As our kiss deepens, our hands start to explore. I bury my fingers in the hair on the back of his head, his curls both softer and springier than I expect (and yes, than I imagined countless times fifteen years ago). My other hand wraps around his upper arm, more to keep him close than to feel him there. Although his smooth skin and soft flesh has me struggling not to slide my hand around and find out if he’s just as delectable to touch all over. We need to have a conversation before I even think about doing that.
But I take it as a good sign that Dion keeps a palm on my neck while his other hand lands on my leg. His fingertips dig into the muscle of my thigh and I start to think that maybe he wants me as much as I want him, that maybe this lust and this want and this affection isn’t just one-sided. Or maybe he only feels lust for me. And honestly, I’ll take it. I’ll take whatever he wants to give me.
It’s a moan that makes us break apart and I couldn’t tell you if it was mine or his. I feel like I’ve been sighing and grunting and groaning my way through this delicious kiss but apparently that moan was too loud, too much for us both. With our faces barely inches apart, we stare at eachother as both our chests heave, trying to catch our next breath.
I’m the first to find the staring and the silence a little awkward. Or more honestly, I want to go back to kissing again. “Was that…okay?”
Dion’s eyes sparkle as a small smile creeps over his lips. “What do you think?”
“Yeah.” I laugh-sigh. “It was something.”
“Yeah, it really was something.” His thumb starts to stroke my cheek, and it feels illogical that the crack my heart experiences isn’t an audible thing echoing around the room. My mother used to stroke my face just like that.
“What?” he asks, frowning. “Where did you just go?”
I blink away the threat of tears. “Nowhere.” I bring my hands to his knees and hold him firmly. His legs are so thick and so solid, I want to see them in the flesh. I want to lick my way up one and then down the other. “I’m right here.”
His eyes wander around the space then. “Yeah, about that. I don’t think it’s a good idea that we carry this on here.” He nods to the shop front which is all glass. “Can’t be giving the town a free show.”
My laughter is soft, but promptly stops when I replay what he just said. “You want…you want to continue doing this?”
Dion’s big brown eyes take on a new kind of sheen, one of mischief. “Don’t you?”
“Fuck, yes,” I say on a heavy exhale. “I really fucking want you.”
Dion doesn’t say anything back. His eyes roam my face.
“Did I say something wrong? Was it too much?” I ask, panic edging closer. I really don’t want to fuck this up. Whatever this is, I want it to last as long as possible.
“No.” Dion brings his other hand to my face again andalready I’m nostalgic for how our first kiss began. “I’m just…I’m not good at sharing my feelings the way I suspect you are.”
“What do you mean?”
“I don’t know if you’ve always been this way, if maybe I missed it at school, but am I right in thinking you’re kind of an open book?”
“Yeah, I guess I am. I wear my heart on my sleeve, if that’s what you mean?”
He rolls his lips into his mouth thoughtfully and drops his hands to my knees, mirroring how I’m holding him. “Thought so. The thing is, I wear my heart buried under layers and layers of clothes. And skin, and fat and muscle and bone and ligaments and nerves and whatever else we have going on in our bodies. I don’t always want to be this way.” His eyes settle on mine again, wide and open. “But I am.”
I slide my hands up and down his legs. Not too high, but enough to bring warmth to my palms from the friction of his jeans. “Okay. I’m not totally surprised, to be honest.”
His laugh has an edge to it. “Because I was a cold-hearted bastard at school?”
“No.” I lean forward. “Because you were always naturally careful and considerate. You didn’t rush into things. You observed. You took your time. I wish I could be more like that.”
“I don’t know,” he holds my gaze, “I’m quite enjoying being spontaneous tonight.”
My dick throbs in my tracksuit trousers. I’ve been hard since long before he even kissed me, but now it’s getting to the point where it’s beginning to hurt. And probably very obvious.
“So, if we’re not giving the locals a show?” I prompt.
“Back room,” he says immediately with a tap on my legs. “There’s a sofa in there. If we keep the lights off, nobody will see us. I hope.”
I wait for him to stand and turn before I get up, knowing full well there’s a tent pitched in my trousers, but of course, he’s much too clever for me. He turns back just as I’m standing, my back to the window, and adjusting myself inside my trousers.
“Oh.” He looks down at my groin. I feel a patch of dampness in my underwear. Fuck, he’s making me leak. “You thought I wouldn’t want to see that?”
I swallow dryly, speechless.
