Page 72 of The New Guy
My face heats with embarrassment. “That’s not it at all. I’m just real bad at asking. Besides, I might be, uh, not so great at it.”
He rises to a seated position. “Why the fuck would you think that?”
Here we go. “Because I’ve never done it before.”
“Oh.” The shock is evident on his face. “Oh.”
“Yeah.”Gulp. “This is really killing my cred, huh?”
He laughs suddenly. “You’re usually so bossy that sometimes I forget how sheltered you are.”
“Sheltered?” I sputter.
“Totally,” he insists. “If you had more queer friends you’d probably be more comfortable discussing all of this. Joking about it. Queer people are better at discussing sex than straight people. They have to be.”
“I guess that makes sense,” I admit.
“So I guess I’ll need to take a survey,” Gavin says with a shrug.
“What?”
“I need to ask you a bunch of questions, so I can suss out your interests. Get up.”
Confused, I do what he asks and rise from the sofa.
He nudges me toward the bedroom. “I’m going to take a fast shower, and while you wait, you can pull down the covers.”
My mind floods with images of Gavin in the shower. “I need one, too.”
“Go on then. You first.” He nudges me again toward the bedroom. “But don’t take too long.”
* * *
When it’s his turn, Gavin actually whistles in the shower, while my heart practically explodes with anticipation.
Meanwhile, I peel the comforter off the stylish four-poster bed and set the supplies I brought on the bedside table. That seems really forward, though, so I open the drawer and drop them in, right on top of the ubiquitous hotel bible.
Huh.
Closing the drawer, I retrieve one of the candles from the table in the living room and set it by the bed, where it gives the room a sexy, golden glow. But then I wonder if that’s just too much, so I carry it back out and leave it in the living room.
God, I hate situations where I don’t know what I’m doing.
Gavin emerges from the shower, still whistling, a minute later, a towel tied around his trim waist, and a few drops of water still clinging to his sculpted shoulders. He gives me a glance where I’m perched awkwardly on the end of the bed. “You know what would be perfect? Hang on.”
He trots out into the living room, grabs two of the candles and brings them into the room, where I’m still sitting there, dumbstruck as he sets one on each side of the bed. Then he makes another trip into the living room, retrieving something from his suitcase.
When he returns to the bedroom, he’s carrying a bottle of lube, a pack of condoms, and a pack of those sterile wipes that fitness trainers always carry around. He sets them down on the bedside table in exactly the same spot where I almost left mine.
“All right. Where were we?” He grabs the knot in his towel, flicks it open and flings the towel onto a chair.
The candlelight catches the contours of his abs, and the sheen of his straining cock. I’ve never seen anything so appealing in my life. Like a zombie under a spell, I finally stand up and shed my own towel.
“Hot damn,” he says. “Now, before we jump each other, we’re going to have a chat. A naked chat. On the bed.”
Yessir. I sit in the center of the bed, leaning against the headboard, my arms clasped behind my head. Talking isn’t what I’m after in this scenario, but I’ll try to follow instructions.
It must show on my face, because Gavin chuckles. “You’re so impatient. Maybe that’s why we’ve never had this discussion.”
