He buried his face in my shoulder. “Oh God, Major.I’m so sorry.”
“It’s okay. You’re okay.”
“No, I’m not. I’m not okay at all.”
Ren was funny and refined, casual and put together, well-spoken and fond of foul language. His plaintive statement revealed a vulnerability I’d somehow missed over this horrible year.
I wished I had the words to make him feel better.
“I’m sorry,” he repeated, pulling away, no doubt misreading my hesitation. “I’m some gross old guy coming on to you like?—”
“No,” I said firmly. “There is nothing gross about you, Ren. Believe me, I’m just embarrassed about getting this turned on,” I said, gesturing to the tightness in my slacks. “Don’t worry, though. I would never?—”
“Besmirch the memory of my dead husband?” Ren asked, his expression pained even as he attempted humor.
“Yeah,” I said, folding my hands in my lap to keep from reaching for him. “I wouldn’t want you to regret anything.”
He pressed his forehead back into my shoulder. “Maybe I just need a warm body. Though I can’t imagine finding a stranger to…”
I grimaced. I’d gone through my roster a couple of times after Mr. Paige’s death, and it had helped with my own grief. But the idea of Ren having to go out and troll for ass to take care of such an intimate need… No.
“Sorry,” he said, pulling back. “My head is a fucking mess. I shouldn’t be making this your problem.”
I wanted to wrap my arm around him, to hold him in place, but that felt too personal. “You are not a problem. You’ve been through a lot and could probably use a physical… release. Believe me, if I didn’t think it’d be taking advantage, I’d?—”
I cut off that sentence before I said something regrettable. Ren’s expression, however, turned contemplative.
“You wouldn’t be taking advantage,” he said, locking eyes with me. “You’re the safest person I know.”
“Ren,” I said, shaking my head even as I realized that I couldn’t let him sleep with some random guy. “I’m not?—”
“You could do this for me, just this once, Major,” he said, pleading. “It won’t get messy, I promise. I’d?—”
I brought my hand to his face, and he stopped midsentence, pressing his cheek to my palm. I cursed under my breath. One look at him told me how much pain he was in, and I was not built to ignore the pain of others.
I wavered.
Surely—hmm.
Surely my friendship with Ren and his relationship with the Lost Boys could survive a therapeutic hand job.
“Okay, Ren.”
My words seemed to cut the string of tension that ran through his shoulders. “Thank you,” he whispered.
“It’s my—” My words were cut short as he returned to my sensitive nipple, sucking on it over my shirt, wetting the thin fabric with his tongue. His hand brushed mine aside, and he returned to stroking my growing erection over the fine material of my trousers.
“Do you have supplies?” he asked as he found and thumbed the ridge of my cockhead.
“W-what?” I inhaled sharply when he lifted my belly to get at my button before lowering the zipper on my slacks. He then slipped his hand over the thin material of my boxer briefs.
“Condoms, Major? Lube?” he asked, running his nail over my covered slit. Fuck, that felt good.
His words finally landed when his warm hand slipped under the waistband of my underwear. I groaned when his flesh met mine, my precum perfuming the air.
“Say yes, Major,” he whispered, his voice hitching as my dick jumped in his talented, tight grip.
I whimpered, pressing my hand over his. He wanted more than a hand job. Way more. The wrongness of that turned me on way more than it should have.Fuck. “Yes.”
