Page 16 of Top Shelf
My vision went almost completely white as my dick pulsed and spilled, and I rocked against him as he held me tight, whispering softly in my ear as I jizzed on his shirt.
“Fuck, look at you. Look at you. Christ, you are so gorgeous. Give it to me, sweetheart. All of it. Mess me up.”
My cock gave a couple of feeble throbs as he finished stroking me through the aftershocks, and then he brought both hands up to cradle my face. His fingers smelled like come. I looked up at him through heavy-lidded eyes and saw his pupils were eating away at his irises.
He really was turned on.
He smiled at me, then leaned in and took the softest, most tender kiss I had ever experienced. “You are so good at this,” he whispered.
I managed a thready laugh as I collapsed against him. The sensations were all a lot. Too much. I nuzzled against him hard, and he tightened his grip around me until I relaxed. “I didn’t do much besides frot and come.”
“And you did it gorgeously.”
I rolled my head back and up without letting him go and studied his face. Was he telling me the truth? He looked honest, but I really was the worst at being able to tell. His eyes were soft, though, and his mouth relaxed.
I wanted to believe him. Desperately.
“Do you think that counts?” I asked after a beat.
He didn’t ask me to clarify, and I liked him so much for that. “If you want it to. I know you’ve heard the social construct lecture.” I rolled my eyes, and he laughed. “Exactly. I’m not going to blab some textbook pages at you. But it’s not a lie. If you want it to count, it counts. The only one who can decide that is you.”
“Would you count it?”
He lifted one hand and brushed rough fingers through my hair. I fought the urge to rumble a groan and nuzzle against him like a cat. And I think maybe he knew that because he smiled wider and held me just a bit tighter than he had been. He felt so good, like a human weighted blanket.
“When I was your age? No. But back then, I was still struggling to accept my sexuality, and I thought it didn’t count until I put my penis into someone’s vagina.”
“Did you do that?”
“I did. The vagina part felt fine—it was nice. I came. But being with a woman was just another reminder that I was gay and that the more I tried to convince myself I didn’t need to be with a man, the worse I felt.”
I closed my eyes and pressed my cheek against his chest. I could feel his heartbeat—a soft, slow, steady rhythm. I couldalso feel my come on his shirt touching my skin, which I hated, but I was too tired to move just yet. “When I came out, my family didn’t give a shit that I was gay.” I took a few breaths. “They were more nervous about me being autistic and living at home for the rest of my life.”
He tapped my chin until I looked up at him. “Living at home doesn’t make you worth less. You know that, right?”
I nodded and closed my eyes again. “Yeah, but for a long time, my parents didn’t know what it was going to be like. I didn’t talk until I was almost five. Potty training sucked. I remember not having the words to explain to them how the world felt to me. It was loud and sharp and overwhelming. It was too much. They thought I was going to need full-time care forever, and when I realized that, I panicked because they weren’t very nice to me about it. They were so impatient and angry all the time. I couldn’t imagine living a life where I couldn’t be on my own.”
“I’m sorry. That’s not very kind.”
“I love them, but no, it wasn’t.” I pulled back and grimaced at the wet spot on my chest. It was sticky and gooey and gross. “Um…”
Quinn put his hands back on my hips and squeezed. “This hotel room has a very nice shower.”
I grinned at him. “Say less.”
Chapter Five
Ferris
He letme set the temperature: not quite scalding hot but close.
He let me set the pressure: not enough to take my skin off but way stronger than I ever got at the frat house.
Quinn was amazing, and the longer I was with him, the more I realized that even if I couldn’t have him, maybe there was someone else out there who’d take care of me as well as he did. Someone who didn’t see my needs and quirks as a burden.
We stepped under the spray together, and he grabbed a washcloth, coating it in the hotel soap, which smelled bright and citrusy without being overwhelming. The first pass over my stomach was heaven. Then he went for my neck, my arms, my dick, and my balls.
A moment later, he dropped down—one knee bent and the other stretched out with his toes touching the wall. I could see the surgery scars—long, jagged lines, a bright white against his tanned skin.
