And I intend to make the most of every second.
39
OLIVER
The thing about Ryan Abrams is that he approaches everything like a perfectionist. His side of the dorm room is organized by color and function. His notes are color-coded and cross-referenced. His wardrobe is arranged by decade and occasion. So it shouldn’t surprise me that he’s applying that same meticulous attention to taking me apart.
But it does surprise me. It surprises the hell out of me.
His hand moves in steady strokes, finding a rhythm that has me gripping the sheets, the only thing tethering me to reality. Every few seconds, he adjusts something—the pressure, the speed, the angle—cataloging my reactions in a way that would be unnerving if it wasn’t so goddamn hot.
“Oliver.” His voice is low, wondering. “You’re really responsive tonight.”
“I’m aware.” The words come out through gritted teeth as another wave of pleasure rolls through me.
“No, I mean—” He pauses his ministrations, and I nearly sob at the loss. “Look.”
I force my eyes open, following his gaze downward. My cock is flushed and straining in his grip, the curved length glistening with precome that’s started to drip down his fingers andpool on my stomach. There’s a lot of it. More than I’ve ever produced alone, certainly.
“That’s new,” I admit breathlessly. “That’s—you’re doing that. You’re making me leak.”
“I need a towel.”
“What?”
But Ryan is already moving, sliding off the bed. He disappears into the bathroom and returns with a hand towel, which he uses to carefully clean the mess from my stomach and his hand. “There,” he says, satisfied. “Now I can keep going without losing my grip.”
“Ryan, you don’t have to?—”
“I want to.” He settles back between my legs, and there’s something in his expression that makes my breath catch. Hunger, yes, but also wonder. Like he can’t quite believe this is happening. Like he’s been given a gift he never expected. “I want to make you feel as good as you made me feel. Better, if I can.”
“You already are,” I tell him honestly. “Just being here with you is?—”
His hand wraps around me again, and whatever sentiment I was about to express dissolves into a groan.
The second round of attention is more confident than the first. Apparently, Ryan has gathered data and is putting it to use. He knows now that I like it when he twists at the top, that the underside of my head is particularly sensitive, that slow strokes make me whimper while fast ones make me curse.
He’s learning me. And the thought of being known like this is almost more than I can handle.
“Oliver?” His voice cuts through the haze of pleasure.
“Yeah?”
“I want to try something else.”
My brain, fuzzy with arousal, takes a moment to process this. “Something else?”
“I’ve been reading.” Of course, he has. “About other things that feel good. Things that might be new. For both of us.”
I prop myself up on my elbows, studying his face. His cheeks are flushed, his hair disheveled from where I ran my fingers through it earlier, and there’s a determined set to his jaw.
“What kind of things?” I ask carefully.
Ryan’s flush deepens, spreading down his neck and across his chest. “I want to—” He stops, swallows, tries again. “I’d like to explore your…posterior region.”
I blink. “My…posterior region.”
“Your buttocks. Your rear end. Your?—”
