it’s not the size that matters. It’s how you use it. Don’t fuck like you have a big dick when you don’t.”

I blink at him, brows pinching. “You’ve thought this through. Like…you practiced this speech.”

Throwing his hands in the air, he makes the universal expression forduh. “I don’t know what kind of penises you areinto. I just didn’t want you to be disappointed if we ever do get sexy, and I don’t have ten inches of cock for you.”

The breath I’ve been holding contorts into a cough. I hold it in because I donotwant to laugh, but Jorge is so fiercely protective over his—what is probably a perfectly average—dick. And it’s oddly endearing. When he stares at me expectantly, the air bubbles out of my lips, and I laugh.

Fuck do I laugh. It’s clearing all the funk out of my head, and I want to kiss him. So I do. I grab him by the waist and press a quick peck to his lips. He gasps, startled by my rare show of affection, and then his eyes puddle. “You kissed me,” he coos. “Like, all on your own.”

“Suppose I did,” I agree, and do it again. And again.

“Damn it, Oli,” he grumbles, palming my shoulders as I rub my beard against his cheek. “That’s like sandpaper!”

I laugh again, louder and full of gusto. “I can shave it if you want.” My voice is deeper, huskier, as I keep nuzzling him. “But day-old scruff is worse. And itchy.”

He wiggles in my arms, a giggle slipping free as I blow on his neck, where I know he’s ticklish. Then, because he howls in laughter, I dig my fingers into his sides like I’ve seen Phoenix do so many times growing up. “FUCKING FOUL!” he roars, flailing and shrieking. “NO FAIR!”

“I’ve waited so long to do this.”

“If I piss myself, you’re cleaning it,” he threatens.

I indulge my desires for a few more seconds before letting him go. He pants before me, hair wild and cheeks dark. “That,” he points at me, “wasuncalled foryou bitch.”

I grin at him, and he returns it. After a few beats, we both sober up, and then he asks, very shyly, might I add, “So you don’t care then? About my dick?”

“Not at all. I like the person, Jorge. Parts are a bonus.”

Jorge

Desire

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