That twisting inside me gets tighter.
“Watch him, Emmett.”
I am. I am.
I don’t think I could look away if I tried.
My breath is choppy as Tristen’s groans fill the room, the shake of the bed squeaking with his movements, his skin flushed and shining.
Tighter.
“Fuckfuckfuckfuckkkkkkk.”
His hips lift at the same time his head falls back, stretching his neck and the tattoos there.
I gasp, that building pressure coming undone.
And he comes.
His length shooting strands of white into the air that land on his stomach. His chest. His chin.
Hatley’s deep timbre follows, and I press the heel of my palm against my crotch.
The pressure spreads the wetness in the underwear, and I shudder.
Did I … come?
The realization has all the blood rushing from my head and it’s like I canfeelhow ghostly white I just became.
I go to jump up, to run, to find someplace to hide away my shame of coming without even being touched.
Am I that desperate?
How else can I justify what’s happened here?
My first voluntary encounter and it’s with two guys instead of one. A boy instead of a girl.
If it was my actual first, maybe I wouldn’t want to throw up.
My eyes burn and my wrist scrapes along the callouses holding my hoodie sleeve.
“Thank you.”
Completely oblivious to my inner panic, Tristen tugs at my sleeve just hard enough to disrupt the way I’m propped up, and I fall back as Hatley climbs out of the bed.
“Bub, look at me.”
My breath hitches with a dry sob and I shove my free fist into my mouth and bite to keep the tears from forming.
I’ll never be right.
“Emmett.”
Rough fingers find my chin, and I’m so tense that even my normal reaction to touch is suppressed as he guides my face up.
I’m panting in his face, a mess, practically falling apart beside him and he’s …smiling.
Lips stretched, showing a peek at his crooked front tooth, cuts and splits all over his face from the fight earlier.
