I breathe in and out a few times, trying to think of a response that doesn’t start withare you fucking with me. With Nate’s own soft breathing coming through the phone, closing my eyes makes it feel like he’s lying in the bed next to me.
“Okay. What did you want to talk about?”
He laughs softly. “I don’t know. I just like the way you talk. Tell me something in Spanish.”
“Creo que tu interés en mí es demasiado bueno para ser verdad y estoy esperando que te des cuenta de que no soy lo suficientemente bueno,” I whisper, and Nate groans.
“That is so sexy,” he says. “What did you say?”
“Nothing important.”
“If I ask you to go out on a date with me, are you going to say no?”
It’s my turn to laugh, turning my face into the pillow to muffle the noise. “Probably. Why do you even want to? Don’t you have, like, a dozen better options?”
He scoffs. “Maybe you’re my better option.”
I’m nobody’s better option, but it feels maudlin to say so out loud.
“Maybe,” I respond noncommittally. I don’t have the bandwidth to date someone in earnest right now. Not with things the way they are with Max, and the baseball season in full swing. Nate deserves someone who can give him more than a third of their attention.
“What are you doing? Are you in bed?” he asks, changing the subject.
“Yeah.”
“Same.” A short pause before he speaks again, in a different tone than before. “Thinking about you.”
My eyebrows rise, and I roll over onto my back, resting one hand on my abdomen. I’m only wearing boxer shorts, so my skin pebbles with the cool temperature of the room. I have the very distinct feeling that I’m about to have phone sex for the first time, and have to fight the urge to clear my throat. How the hell does someone go about this without sounding like a dumbass?
“What are you thinking about?” I ask softly, feeling embarrassed and already a little bit horny. Nate makes a low humming noise that makes my toes curl.
“I’m thinking that you worked so hard tonight, and you’re probably tired after the game.” Nate’s voice drops anotheroctave, and takes on a slow, syrupy quality like he’s trying to lull me to sleep. “I think you might need some help with that.”
I swallow, hand idly trailing downward toward the waistband of my boxers. “How would you help?”
“You tell me, Marcos.” I slam my eyes shut at the way my name just sounded in that smooth, sinful voice. “Can I touch you, tonight?”
“No,” I whisper, wondering if that’s going to be the end of this game. But Nate merely hums again, deep in his throat like he finds that answer arousing.
“You’ll have to take off your own clothes, but I don’t mind. I like to watch.”
Jesus.Roughly, I shove my boxers down far enough that I can wiggle them off and flick them across the room with my foot. I haven’t touched myself, and I’m already painfully hard. Cupping the base of my dick, I try to level my voice before responding.
“I’m naked.”
“I’m not, yet, but there’s no rush. I’d like to look at you—just look. You’re lovely, aren’t you?” His voice is hypnotic, never changing tone or volume. He could convince me to do anything in the world, as long as he asked for it like this. “Look at you, spread out and beautiful.”
Obediently, I spread my legs across the bed, unable to stop myself from reaching down and cupping my balls. I don’t want to touch myself before he tells me, because I have a feeling I’m going to come the moment I do.
“I want to see you, too,” I whisper, throat dry and scratchy like it hasn’t seen water in days. I feel like I alreadycansee him, his face crystal clear in my mind.
“All right,” he purrs. “I’m naked, standing at the foot ofthe bed. Just watching. I get to see you tonight. All of you. I’m stroking myself slowly, the same way you are.”
A very low moan catches in my throat as I give myself one deliberate stroke. Eyes closed, I picture him standing there by my bed, looming over me, naked. I didn’t get to see or touch any part of him last week, but my imagination has no trouble filling in those blanks. Nate’s body is as beautiful as his face.
“Not so fast, now,” he says on a breath, and I relax my movements. “You’re sensitive on the head, aren’t you, Marcos? Use your thumb—a little bit firmer than that—there you go. Slide your hand down, nice and slow. Good boy.”
Biting my lip at the erotic way those two words sounded when breathed directly in my ear, I repeat the movement, pressing my thumb into the slit on the upstroke and gathering the precum. Nate’s breathing has picked up enough for me to know I’m not the only participant here, and the realization is almost enough to have me coming right then.
