Page 25 of Roleplay at Randy's
Goddamn he’s beautiful.
I'll say it a hundred times if I have to.
When his hands find mine again, he's done letting me be a spectator.
The beat deepens. Gets heavier. Faster. Matty grins wickedly.
He plants my hands on his waist and brings us into motion, guiding me about so we twist around each other. His hands are everywhere: my arms, my biceps, my waist, my neck, never any one spot for more than a few seconds. He’s focused on his own body, on how the music pulses through him and how he can pour it back out.
It’s so easy to get lost in his joy, and I get a burning twitch in my fingers to see if he follows as well as he leads.
I wait for another beat change—something sharp—and snap his hips to mine.
He squeaks but is quick to recover, leaning into the hand I slide up his back. One hand pushes his hips to sway, the other holding him close so he can’t back away. It’s incredible how he melts into the movement, how he closes his eyes and lets his head hang back.
My fingers on his waist drop to his hip, and when he feels the indecisive twitch of my grip, he peeks his eyes open again and smiles.
Why is this so ridiculously fun?
I tighten my hand on his hip and tap his thigh lightly, and when confusion flitters across his features, I bring both hands to the back of his thighs and tug.
Wide eyes gaze at my face, but the big ass grin is already forming on his lips again. He winds his arms around my neck, and I tighten my hold at the same time he jumps up. Legs hook around my hips, and the absolute strength of them blows me away.
He presses his face in close, cheeks red from exertion. “I won’t be able to hear anything you say to me right now. Music is too loud. My heart is pumping too hard.”
I’m half tempted to lift him onto my shoulders, half wanting to impress him and half just wanting his body as close to mine as it can get without things taking a sexual turn.
Which makes the sensual way he rolls his body on mine that much more damning.
I hold his thighs steady, and as the thundering end to the song plays over my phone’s crappy speakers, I walk us the few feet back to the couch and throw on my own indulgent smile and drop us both to the cushions.
His laughter puffs across my face, one of his hands gripping tight into my hair. We’re under every point of contact. I have one foot on the ground, one knee dug into the cushion; Matty’s legs are still holding tight around me; I’ve got one arm wrapped around his waist, the other around his shoulders so the fall doesn’t hurt him.
The song is seconds away from being over, and I bury my face in the crook of his neck to catch my breath. I can physically feel his pulse hammering through a vein in his throat, my own marching to its own identical beat.
“I’ve got you,” I whisper, knowing he won’t pick up on it.
Knowing in my heart the words sound almost like a fidelity. An oath.
A promise I might one day have to break, so it’s made only to myself.
If anyone’s heart is going to be broken from being in each other’s orbit, I’ll make damn sure that it’s mine.
7
MATTY
Livingwith Elias is the perfect kind of torture.
Whenever he comes home from work, he always smiles extra, even if his eyes reflect his exhaustion. Most nights, he puts Calum to bed and then flops onto the couch beside me to grunt and groan and stretch his muscles.
Which does things to me. God, does it do things to me. I don’t think I’ve been this horny since I first started testosterone, and I often find myself getting off after he wanders back to his room.
My subscription app has been getting a plethora of fantasies lately. Little tidbits of thoughts I can’t get out of my head, like how Elias walks around in nothing but a towel after his showers, or that he thinks nothing of lounging in his boxers in the mornings.
Not that I’m going to complain. Elias’ body is incredible. He’s got the tight physique of most dancers, but with a broader chest, and come to find out all of his compulsive touching isn’t exclusive to other people.
If he doesn’t have someone to have constant contact with, then his hands are always busy withsomething. Whether it’srubbing his palm over the back of his neck, running his hands through his hair, tapping his fingers on his thighs, or the time I caught him casually stroking his bulge while scrolling through his phone.
