Page 35 of A Match Made In Evan
I’ve showered and prepped already, wanting to make this experience as easy and stress-free as possible. Still, there’s a nervous thrum under my skin, making my heart beat erratically.
This is new for me, too, and despite assuring James that we can make it work if this is a bust, I do worry that maybe we can’t. That maybe he’ll miss having a warm body to sink inside — or maybe even I will. On top of that, I’ve never had a dick inside me before. One of my ex girlfriends liked to play with my prostate when she was blowing me, but Jay’s dick is much, much bigger than her slender fingers were.
Since I had my revelation that our relationship is real, I have been playing with myself, though. I haven’t gone far enough to fuck myself on a fake cock, but I bought a set of plugs and tried stretching myself out with them.
It…wasn’t my favourite thing ever. But then, I’ve always enjoyed sex more with a partner. Even jerking off on my own isn’t as appealing. Isn’t that what drove me to start the whole FWBs thing to begin with?
Maybe my subconscious was trying to tell me something from the very beginning.
So, yeah…I really want this to work out. I want tonight to be a success. I want—
“You’re sure?”
“Jesus, Jay, I’m not some fifteen-year-old virgin. Get in bed and fuck me already.”
“Can we not mention teenagers and fucking in the same sentence?” He complains, but starts crawling up from the foot of the bed, bringing his treasures with him.
I grab for him when he’s within arm’s reach and haul him down for a kiss, all my synapses lighting up at the feel of his naked skin rubbing against mine.
I love our contrasts.
He’s pale and soft where I’m darker-toned and lean, his body hair light in colour and coverage where mine is dark and a bit more generous.
I discovered weeks ago that I love threading my fingers into his thick, mid-length hair, fascinated by the sensation seeing as I keep my own head shaved smooth (a curse of male-pattern baldness striking me in my late twenties, I’m afraid).
He has very light stubble, seeing as he shaves every morning, while I’ve got a beard and am contemplating growing it out from the short, neat style I keep it in.
We’re yin and yang, and yet somehow we are so in sync that our parents used to joke that we were twins separated at birth.
That would make what we’re about to doreallytaboo, I suppose.
Not that I’d ever judge someone’s kinks. You do you, and all that jazz.
Focus, Evan.
As our leaking cocks rub together, I wind my legs around his hips, arching my back and moaning into our kiss. Any more teasing and I think I really might implode.
“What do I do here?” He asks through panted breaths. “And I swear to God, if you give me some smart-arse answer…”
I chuckle into the hanging silence of his unspoken threat and peck another kiss to his lips. “You know me too well.” Before he can pull away, I give him the proper answer. “Condom on, lube up. Use the excess to stretch me out a little more — I did a bit ofprep when I, uh, freshened up, but…” I lick my lips, feeling heat rise to my cheeks.
There are so many things I want to tell him. Things he already knows, like the fact that I’ve never done this before, like how much bigger his cock is than a couple of feminine fingers, like how badly I want to feel his fingers inside me, wanting to experience as much of him as possible tonight in case…
In case this doesn’t work out.
“You’ll tell me if I’m doing it wrong?”
“Baby,” my heart thuds almost painfully at the earnest, vulnerable look on his face, “nothing you do to me could be wrong.”
James sits back on his heels, forcing my legs to fall from their perch on his hips. I prop up on my elbows to greedily watch him rolling the condom over his dick, then swallow as he drizzles lube over his sheathed length and strokes.
“Fuck,” I mutter, eyes glued to the motion, “that’s hotter than any of the porn I’ve been watching.”
A self-conscious blush spreads over his cheeks, then travels down his neck and the top of his chest. “I’m not exactly built like a pornstar.” He gestures to the soft swell of his stomach. He describes his pooch as dad bod or a beer belly. I just think it makes him way more comfortable to cuddle.
I scoff. “They’re not all cut abs and stuff,” I tell him, thinking of the bears I’ve taken a liking to. “Besides, you’re more than hung like one.”
His blush gets deeper.
