“So then what’s the problem?” He’s right in my face now. His woodsy scent fills my lungs. “You worried I’ll tell her what happened in the bathroom? I won’t. I’m not a jerk. I can keep a secret.” His eyes drop to my lips. “Especially when they’re this good.”
“It’s not that.”
“Then what?”
“I just—” I run a hand through my hair. “You didn’t get anything out of it.”
“Yes, I did.” His voice drops low. “Watching you fall apart like that was more than enough.” His dark eyes lock on mine, and I feel a pull deep in my stomach. “But if you’re feeling indebted…” He reaches out and takes my hand, pressing it against the bulge in his jeans. “I’m not gonna say no.”
“Fuck,” I breathe. “You’re hard again.”
“Yeah.” He pushes into my touch, a low rumble in his chest. “That’s what you do to me.”
My hand moves on its own, tracing the length of him through the denim. He exhales slowly, jaw tight, his eyes never leaving mine. I can feel the heat of him through the fabric, the throb of his pulse against my palm.
“Calvin.” My name in his mouth sounds like a warning.
“What?” I squeeze gently, and he makes a low sound in his throat that goes straight to my dick.
“You keep doing that, and we’re not going back upstairs.” He plants a hand on the wall next to my head, caging me in.
“Maybe I don’t want to go back upstairs.”
“Yeah?” He lowers his head, close enough that I can feel the warmth of his breath on my lips. “What do you want then?”
“I—”
“What do you want, Calvin?”
I could kiss him. The thought flashes through my mind. His lips are right there, parted slightly, inches from mine. What would it feel like? To press my mouth against another guy’s? To taste him?
But that’s too much. Too intimate.
Instead, I drop to my knees.
The concrete’s cold and hard beneath me. I look up at him, my hands already at his belt, fingers working the buckle.
“Let me return the favor.”
7
I’ve undressed so many girls, but my hands were never shaking like this. There’s something so much more intense about undressing a guy, a football player at that. A quarterback. The heavy leather belt. The thick denim stretched over solid muscle. That woodsy, almost piney scent of him. Everything about him is so damn masculine, and for some reason, that’s what’s getting to me.
His zipper goes down with a metallic scrape. I pull down the waistband of his boxers, and then, he’s out.
“Fuck,” I breathe as my hand wraps around his cock. “I thought I was big.”
He lets out a low laugh. “It’s not a competition, man.”
But it kind of feels like one. My dick’s bigger than average. I’ve gotten plenty of compliments. But this thing in my hand is… a beast. Long, thick, and heavy, with a network of veins mapping the shaft. I feel a flash of intimidation, which is insane, because it’s just a dick. But it’s not. It’shisdick.
“I know, but—” My fingers don’t even meet around him. “Fuck. This is thick as a beer bottle.”
“A bottle, huh?” He rocks into my grip. “What about drinking straight from the tap?”
“That’s terrible,” I say, but I’m already leaning forward. “But I guess I’m thirsty.”
My body’s moving on pure impulse. Never in my life did I think I’d end up here, on my knees for another dude, but here I am, breathing in the scent of his hard cock, about to put it in my mouth.
