Page 32 of Full Split
“Alright then, I guess.”Breathe, Niles. Breathe.Jeez, my heart is beating so hard there’s no way he won’t notice if he gets close enough. I need to calm the fuck down.
I sit on the edge of the bed and push myself back a little, willing my dick to behave. I’m so hard and sensitive, even the brush of my shorts is making things worse.
Wyatt clears his throat. “Chair might be better,” he says, voice tight.
Right. He’s right. Nodding, I scoot off the bed and move to the desk chair we’ve been using as a drying rack for our pool towels. I toss the towels and sit down, all the while chastising myself internally. I feel all swimmy like I’ve been drinking or holding my breath too long.
I’m so lost in my internal panic that I flinch when his hands come down on my leg. Chuckling awkwardly, I shift my hips so he can reach my thigh, close my eyes, and try to relax.
His hands are big and warm. The gentle way he starts rubbing up my thigh makes me ache. My legs widen instinctively to let him in, biting the inside of my cheek as he gets closer and closer to the pain.
Heat radiates from my core, and I’m in very real danger of leaving a puddle behind on this seat. He hasn’t even touched me where the strain is, but I’m pretty sure I’ll come if he does, so I don’t say anything.
Every motion sends more heat rushing through me. I’m trying so hard to be good. To not push. To not act like I’m drowning in the way he makes me feel.
He works his thumbs close to the tender muscle just below the crease of my groin. A choked groan leaves my throat, and I immediately try to cover it up with something that sounds more like pain, but it’s not any better.
“Sorry,” I mutter.
“Don’t be.” His voice is a low, gentle rumble that I can feel under my skin. “That’s what I came here for, actually.”
He’s close enough that I can smell the faint scent of his body wash and deodorant. It’s a soapy, spicy combination that invades my senses. He doesn’t meet my eyes, but I can see the tension in his jaw.
“I’m the one that should be sorry. I don’t want you to feel guilty for pushing me,” he says. “Because you’re right… Thereissomething here. I keep trying to pretend there’s not, but it’s hard.”
My gaze flicks to his lap, the bulge pressing against the crotch of his jeans. “Looks that way,” I say breathlessly.
He exhales a soft, pained huff of laughter. His hands keep moving, keep massaging. Higher and higher, until the tips of his fingers are brushing through the edge of my public hair. I draw in a shaky breath.
When his hands pause, I can’t help the whimper that escapes me. “Don’t stop,” I whisper.
He swallows hard, eyes darting to the bathroom door and back.
“Wouldn’t hurt to see the PT in the morning,” he says abruptly, forcing us both back down to earth. “And you should use the hot tub tonight. Keep up with light stretching and massage so it doesn’t get stiff.”
“Pretty sure that’s what made it stiff in the first place,” I mutter under my breath. Fuck, I amsoaked. We might not even need lube for all the things I want him to do to me. For all the things I want to do to him…
“Christ,” he breathes, pulling his hands back. I grab them in mine before he can move too far. He’s trembling.
I don’t let go immediately, but when I do, I lean back in the chair, drunk on the way he’s watching me. His eyes track my hand as I slip it up to rest over my crotch. Even the slight pressure of my palm is enough to make my eyes flutter.
“Would you…Um, if you want to join me later, maybe we can rub the rest of this out?” His fingers tighten on my knee. “Seems like you might be a little stiff yourself…”
He stares at me for a long moment, nodding slowly like he’s been hypnotized. His mouth opens slightly, and his hand inches forward again, back towards my thigh. My heart rate kicks up again, my breathing heavier. My mouth opens to?—
From the bathroom, an ungodly, thunderous sound rips through the silence. A fart so loud, I’m positive the walls are shaking in the floors below us.
Wyatt jolts back like he’s been electrocuted and falls on his ass. I burst into laughter.
“He’s not invited,” I gasp, wheezing.
Wyatt rests his elbows on his knees and drops his face into his palms. “Jesus Christ,” he mumbles. I’m pretty sure I hear a “what the fuck” also, but I’m laughing too hard to know for sure. Tears are streaming down my face.
What the fuck, indeed.
CHAPTER 12
WYATT
