Total pages in book: 93
Estimated words: 90672 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 453(@200wpm)___ 363(@250wpm)___ 302(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 90672 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 453(@200wpm)___ 363(@250wpm)___ 302(@300wpm)
I cling tighter because it doesn’t have to end.
Not just yet.
Eventually Brad stirs, and I’m willing to release him so he can roll off me. When the nagging pain doesn’t return, I breathe a sigh of relief. Thank fuck for that.
Brad lies beside me, still catching his breath.
It’s amazing not being lost in the fog I was in the past few days, but with this clarity comes the awareness of how out of control that experience was. It must be the same for Brad because one minute he was telling me my ass was his, and now he won’t even look me in the eyes.
Fair enough.
“Do you want a drink?” I ask.
“What you got?”
“Some of these canned margaritas. They’re pretty good.”
He nods. “I can do that.”
As I roll out of bed, I feel the sticky mess across my torso, and though I feel so ridiculous for how much I needed it, I have zero intention of wiping it off. Having part of Brad on me right now might be the only thing making me feel normal again.
I grab the margaritas from our mini fridge by Alexei’s desk.
Brad sits up on the bed, and I toss him a can before opening one for myself.
As awkward as he’s acting, it’s apparent, like I could have guessed by the way he prances around nude in the shower, that Brad may be awkward about some things, but his body isn’t one of them. And definitely not that cock he’s letting air out.
I take a sip of my drink before saying, “I kind of hate having to admit I finally get that those rumors about you aren’t rumors.”
He blushes. “Shut the fuck up.”
“You’re the one who brought it up,” I tease. “Don’t act shy now.”
He laughs. “Frottage doesn’t really count. Not like we’ve been fucking. And I only said that stuff because I knew you’d think it was hot.”
“And you were right, even if you’re not exactly playing fair.”
His expression turns serious. “I told you, it’s not something I’m trying to do.”
“Jesus, Brad. Don’t make this more stressful than it already is. If I can’t make jokes, I’m gonna lose my damn mind.”
“Well, I’m glad you brought up that stuff I was saying because obviously, that whole schtick about making you promise me your ass was just sex talk. I don’t actually expect you to do that.”
“You don’t want this Straight Boy ass?” I ask, angling it toward him.
He glares at me before taking a sip of his drink. “I didn’t say I didn’t want it. I just don’t feel like either of us is really in that much control when we’re messing around, so I don’t want you to feel like I’m holding you to anything we say in those moments.”
I approach my bed. “What a gentleman. I wish I were as nice as you.”
His brow creases.
“Because if you think after what we’ve done so far, I’m not holding you to it, then you are out of your fucking mind.”
He chuckles, his gaze wandering. There’s this nervous energy about him. It’s a side of Brad that’s surprising me. Kind of refreshing since it’s such a contrast to the cocky bastard he made himself out to be during that first pickup game.
“I’m happy to hold up my end of that bargain,” he says.
When I reach the bed, I flex my back and do a few quick neck stretches before settling on the edge. “Christ, it’s wild how different it feels compared to when you got here tonight.”
“Tell me about it.”
“When I was thirteen and figured out what masturbation was, I thought it was this horrible thing I needed to stop doing, but the more I tried to stop, the more I had to rub one out. This reminds me of that experience but on steroids. Like the more I try to not think about it, the worse it gets.”
“You don’t have to tell me,” Brad says.
“So, lesson learned: not doing anything isn’t an option.”
“I mean, it’s an option. A very painful one.”
It shouldn’t make me feel good knowing how much it hurts for him too, but I don’t even think it’s schadenfreude as much as assurance that the more it hurts for him, the less likely he is to deny me this thing I need. Now that I’m thinking rationally again, it’s clear the answer is simple: “While we figure out Cody’s visions, how about we agree to mess around, like, I don’t know, once a day? See if that makes things more tolerable?” I study his expression carefully, trying to read his answer, but he just stares at me. “Well?”
“You think I’m gonna say no to doing that once a day, Straight Boy?”
As I laugh, a smile plays across his lips.
“Then I’ll talk to Cody,” I tell him, “and we’ll sort this shit out, and then…go from there.” That’s the best I got right now. As he nods, he sets his drink between his legs, and I find myself resenting a fucking can for obscuring a part of his dick from me.