“You’re beautiful, too,” I told him, dotting open-mouthed kisses along his collarbone. When my tongue darted out to lick a path over his heated skin, he shivered beneath my lips. “Does that feel good?”
He nodded in the affirmative.
“How about I make you feel even better?” I asked, saying the first words that came to mind. I didn’t have the first clue how to go about this, so I was relying on my instincts to guide me forward.
“God, yes,” he said on a ragged sigh as I pushed him back toward my bed. When the back of his knees hit my mattress, he sat down with a thump. He stared up at me with so much heat and passion in his eyes that my own knees nearly buckled from the force of it.
This wasn’t the first time in my life I’d had someone positioned below me, their gaze hazy with lust, but it was the first time that I fully believed that look. Elijah didn’t care that I’d once been a famous quarterback, and he certainly wasn’t going to brag to all of his friends about what we’d done here. There was zero chance I’d stumble across a picture of my prone, sleeping form tomorrow on Instagram with obnoxious hashtags that made me sound like some sort of sick, twisted conquest. No, this charming, sexy man was the exact opposite of any of the people I’d hooked up with for the last five years, and I knew deep in my gut that the reason he was here in my bedroom right now was because he wanted me as badly as I wanted him.
I pushed against his shoulder, and he fell back against my bed. His arms rested flat at his side, his right finger twitching again. I spread my body out over his and bent forward to suck one of his nipples into my mouth. His back arched up off the bed as he clenched the duvet in his fist. I rolled my hips into the vee of his thighs, the fabric of my suit abrading my sensitive cock while I rocked against his thick hardness. I shuddered on the next pass of my body against his and dropped my face forward to claim his mouth in a searing kiss.
“You feel so good,” I said when I came up for air. “I never imagined …” I didn’t have to finish my sentence. Elijah and I had talked at length, and he knew I’d never imagined being with someone could feel like this because I hadn’t let myself imagine it. I simply hadn’t known it was something I could imagine. For as smart as I could be about so many things, I’d never get over how fucking stupid I’d been when it came to my sexuality. All these years, instead of actively seeking out that which had eluded me, I’d simply assumed that I wasn’t a sexual person, that it made me flawed in some way, and let others do what felt good for them with my body, without trying to figure out what felt good for me. God, how wrong I’d been.
“I want you all the time,” I told him, reaching down to cup him over the fabric of his suit pants. “I woke up this morning dreaming about this.”
“It’s yours,” he croaked. “Show me what you dreamed about.”
Taking his statement as consent, I rolled to his side, sliding my hand into his boxers to circle his shaft with my fingers and slip it past his waistband.
“Fuck,” he hissed when I squeezed it lightly and coasted upward.
“Is that okay?” I asked, suddenly worried I’d inadvertently done something wrong. Touched him in a way he didn’t like.
I’d watched a lot of gay porn the past few nights, studying the way the performers had gripped each other’s cocks and stroked them to completion, but watching it happen on my computer screen wasn’t a substitute for having actually done it myself.
“Yes,” Elijah breathed. “Don’t stop. Just like that.” A bead of moisture leaked out of his crown and dribbled onto my fingers, easing the way as I stroked downward. He lifted his hips and thrust into my hand, his breaths coming faster as I increased the tempo.
I glanced down to watch the head of his cock disappear into my fist and then emerge again, the crown engorged. “This is even better than my dream.”
Elijah pushed up onto his elbows. “Harder,” he said when my grip loosened because I’d become distracted watching his face as he watched my hand work him over.
I exerted more pressure, and he groaned. “Yeah. Just like that. I’m close.”
My movements faltered for a brief second. While I’d done nothing but fantasize about this moment since that first scorching kiss we’d shared, I’d never actually made it to the part where Elijah came. My own orgasm had roared through me before his imaginary stand-in could reach climax. Despite spending an entire weekend of naked debauchery with Rob and Calista all those years ago, I’d never actually seen another man’s cum in person.
Sensing my moment of slight hesitation, Elijah attempted to bat my hand out of the way to finish himself off, but I wouldn’t let go.
“No,” I said, tightening my grip. “You said this was mine.” His fiery gaze locked on mine in an unspoken challenge, and I pumped harder and faster until he screwed his eyes shut and threw his head back, his jaw clenched tight to hold back whatever sound he wanted to make lest someone in the house hear him.
I watched, transfixed, as in the next second he came in thick, ropy spurts all over his belly, his abs flexing and his breath escaping his lungs in forceful gasps. When he’d emptied himself, I snuggled into his side and kissed his neck while he regained his composure.
And once he’d caught his breath, Elijah rolled onto his side, kissed me soundly, and then spent the next several minutes blowing my goddamned mind.
10
Elijah
Another group date; another long van ride out of town. This time, we’d driven toward the mountains. A few hundred feet in the distance from where our van had just parked was a large suspension bridge, a body plunging from its railing and soaring through the air, snapping back violently when the person reached the end of their tether.
“Oh, fuck.” Next to me, Oliver had turned white. He swallowed audibly and pulled a deep breath in through his nose before letting it out slowly through his mouth. “Do not panic,” he croaked to himself, his hands locked on the seat back in front of us in a white-knuckled grip.
“Yes! Bungee jumping!” Zayne bounded his way down the aisle of the shuttle and out the door. Brandon, Jeff, Marcus, Quentin, and Kwame followed excitedly behind.
“I take it you’re not a fan?” I asked, watching him closely for signs that he was about to pass out. He rolled his lips tightly between his teeth and shook his head rapidly back and forth.
“You don’t have to do this.”
“I do, though,” he said, his voice sounding tinny and hollow. “If I don’t, she’ll send me home. I can’t go home yet.”
For reasons I couldn’t understand—mostly because he’d refused to explain them to me—Oliver was hell bent on making it to home towns. Given all the things we’d been doing after everyone else went to bed, I was surprised he was still so determined to see this through. Then again, as far as Allie—or anyone else for that matter—knew, I was still pursuing a relationship with her, too. It wasn’t the most honorable thing I’d ever done, but I couldn’t bring myself to leave this bubble behind.
There were times, late at night when it was just the two of us talking about our lives before all this madness, that I felt like I’d known Oliver forever. At other times, I wondered if I even knew him at all. There was so much about him that I still didn’t know and he seemed disinclined to share with me. “I’ll talk to Allie if you want me to,” I offered. “I’m sure she’d understand.”