Page 76 of The New Guy
“Fuuuuck.” He throws his head back. “You are…the…hottest…” He actually clenches his jaw as I ride him a little faster. His hands find my chest, and he groans deeply.
And I’m electric. Every thrust brings me a little closer to the bright, sparkly high that I’m chasing.
But then Gavin starts stroking my cock in earnest. My rhythm stutters as my synapses try to fire, my brain incapable of processing additional pleasure. I’m like an overloaded system, verging on glitching out.
“Gavin,” I gasp. It’s both a prayer and a warning.
“Go,” he says. “Take it. Fly.”
I let go of the bed frame and grasp his shoulders instead. I’m sweating as I pump my tension-primed body onto his. Everything is heat and crackling sensation. As I strain for the finish line, I stare into Gavin’s heavy-lidded eyes.
He stares right back at me, his lips parted, breath sawing in and out of his sculpted chest. Then he raises his hand, and holding my gaze, he licks the palm and returns it to the engorged head of my dick.
I guess I shouldn’t be surprised anymore when Gavin plays my body like his own personal fiddle. But somehow that’s the tipping point—the match tossed onto the flames. With a twist of his hand, I’m spiraling. The pressure deep inside me erupts into fireworks. I give a shout, and I’m emptying myself into his hand.
Then Gavin shudders beneath me. His thighs lock up like iron, and his head tips back and the most beautiful groan emits from his kiss-swollen lips.
I ride him slowly, like I can’t remember how to stop, until he relaxes against the pillow.
Breathing hard, I rest my hands against the mattress. I curl forward and kiss his sweaty face. And then I coax my body to unclench and separate from his.
“Holy…” That’s as far as he gets with that sentence.
“Yeah,” is my equally sharp reply.
He wraps his arms around me and pulls me down onto his body. “You are full of surprises,” he slurs.
I even surprise myself. Smiling into the stubble on his neck, I return his embrace—holding him tightly—never wanting to let him go.
TWENTY-SIX
Gavin
We take another shower.This one together. But we’re both too spent to do anything more than soap each other up, and make out sloppily against the tiles.
I feel drunk on him—truly inebriated by his kisses and the memory of watching him ride me like a rodeo champion.
So I follow him back to bed like a well-trained puppy. We curl up together under the comforter, our skin still damp and scented of expensive body wash. I use one of his meaty pecs as my pillow, and I trail my fingers through the damp hairs of his happy trail.
Reality is still out there somewhere, waiting to pounce in the morning. But we’re in our own little world, and it can’t touch us yet.
Hudson shifts in the bed, and I realize I’m probably lying on his sore hip. My hand fumbles down to squeeze his hip flexor. “You okay?” I ask. “How’s the joint?”
“Don’t worry.” He chuckles. “My hip won’t be the sore spot tomorrow.”
I push up onto an elbow and look him in the eye. It’s dark in here now, since one of the votive candles has already flickered out. “Are you all right? Was this, like, bad timing?”
He takes one broad hand and presses my head back onto his chest. “Stop it. I’m good. I’mperfect.”
But my mind has come back online, so it wanders to the bigger crises in my life other than Hudson’s potentially sore bottom. Like Eustace. And Jordyn. And a summer camp with ponies.
“Gavin?” he whispers.
“Yeah?”
“There’s nowhere else you need to be right now, yeah?”
I take a breath. “No. There isn’t.”
