I surge forward, shoving him hard in the chest. He’s so solid he barely moves, but the unexpected force of it makes him stumble back a step, his legs hitting the edge of my bed.
He catches my wrists, his grip like steel, stopping my flailing assault. He holds me there, his eyes boring into mine, filled with a look of such raw, agonizing desire that my legs threaten to give out from under me.
And in that moment, I decide.
My knees buckle, and I drop.
I land on the worn rug in front of him, my hand still caught in his. He doesn’t let go. I look down at his jeans, at the noticeable bulge straining against the denim, and my breath hitches.
With trembling fingers on my free hand, I reach for the button of his fly.
“What the hell are you doing, Artie?” Raiden whispers. His voice is broken. Wrecked.
I keep my eyes fixed on my shaking hand as I work the metal button free. My own confession spills out in a mortified, breathless rush.
“I just… want to try it,” I whisper, fumbling with the zipper pull. “I’ve n-never done this before, and I… I must be gay because I… w-want to do this. With you.” I finally manage to get the zipper down, the rasping sound loud in the silent room. I risk a glance up at his face. He looks shattered. “D-do you want to do this?” I ask, my voice cracking. “Y-you can say if you don’t want to. It’s okay.”
9
Chapter 9
He doesn’t say a word.
I’m still holding my breath, waiting for the rejection, for the cruel laugh and the shove that sends me sprawling backward.
Instead, his hand—the one not gripping my wrist—lifts slowly. He touches my hair, his fingers threading into the strands at the crown of my head. The touch is so hesitant, it feels like he’s handling something fragile he’s terrified of breaking. It undoes me.
“Either you continue,” Raiden says, and his voice breaks, cracking on the last few words as if his throat is closing up. “Or I’ll… lose control of myself.”
Permission. My hesitation shatters.
With a surge of adrenaline, I work his jeans the rest of the way down his thighs, my fingers brushing against the taut fabric of his black boxers.
Oh wow.
He’s already fully erect, the head of his cock straining against the cotton. I free him with shaking hands. He’s thick,soheavy, and there’s a single, clear drop of precum glistening on the tip under the dim light.
My brain goes offline. There is no thought, only instinct.
My mouth waters, and I lean forward, my tongue darting out to lick that single bead away. It tastes salty and intoxicating.
Above me, Raiden draws in a loud, ragged breath through his nostrils, his whole body going rigid. The hand in my hair tightens, not painfully, but with a desperate, grounding force.
That sound is all the encouragement I need.
I take the swollen head of his cock between my lips and suck. My own excitement spikes so high my head spins, a dizzying wave of just pure lust. My God. He’s so hard, and he’s hard forme.
I start to take him deeper, wanting more, wanting all of him, not wanting to stop. My throat muscles stretch, protesting slightly, but I ignore the discomfort, driven by a primal need to consume him, to prove my words.
To prove to him—and myself—that this is real.
“Artie,” Raiden whispers, his voice ragged. The fingers in my hair begin to move, stroking me now, more frantic and desperate.
I pull back slightly, needing to breathe, wanting to tease him.
I run my open mouth up and down the length of him, the velvety skin smooth against my lips. I flick my tongue over the sensitive vein running along the underside, and he lets out a low groan that vibrates right through me.
I want to own this moment, to make him lose that iron-clad control he wears like armor.
