“Oh.” My body immediately rang in with an affirmative vote on the idea. Heat pulsed in my groin, and I felt my penis grow and stretch along his thigh in my thin flannel PJ pants. I hadn’t even thought about what I’d been wearing when I answered the door, but now I realized I was in PJ bottoms and a long-sleeved T-shirt. It suddenly felt like I was wearing nothing at all.
“I think you like that idea,” Bubba murmured, and he lowered his head and pressed his lips on mine.
I’d been right about the chemistry. It was like taking my first bite of cheesecake all over again. Pleasure and delight coursed through me, curling my fingers into his parka and my toes in my socks. The chill of the house in winter was gone thanks to the hot blood roaring through my veins. I was energized and desperate, and at the same time, my body went oddly limp and compliant. It was a phenomenon I’d experienced briefly when we’d kissed in the student union, but I hadn’t had time for it to fully register. What a marvelous dichotomy. The sex urge was truly remarkable. Biologically speaking.
Bubba was a good seven inches taller than me, so our position was awkward. He picked me up and managed to sit on my bed with me without breaking the kiss. My legs cooperated as if I were actually coordinated, going around him easily so I was sitting on his thighs.
I sighed against his cheek in relief—this position was one I could hold indefinitely, and I intended to, my mind going fuzzy as he lazily sucked on my tongue. Mmmm.
But he gently broke the kiss. “Lemme take my coat off.”
“I don’t mind it,” I said, pushing on the cushy front.
One corner of his mouth turned up. “That’s good. But I’m getting kinda hot. And this would be more fun if we get closer.”
Oh. Right. Taking clothes off was a thing that happened during sex. Indeed, it was imperative.
I hopped up, wanting to give him space to remove whatever he cared to remove. As he unzipped the parka, I blurted, “What’s the verdict?”
He tossed his parka at the end of the bed and gave me a confused look.
“You said we should, uh, double-check. If we worked together.” I took a deep breath. “In my assessment, we have considerable chemistry. But my experience is limited.”
Bubba’s eyes went half-lidded, and he rubbed a hand over his chest, over one nipple, which was peaked under the fabric of a thin T-shirt, then that hand trailed down to his belt. That drew my attention to a large bulge along the zipper of his jeans. I hadn’t been able to feel it the way I’d been sitting on his lap. My mouth was suddenly filled with saliva, and I had to swallow. He was the sexiest thing I’d ever seen. Perhaps, based on my limited experience, I should have questioned the evaluation of sexiness on an absolute scale, but in my estimation, anyone, male or female, would have regarded Bubba as irresistible.
“Sean, you really do it for me,” he said, his voice a bit rough. “In case you can’t tell. Chemistry. We’ve got boatloads.” He smiled. “And I still want to date you, if that’s what you mean.”
“Okay.” I nodded eagerly for good measure.
His gaze moved down my body and seemed to stop where, if I looked down, I’d no doubt see tented PJ bottoms. He took a shuddery breath. “We don’t have to do any more right now. But if we start kissing again, we probably will. So, do you wanna stop? We could watch TV or something.”
“Would you take off your shirt?” I asked without planning to. But yes, I really wanted to see his beautiful, sexy chest. And touch it. “And maybe your belt. And your shoes. We could lie down.”
He smiled a slow, sexy smile and pulled his shirt over his head.
I was so eager, I was shaking—my hands, everything. My heart was racing as if I might spontaneously combust. It was a little scary and also incredibly exciting. But what if I did something wrong?
“Come m’ere, Sean,” Bubba said, maybe taking note of my indecisive state.
He sat down on my bed, his bare chest glowing in the lamplight. His skin was smooth, and he had dark hair on his chest, and I wanted to run my fingers through it. He’d taken off his belt and shoes as directed, and also popped the top button on his jeans—the sight of which made my penis throb in my pants.
Goodness, he was all…right there. And I was allowed to touch him.
When my feet didn’t move, he leaned forward and tugged me closer by the waistband of my pants. I trembled as he pulled my shirt over my head. I crossed my arms over my chest, embarrassed.
He looked up at me sternly. “Sean, I’ve seen your chest. I’ve given you massages, remember?”
I wanted to argue that was different, but I couldn’t speak. I let my arms fall open.
His large hands were warm on my waist, ribs. He leaned forward and kissed my chest, sucked on the skin, causing a tiny tendril of pain, which was chased by a fresh wave of lust and another pulse in my groin. I started to grip his hair, but he moved away and scooted back on the bed, pulled me to lie down, and then wrapped himself around me.
There wasn’t much choice since it was a single bed, and he was a large man. But it felt incredible to be pressed so close. We made out, tongues and hot mouths and nibbles and licks. I stopped shaking and melted into a liquid pool. After awhile, I couldn’t feel the edges of myself, there was only heat and pleasure and the experience of him.
Bubba Merkofsky. Who wanted to make out with me. On purpose.
He was definitely my cheesecake. I loved his size, his hardness, his aliveness under my hands. I loved the way he was passionate without being pushy, firm without being cruel. I felt completely safe with him. He didn’t see Sean, the nerd. The Sean he saw, touched, was someone else, someone sexy and funny, attractive, and cool.
After a long while, he rolled a bit more on top of me and thrust against me, and the sensual haze I was in ramped up to a sharper, more urgent edge. I pushed up against him. My penis was so hard and ready, just rocking against him sent long jolts of pleasure racing through me. I moved faster, his tongue in my mouth. I was close.
He pulled back a little. “Sean—”
I froze. Should I not have rutted against him?
“Can I touch you?” he asked, voice thick.
I blinked up at his face. He was flushed, his eyes glassy, lips red and wet from kisses. So that’s what desire looked like on a lover’s face.
“Yes,” I whispered. “Do you want me to touch you?”
In answer, he took my hand and guided it through the opening of his jeans and under his boxers. I felt him for the first time—large and incredibly hot and throbbing and a bit sweaty. The feel of him in my hand almost made me ejaculate. I bit my lip, hard, to stop myself.
He rolled to the side and tugged on my hip until we were face-to-face. Then he snuck his hand under the waistband of my PJ bottoms. My hard shaft practically leapt into his palm.
We touched each other, exploring at first, staring into each other’s eyes. But it felt too good, and soon we were masturbating each other with quick, hard strokes. I watched the pleasure on his face with fascination. First, he gazed into my eyes, strong and intent as his breath came fast and raspy. Just that sound made me shiver even more. I matched him breath for breath, focusing on his expression to keep myself from coming too fast. His eyes glazed over a little, like he was acutely focused on the feelings inside that big body.