Kent took a long pull from his can, his throat working as he swallowed. I tracked the movement, then forced myself to look away. This was torture.
“We should probably talk,” he said quietly.
“Yeah. Probably.”
But neither of us moved. The air between us felt charged, electric. I could hear my own heartbeat pounding in my ears.
“I’ve been thinking about it too,” Kent continued, his voice lower now. “About you. About what we did.”
My breath caught. “And?”
“And I want to do it again.” He set the can down on the table, his hand coming up to rub the back of his neck. It was that same nervous gesture I’d come to recognize. “But I also don’t want to fuck this up. Whatever this is.”
I stood up, closing the laptop. We were close now, close enough that I could smell his cologne mixed with the sweat of the work day. “What do you want this to be?”
“I don’t know.” His eyes searched mine, vulnerable in a way I’d never seen from him before. “All I know is that I can’t stop thinking about you. It’s making it hard to focus at work, hard to sleep. I feel like I’m losing my mind.”
“Join the club,” I muttered.
A small smile tugged at his lips. “So, what do we do about it?”
The smart thing would be to take it slow. To talk through all our feelings and concerns, establish boundaries, make sure we were on the same page. But standing this close to him, seeing the want in his eyes that I knew was mirrored in my own, I couldn’t bring myself to care about smart.
“We could stop overthinking it,” I suggested, my hand finding his hip.
Kent’s breath hitched. “Is that what we’re doing? Overthinking?”
“Definitely.” I moved closer, eliminating the space between us. “We’re both adults. We know what we want.”
“And what do you want,James?”
The way he said my name, rough and desperate, sent a shiver down my spine. I leaned in until my lips were almost brushing his ear.
“I want you in my bed,” I whispered. “But no running away after.”
His hands found my waist, gripping tight. “I think I can do that.”
“Can you?” I pulled back just enough to look at him. “Because if we do this, Kent, I need to know you’re not going to freak out again. I can’t… I can’t handle watching you run.”
Something shifted in his expression, determination replacing the uncertainty. “I’m not running. Not this time.”
“Promise?”
Instead of answering, he kissed me. It was different from the frantic desperation of two nights ago. This was deliberate, thorough, like he was trying to prove something. His hands slid up my back, pulling me flush against him, and I could feel he was already half-hard in his jeans.
I broke the kiss, both of us breathing hard. “Bed. Now.”
We stumbled across the room, unable to keep our hands off each other. Kent’s fingers were already lifting the hem of my shirt, clumsy with urgency. I yanked his tucked in shirt free, sliding my hands underneath to feel the warm skin of his back.
We made it to my bed, and I pushed him down onto the mattress, climbing on top of him. He looked up at me, eyes filled with want, and I had to take a moment to just appreciate the sight. Kent, in my bed, looking at me like that. A week ago, this was nothing but a hazy fantasy in the back of my mind. Something that would never happen. But now he was here, hard and willing underneath me.
“I want you to fuck me,” I said, my hands on his chest. “But… maybe that’s too much too fast.”
“I…” Kent faltered. “Yeah. I think you’re right.”
I was disappointed, I couldn’t lie about that. But I wanted to do this right. “Blowjobs then?”
Kent nodded. “You’ll have to show me how.”
