“Hi,” he whispers.
“Hi yourself.”
We dance, moving together like we’ve been doing this our whole lives. The song swells around us, the singer hitting every note perfectly.
I let myself get lost in the moment. In Ryan’s warmth against me. In the soft brush of his breath against my jaw.
“Oliver,” Ryan says as the song begins its final verse.
“Mm?”
“After dessert.” He swallows, and I can feel thenervous tension in his shoulders. “I’d like to go home. Back to my dorm. And I’d like to—” He breaks off, cheeks flushing pink. “Jackson said the room would be empty.”
It takes my brain approximately three seconds to process what he’s saying. When it does, I nearly trip over my feet.
“Ryan.” My voice comes out strangled. “Are you saying?—”
“Hanky-panky.” The word is so ridiculous coming from his mouth, delivered in that old-fashioned cadence of his, that I almost laugh. But his eyes are serious, his expression earnest. “If you want. I mean, only if you want. I’m not trying to pressure you.”
“Pressureme?” I blink at him. “Ryan, I’m pretty sure I’m supposed to be saying that to you.”
“Why?”
“Because you’ve never—and I don’t want you to feel like you have to.” I’m fumbling over my words like an idiot, but I can’t seem to stop. “There’s no pressure. Zero pressure. I’m perfectly content to just kiss you and then go home and jerk off in bed like I’ve been doing for months. I don’t want you to feel rushed. Or obligated. Or like you have to do anything just because we’re official now. I can wait. I’m very good at waiting. I’ve been waiting my whole life, so a little longer won’t?—”
Ryan kisses me.
It’s not a gentle kiss. It’s firm and sure, cutting off my rambling mid-sentence. His hand slides from my shoulder to the back of my neck, fingers threading through my hair. When he pulls back, his eyes are blazing.
“I’m ready,” he says, his thumb tracing my jaw, featherlight. “Take me home, Oliver. Please.”
38
RYAN
I’m about to be naked, and the funny thing is, I’m not nervous.
I keep waiting for the anxiety to hit. The cold sweat, the racing thoughts, the overwhelming urge to flee that has characterized approximately 90 percent of my social interactions since puberty. But as Oliver’s fingers work the buttons of my shirt with careful deliberation, all I feel is anticipation. Want. A low, thrumming heat that starts in my belly and spreads outward at a rapid pace.
Maybe it’s because we’ve done this before. Not the losing my virginity part, obviously—that’s new territory, uncharted waters, here be dragons and all that—but the naked part. Or maybe it’s simpler than that. Maybe I’ve just been waiting for this moment for so long that the wanting has eclipsed everything else.
Oliver’s gaze travels down my body, lingering on my chest, my stomach, the obvious bulge straining against cotton. His pupils are blown wide, and there’s a hunger in his expression that makes me feel powerful in a way I’ve never experienced.
“God, Ryan.” His voice is rough. “Do you have any idea how long I’ve wanted to see you like this?”
“Probably as long as I’ve wanted to see you.” I hook mythumbs into my waistband. “Fair warning—I’m about to be completely naked.”
His lips twitch. “That’s the general idea.”
I push the briefs down and off, kicking them aside. The cool air hits my skin, and I resist the urge to cover myself. Instead, I stand there, letting Oliver look his fill.
My erection juts out from my body, flushed and eager, pointing straight ahead, seeking Oliver. I’ve never thought of myself as particularly impressive in that department—average length, average girth, nothing to write home about. But Oliver is staring at me like I’m the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen.
“Your turn,” I manage, my voice coming out breathier than intended.
Oliver doesn’t hesitate. He strips off his remaining clothes with the efficiency of an athlete used to quick changes, and suddenly he’s standing before me in nothing but moonlight and skin. His tongue darts out to wet his lips.
The sight of that tongue sends a bolt of heat straight to my groin.
