Page 46 of Playing for Keeps
Luke had long, delicate fingers, the kind of fingers you’d think would belong on a pianist rather than a rugby player. And now they were wrapped around my cock.
Oh shit.
Yeah, the answer to my question was that it was a completely different experience. I mean, if you wanted to be technical about it, the sensations were the same, but the fact it was someone else’s hand made it a zillion times hotter than jerking myself off.
Science experiments had never, ever felt so good.
I realized I’d forgotten about the ‘swap’ part of our arrangement, and I scrambled to change that, reaching out to touch him.
Luke’s breath hitched as I took hold of his dick.
Yeah, okay, this took hotness into another dimension. Now it was more scorching than the sun.
Touching someone else’s cock was strange. It was a different sensation, smooth skin over hardness. I’d had glimpses of Luke’s cock when we were getting changed, and had seen enough to know he was slightly bigger than me, but it was fascinating to see him fully erect, to feel the weight of him in my hand.
And in some ways it felt so right. I knew everything else about my best friend, surely I should know this too?
Know how his cock leaked as I ran my thumb over the head, which grew even harder under my touch.
Know how his breathing turned hoarse as I stroked harder and faster.
Luke let out a small moan and my throbbing increased tenfold.
The tent filled with the sounds of our frantic breathing.
Fuck, this was hot.
It was even hotter to see him completely let go, his head thrown back as he shot ribbons of white.
And feeling him coming triggered me to come so hard I saw stars.
Shit. I lay there boneless, unable to move.
Luke didn’t speak as he grabbed a spare T-shirt from the bottom of his mattress and cleaned himself up.
He hesitated for a second, then reached out to mop me up as well.
Luke carefully cleaning around my deflating cock was another level of…something that made my breath catch.
Before I had time to process it, he balled the T-shirt and threw it into the corner.
Somehow it felt wrong we hadn’t spoken, that we were about to turn over and go to sleep without exchanging a word.
“Goodnight,” I whispered.
He reached out and gave my shoulder a squeeze. His casual affection soothed the uneasy feeling inside me.
“Night,” he said.
And I’d drifted off to sleep, the feel of Luke’s touch lingering on my skin.
After that, it became our regular routine whenever we shared a tent. Luke never questioned why I only had trouble sleeping when I was lying in a tent, lying next to him.
I loved getting off with him.
I loved the feel of his hand on me, the way his dark eyes met mine, the way his forehead creased and he tipped his head back right before he blew his load.
But then I realized we never spoke about it.
