“I have. Once or twice. Nothing to write about in my diary, that’s for sure,” I joke, liking where this is going. I back myself against the wavy metal wall in anticipation. Isn’t this what actors in Baz’s music videos do to signal they want to be kissed deep, pressed hard, taken somewhere exhilarating? “Why do you ask?”
“Because I haven’t. At all. And I…” He clears his throat, growing shy as I grow fuller in my jeans. “I was…”
“And you were hoping we would…”
“Yeah, dude.” His voice cracks in a sexy way. “I was hoping we would. The other night.”
“We still can.” I let my voice trail into a tantalizing place.
“Here?” he asks, looking around, uncertain.
“Why not? It’s secluded. It’s private. Nobody around to interrupt us…” My list could go on, but I can’t take it anymore. From the moment I saw him, the second he needled me like nobody else ever has, I knew I wanted him, and now he’s here, offering himself. I can’t let this moment pass. A drive back in the truck could change everything. I won’t let the fragility of what we have smash to pieces in transit. Pressing pause, like we did that night, isn’t an option any more.
I want this. I need this.
“Are you sure?” he asks.
I nod. “I’m so sure.”
Without further prompting, he’s locking the truck and hauling the gate down. In only the glow of an electric lantern that’s on its last leg, he finds his way back to me, stopping inches from my body. He’s radiating pheromones and full-throttle heat in these freezer-like temperatures.
A single hand reaches out, hesitant, and strokes the side of my hair, tracing the divot of my ear. My whole body shivers. “Is this okay?”
“Yeah, your fingers are just cold,” I say, panting. He turns into an ice sculpture, uncertainty magnifying in his eyes, but then I whisper, “It’s okay. I want this. I don’t care.” Cold fingers can go to hell. “I need you.”
That’s all he needs to hear.
“Warm them,” he instructs, presenting his fingers to me, using the bratty tone from the day we met. Except this time, it’s fucking sexy. So fucking sexy that it shakes up my insides like a snow globe.
Without hesitation, I take his forefinger in my mouth. My tongue wanders over the ridges of bone, tasting his calluses, before I do the same to the next finger and the next and the next. Then, he’s presenting me with his other hand, and before I know it, I’m blowing hot breath up their sides, so entranced by this strangely erotic act. So in the moment that it scares me.
He goes to touch my face again, but I flinch. “Still cold.” The straining denim below my waist gives me an idea. “Try this.” I undo my belt and slip his hand into the deep warmth there. I cringe at first, sudden shock, but settle into the firm press of his palm.
“Much better,” he whispers in my ear before pushing up against me. I do the same for him and allow our mouths to meet. This initial kiss isn’t tentative. It’s sumptuous, toothy. Hurried, matching my rocketing heart rate.
We’re on it—on each other—like that for a while. Our thumping bodies working hard toward the desired result. His pants fall completely down to his ankles, so I pull him closer, gripping his now bare ass. He gasps into my mouth, sweet hot breath, as the pads of my fingers massage the soft flesh there.
“I love that. Keep doing that,” he groans, commanding. I knead him more, making his goose bumps disappear.
My brain is flashing, pleasure centers spiking as he slickly strokes me, kisses me, brings me to the brink of orgasm and then walks it back. Over and over. He’s an expert at teasing me, both with words and his hands, apparently.
I’m seeing stars in the shadowy dark. “That’s it, Matthew.”
Time starts skipping like a jumping needle on a record player at his praise. We find a steady rhythm that satisfies us both and sounds like music. It’s all too real and utterly dreamlike.
By the time Hector’s hand has fully defrosted, I’m frantically whispering, “I’m close. Please,please. I’m close.”
We both moan into each other’s necks, gasping for air at the flood of overwhelming relief that comes when we topple over the edge one right after the other.
Finally.When the shuddering ceases, I can breathe again.
“That was—” I start.
“Yeah,” he finishes, half-pensive, half-sighing. “Wow.”
“Yep. Wow.”
We look at each other. Freezing yet overheated. Satisfied yet yearning for more. The charged awkwardness gets broken by a breathless, necessary laugh. There’s no more left to be said.
