“I have to admit I’m not sure what that means, because even though I’m older than you, I don’t have much more experience.”
He huffed a laugh, cheeks darkening under the ceiling light in his room. He took a step toward me, head angling back into that cocky posturing he favored when he was trying to pretend he wasn’t terrified out of his mind.
“Experience with what?” he asked.
“Men,” I said. “You.”
“Honestly, Colin. Even if you had been with other men, I’m sure none of them would prepare you for me.” His confidence washed over him like my admission of interest had unleashed a tidal wave of bravery.
“I’m sure they’re not," I rasped.
“I want to be clear, though.” He came closer until there was maybe a few feet left between us. “You don’t mean you came here because we’re friends.”
I closed my eyes, taking a breath. “Wearefriends, Wesley.”
“But that’s not what you meant.”
The sound of his sneakers shuffling over the carpet, coming closer, was as loud in my ears as a bomb dropping in the inches now left between us.
“No,” I whispered.
I opened my eyes to find him reaching out. Long and slender fingers, bitten-down fingernails, reaching for the hem of my shirt. He rucked it up, just enough to expose an inch of my hip and then stretched farther, dusting his fingertips against my exposed skin. His touch was electric, as much and somehow more than I’d remembered from the last time a man had touched me with any sort of intent.
A low groan rumbled in my throat and he pressed his fingers against me for a breath, then took them away. My shirt fell back against my skin, against my trousers, and I hated the difference in sensation. I wanted his hands on me. I wanted him to learn with me. Between my legs, again, that insistent pulse and throb that I’d tried so hard on Wednesday to hide and fight. If he saw the bulge growing, he didn’t say anything and I was thankful for that.
“When I told you about David, you asked me if he had consent to kiss me,” Wesley said quietly.
“I remember.”
“It was impressive you asked me,” he said. “I thought consent was generational.”
I couldn’t stop the laugh from coming out, some of the anxiety that had wrapped around us cracked and fell away. I looked at him, shaking my head. He smiled, a small thing that felt more natural than anything I’d seen on his face in the short time I’d known him. Whatever it was, things felt better.
“I know about consent,” I reminded him.
“I want yours.” He shuffled closer. There wasn’t even enough room between us for him to take a step. Just a quick shift of his weight and he was near enough for me to touch him back if I wanted. My fingers trembled and I didn’t know what to do with my hands. Looking down at them, I flexed them into fists and released, letting them fall down at my sides.
“Can I touch you, Wesley?” I asked, the need in my bones almost a tangible thing. My hands were not going to stay put. I needed him, needed to know.
“Yes.” His voice rang out, clear as a bell.
I was slow to move, taking his upturned face into the cradle of my hands. Stroking my thumbs across his cheekbones, Wesley’s eyes moved quickly, taking in every line and wrinkle on my face. It felt like he was mapping me, committing me to memory, while I narrowed in and focused on the sharp climb of his jaw against my fingers and the crisp blue of his eyes.
We stayed like that longer than felt decent. Wesley letting me touch him in the same small ways until I had my fill, his eyes never losing focus on my face. When I wanted more, I stopped myself, letting my fingers trace down the long column of his throat before curling over his collarbone toward his back. His breath was loud, louder than my heart, and his dark, black pupils finally started to overtake his vibrant sky-colored irises.
“I want yours,” he said again, voice shaking but sure.
“Okay,” I agreed.
“I want to kiss you.” Wesley blinked slowly. “But I’ve never…Not when it counted…”
“It’s okay.”
“I’m going to kiss you, Colin.”
“It’s okay,” I said again.
My hands were still steady around his shoulders and he lifted, going onto his toes, and then Wesley pressed our lips together. I gasped, but not from surprise, only from sensation. My fingers connected at the base of his neck, feeling the gooseflesh and the short hairs as I held on for dear life. Wesley kissed me gently, just his closed mouth against mine.
