His lips part on a gasp, and he presses forward again, finding a rhythm. There’s a gracelessness in it that I love, the way our hips don’t quite sync at first, the way his breathing changes as he finds a new tempo.
He drags his mouth away just long enough to breathe, “Noah.” The need in it makes my balls ache.
“Tell me to stop,” I murmur against his jaw, kissing my way to his neck. I promised I wouldn’t push, and I meant it, even while my hands shake with restraint from not touching him. “I’ll stop.”
He shakes his head rapidly. “Please don’t.”
His hands leave the shelf to catch in the sides of my hoodie again, fingers curling into the fabric, tugging me the last inch until there’s no space at all. He grinds up slowly, then a little harder, and a shudder runs through him. I lift my head back to watch him as his eyes flutter. His lashes are so dark against his cheek, I feel ridiculous for noticing them right now, but I can’t help it. They’re so pretty.
His sweater rides higher with each move, exposing more of that strip of soft, bare skin. My fingers itch to touch him, to learn how his skin feels under my palm. Muscles I didn’t know I could clench burn with restraint.
His breath ghosts against my mouth. He makes another sound, this one surprised and hungry, and his teeth catch mine in an awkward slide that makes us both laugh into the kiss—breathless, giddy—and then he does it again, hips rolling, and the friction goes from good to almost too much in a heartbeat.
A group of kids yell and laugh as they pass the front windows. Gabe jerks back on instinct, and my body follows his lead because I’ll always follow him.
We break apart, panting like we did something much more than kiss. He blinks at me, pupils blown wide. His cheeks are flushed, his mouth kiss swollen. I glance down, and there it is, the thick shape of his cock pressing against denim, trapped and insistent. The sight nearly kills me.
“Fuck,” I groan, staring at his crotch. I'd give anything to drop to my knees and worship this man right now.
He laughs, breathless and startled. He reaches for the hem of his sweater, but I get there first, tugging it down for him, smoothing the knit over his stomach with a gentle brush of my knuckles against the dark trail of hair there, that’s more indulgence than help. His skin is hot against mine. He makes a sound that suggests he noticed the knuckles, too.
Then I look down at myself and immediately regret every wardrobe decision I’ve ever made. Gym shorts. Great for mobility. Terrible for pretending you’re not turned on in a public space. “Well, that’s… subtle,” I mutter.
His eyes flick down to my crotch and back with an expression that’s close to wicked, if wicked could exist in someone so soft. The faintest smirk curves his lips. I want to kiss that, too. I want to kiss every version of his mouth.
He goes to say something, then he shakes his head.
I tilt my head. “What?”
“Nothing I… I was gonna make a dumb joke.”
I grin. “My favorite kind. Come on, tell me.”
“It’s really bad. It’ll be worse now because I didn’t say it right away,” he groans, looking embarrassed.
I bat my lashes at him playfully. “Please?”
Clearly, I’m not above begging.
He blows out a breath, squares his shoulders, and says seriously, “Is that a pack of Oreos, or are you just happy to see me?”
We both just stare at each other, lips quivering. Then a laugh breaks out of us both. I lean in and catch his mouth one last time, softer than before, just a brush of lips to taste that sound.
“You’re amazing. Bye,” I murmur against him, even though every cell in me is protesting the thought of leaving.
“Bye, Blue,” he says, and a stupid grin spreads across my face.
I step away, because if I don’t do it this second, I don’t think I’ll ever leave him. It doesn’t sound like a terrible idea, really,but my best friend might kill me if I’m a no-show because I’m making heart eyes at his brother.
The unusually chilly May air is cool enough to make me suck in a breath as I walk outside, which helps my current situation. A little. I shove my hands in my hoodie pocket and head down Main Street, legs moving on autopilot. Every few steps, my eyes find their way over my shoulder, back to Evergreen.
My body’s still buzzing, reminding me what just happened. I’m hard as hell, and I’ve got a whole day of work ahead of me, which is not ideal. But underneath the ache, there’s this positive feeling I can’t shake. He didn’t back away. He didn’t get nervous or shut down. He initiated it.
I can wait. Let him keep taking the lead. Because I don’t want to rush him and screw this up.
Zeke is behind the front desk when I arrive. I give him a wave and head toward the lockers. I drop my bag, go through my usual arrival routine, check the class timetable, personal training clients, and most importantly—start up my playlist.
I’m feeling some “Saturday Night” by Whigfield right about now.
