Page 17 of Faking It Right
A knock on my door froze us in our tracks. My mom might as well have doused us both in ice water when she called out, “Dinner’s in about ten minutes. That should give you enough time to finish, boys. Come down when you’re decent.” She giggled as she walked away.
My hands still held Harley in place, my entire body flushed as I panted with need. I didn’t understand why I wanted to pull him back down and keep going, or why frustration surged through me when he pulled away, or why my heart leapt into my throat as he sat back up and stripped off his blazer. I hissed, “What the hell are you doing?”
“We’re going to get each other off now so we don’t die of blue balls during dinner.” He tossed his blazer aside and started unbuttoning his shirt with deliberate slowness. “Either we enjoy a little mutual masturbation right now, or you get to watch me solo and be haunted for the rest of your life when you climax without touching yourself because I turned you on too much. It’s your choice, Ryker.”
My mouth said, “You can’t be serious,” but my hands were already scrambling to free my dick faster than a magician pulling a rabbit from a hat.
When Harley peeled off his shirt and reached for his belt, I froze. “Wait, why are you getting completely naked?”
“Why wouldn’t I?” He popped the button on his pants and slid the zipper down.
I stared at him as he pushed his pants and briefs down his thighs, his dick springing free. It was thick, flushed, and somehow even more intimidating up close than I recalled from when I walked in on him getting a blow job. “We don’t have to befullynaked to jerk each other off. People keep their clothes on for hand stuff.”
“Do they?” Harley’s grin was downright wicked as he kicked his pants aside and stretched out on the bed like a sexy centerfold. “Because I’m pretty sure your mom’s going to ask questions if you show up to dinner with cum stains on your shirt. Do you want me to explain that one to her?”
“This is ridiculous,” I muttered, yanking my T-shirt over my head with more force than necessary. “You’re making this way more complicated than it needs to be.”
“I’m being practical.” He propped himself up on one elbow, watching me with open amusement as I kicked off my jeans, underwear, and socks.
My face burned as I finished stripping, trying not to look as awkward as I felt. “You’re enjoying this way too much.”
“Guilty.” His gaze dragged over me with shameless appreciation. “But you’re the one who stripped in under thirty seconds, so who’s really enjoying it?”
“Shut up,” I grumbled.
He patted the space beside him. “Come here.”
I hesitated for half a second before scooting closer to him, hyperaware of every place our bare skin touched. The heat of his body against mine made my brain screech like a hyperactive banshee.
“Much better,” Harley murmured. He didn’t give me any time to second-guess my life choices. He reached over and took my hard-on in hand, working it like a seasoned pro. My brain went fully offline at how good it felt to have him touching me, which made it easier for me to return the favor. It was awkward from my angle, forcing me to move closer to him to get a better grip.
Wrapping my hand around him was like trying to hold a roll of jumbo paper towels when I was accustomed to a toilet paper tube. Holy shit, my fingers could barely meet around his girth. What the hell was I supposed to do with that beast? Why hadn’t I been given an instruction manual or at least a safety briefing before attempting to handle such a genetic marvel?
“Fuck,” I muttered under my breath, genuinely astounded by what I was holding. It was less a dick and more a work of art that belonged in a gallery. I had to adjust my entire approach, feeling like I’d only ever driven automatic cars, and suddenly, I had to be an expert on driving a stick shift. There were clearly techniques involved that I was woefully unprepared for.
I gripped Harley’s impressive length harder when he swiped his thumb over my sensitive head, making me shudder. It was downright unfair how skilled he was. A simple hand job from him was already better than the actual sex I’d had with most of my exes. He knew when to squeeze tighter, when to slow down, and how to draw out the pleasure.
Meanwhile, I was grappling with what felt like an industrial-sized version of a regular dick. With mine, I could easily cover the whole thing from base to tip in one smooth stroke. With Harley’s, I had to pick which third to focus on. It was like the difference between admiring a grand masterpiece in a museum and settling for a postcard version. I could only hope it didn’t feel as awkward for him as it did for me.
“Harley,” I gasped as he twisted his wrist on the upstroke in a way that made my toes curl.
“I love hearing my name on your lips,” he murmured against my ear, his hot breath sending shivers racing through me.
I tried to focus on pleasuring him in return, but concentrating was like trying to do calculus while skydiving. My strokes were clumsy and uncoordinated compared to his practiced movements. It was strange touching another guy’s dick, but not as weird as I would have expected. The competitive side of me wanted to return the favor and make him feel as good as he was making me feel, but I was working with significantly more surface area than I was accustomed to. If he didn’t come soon, I’d have to call in my other hand for backup.
“You’re thinking too much.” Harley’s voice was sultry, dripping with desire. “Just do what feels right.”
Taking his advice, I attempted to mimic his movements, twisting my wrist and varying my pressure. I made a mental note to start doing those forearm exercises that rock climbers swear by because I’d need to build up my endurance for any encore performances. But his appreciative groan sent a thrill through me that hit harder than a triple espresso.
“That’s it,” he encouraged, his hips bucking into my grip. “God, you’re a natural. It’s no wonder when you jerk off all the time.”
Pride swelled in my chest at his praise, which was ridiculous. I shouldn’t care about being good at jerking off another guy, but Harley’s approval mattered more than it should. Especially since I felt like a one-man firefighter brigade trying to extinguish a five-alarm blaze with a thimble.
He leaned in closer, his lips brushing against my neck as he continued stroking me. “You have no idea how long I’ve wanted to touch you like this.”
“You’re just saying that.”
“Am I?” His teeth grazed my earlobe, drawing an embarrassing high-pitched whimper from me. “I’ve jerked off fantasizing about you more times than I can count.”
