He had me exactly where he wanted me.
So I pulled his hair, hard enough that his head jerked back and his eyes flew to mine, his lips wet and swollen and slightly parted. For a second we just stared at each other, both of us breathing hard.
"Get up here," I said. "I want to get my hands on you."
He crawled up my body and kissed me. I could taste myself on his tongue and I licked into his mouth wanting more of it.
I got my hands on his belt while he was distracted, got it open, got his jeans shoved down enough that I could wrap my hand around him.
He was hard and leaking, his cock hot and heavy in my palm, and when I stroked he hissed and his hips jerked forward into my grip. My hands were rough from years of stick tape and weight room calluses. He shuddered when I stroked him, andI wondered when anyone had last touched him without being careful about it.
"Fuck," he breathed against my mouth. "Your hands."
"Yeah?" I twisted my grip on the upstroke and his whole body twitched. "What about them?"
"They're—" He broke off when I thumbed the slit, his cock jerking in my hand. "Rough."
"Too rough?"
"No." The word came out strangled. "Don't stop."
I didn't stop. I stroked him the way I stroked myself, tight grip and steady rhythm, my thumb spreading the pre-cum leaking from the tip. His hand found my cock again, and we jerked each other off in the cramped back seat of my truck, breathing hard into each other's skin.
He was curled over me, around me, his body a cage of long limbs and lean muscle. Every sound he made went straight through me. The catch in his breath when I twisted my wrist. The low groan when I squeezed the base. The way he said fuck against my throat like a prayer.
"Harder," he said, and I gave him harder.
"Faster," I said, and his hand sped up until I couldn't think straight.
We found a rhythm together, our hands moving in sync, and I could feel him getting close in the way his thighs trembled against mine, the way his breath came faster, the way his grip stuttered and lost its precision.
"I want to feel you come," I said against his ear. "I want it all over my hand."
His hips jerked hard, and he made a sound like I'd punched him. "Red—"
"Come on." I twisted my grip and felt his cock pulse. "Give it to me."
His forehead dropped against mine. His breath was coming in short gasps and his hand was barely moving on my cock anymore, too lost in what I was doing to him.
He came with a groan, spilling hot over my fist, his cock pulsing in my grip. I worked him through it, my hand slick with his cum, and the sound he made when I didn't stop was enough to push me over the edge.
I followed him a few seconds later, his name caught somewhere in my throat.
For a few seconds we just breathed. His forehead was still pressed against mine, his weight heavy on top of me, his heart pounding against my chest. Cum was cooling on my stomach, and I didn't care.
Then he was pulling back, sitting up, reaching for something to wipe his hand on.
The shift was so fast it almost gave me whiplash. One second he was pressed against me, shaking through an orgasm with my name in his mouth. The next he was on the other end of the bench seat, not looking at me, wiping his hand on an old rag from my floorboard. His jaw had gone tight. His shoulders had pulled back. He was reassembling himself piece by piece, putting all the walls back up, and I watched it happen like watching a door swing shut.
I tucked myself back in and zipped my jeans.
"I should go," he said without looking at me.
I'd done this a hundred times, been the one who left before things got awkward. But I'd never been on the other side of it, never been the one sitting there while someone else pretended nothing had happened.
The silence stretched out between us. Joel buttoned his jeans without looking at me, ran his fingers through his hair to fix what I'd done to it, and turned back into the cold, untouchable version of himself in the space of thirty seconds.
My jaw tightened. I climbed into the front seat without saying anything else. After a second, he followed, settling into the passenger seat like we were strangers who happened to be sharing a cab.
