Page 16 of Grease & Grips
5
Kissing Andrés is the most natural thing in the world.
We’ve been at it maybe fifteen minutes, but it feels more like hours. Kinda hoping it’s cause time’s decided to give me a little grace and slow down so I can memorize the way he tastes and the way he sounds and the way he feels under my hands.
I’ve never done slow before. Most of what I’ve had didn’t come with eye contact, let alone this kind of tenderness. I keep pulling back to say something, but then he looks at me and it’s so goddamn magnetic I’m pulled right back in.
His hands slide under the hem of my shirt and settle against my stomach.
Normally, I’d be real self-conscious with the kinda guy you only ever see on TV built like a statue. All sharp lines and perfect everything while I’m over here soft in places I don’t usually let anybody see, let alone touch, but his hands roam with a lot of tenderness. Like I’m something worth admiring.
It ain’t even the sex I’m panicking about. It’s the kindness and the way he’s being gentle. It damn near ruins me.
His dick’s pressed hard against mine where our hips meet, and when I pause to take him in he rocks up into me. The pressure hits just right and my whole body jerks with it. Eyes rolled back and spine arching
If I look down I know I’ll see a big-ass wet spot blooming on my jeans, sticky with the kind of pre-cum that only shows up when your brain’s long gone and your body’s running the show.
I haven’t been this turned on in my entire fucking life.
“I think we should slow down,” I blurt, scrambling back and practically falling onto my ass on the far end of the couch.
Andrés’ hair is a wild mess now. He’s been kissed stupid and loved every second of it. His lips are swollen and spit-slick and as I readjust my own cock in my pants desperate to relieve some of the pressure, they twitch into something that looks a lot like satisfaction.
Meanwhile, his own dick is straining against his slacks, thick and hard and very interested in what we were doing just moments ago. There’s a wet patch darkening the front and seeing it makes my throat go dry.
He leans back, arms draped lazy over the cushions.
“Sure,” he says a little breathless. “We can slow down.”
The look in his eyes is something I don’t have a name for.
“What,” I ask, suddenly self-conscious.
“You falling apart like that might be the hottest thing I’ve ever seen.”
Heat creeps up my neck into my face. I run my hands over my face and up through my hair hoping they can scrub the tension off me even if I know that flush on my face and the shaky laugh that escapes my lips makes it obvious as hell the effect he has on me.
“I like the sound of that,” he says, and it’s so clear the way his gaze lingers that he’s already picked up on my tells.
“The sound of what?” I ask, scratching the back of my neck and tugging at the short hairs there, trying not to squirm under the weight of his gaze.
“You laughing,” he says. “First time I’ve heard it tonight. Sounds good on you.”
The heat slowly blooming across my body explodes and settles in my cheeks. It burns so hot I can’t stand it.
“Don’t get used to it,” I mutter.
He exhales fast. “You always run when something feels good?”
Nothing Andrés has done tonight felt accusatory, but damn if he doesn’t notice everything. I’ve flinched at his kindness and I’ve laughed just to cover my nerves and I’ve definitely spent the entire night pretending I’m not terrified he’ll leave and I get the distinct impression he’s clocked all of it.
My voice comes out quieter than I mean it to. “Only when it’s real.”
“Well,” he says, inching closer, “this is real, Mack, and I’m right here. So don’t run.”
Maybe it’s stupid, maybe it’s reckless, but for the first time in a long time… I don’t feel like I need to.
“I won’t,” I say. “I just… I needed someone to tell me to stay.”
