Before I can talk myself out of it, I stand up, shrug off my uncomfortable day clothes until I’m down to my boxers, and climb into the bed beside him. I pull the covers over myself, the sheets still warm from his body heat.
Andrew freezes instantly, still facing away, then tries… very discreetly, in a way that’s almost funny… to inch a little farther from me so our bodies aren’t touching. I don’t say anything. I don’t pressure him. I just lie here, close enough that he can feel I’m here, and stay.
After a few minutes of thick silence, Andrew’s voice comes out in a whisper so small I almost miss it. “Are you gonna leave?”
“Nope.”
He turns over slowly, keeping the covers pulled up tight to his neck like he’s trying to hide behind them. “Why?”
I shrug one shoulder, keeping my voice low and steady. “I want you to know that youarewanted. That I’mproudof you. That I’mnotletting you move out. And that… I feel alotless guilty knowing Cici is out of the picture. Well done, by the way, that can’t have been easy. I’m just sorry she didn’t want to support you through this.”
Andrew nods, taking it all in, his fingers absently playing with a stray thread on his pillowcase.
Chapter Eight
Slade
The sunlight filters through the thin curtains in soft, golden strips across the room as I wake up groggily, a deep yawn stretching through my chest. I’m still in Andrew’s bed, the sheets warm and rumpled from the night, and for a second the unfamiliarity of it all settles over me like a quiet confession. My arm falls to the side, reaching instinctively, but the space beside me is empty. I frown, eyes cracking open just enough to check the clock. It’s not even eight yet, and it’s Saturday… Andrewalwayssleeps in late on weekends, buried under the covers.
Then I hear the bathroom door open down the hall, followed by the soft pad of footsteps and a sleepy yawn as he starts back toward the room. A small, secret thrill runs through me, lighter and sharper than it should be now that I know Cici is out of the picture for good. Before I can talk myself out of it, I kick the quilt off the bed as if by accident, letting it slide to the floor in a heap. I roll onto my back, the morning hardness in my boxers now completely obvious, tenting the thin fabric in the early light. I sling one arm over my face, covering myeyes, and force my breathing to stay slow and even, pretending I’m still lost in sleep.
The bedroom door clicks shut behind him. His footsteps stop dead in the middle of the room.
“Fuck,” he whispers, barely audible, the word soaked in shock and something darker.
I have to fight the grin that wants to break across my face. I know exactly what he’s staring at.
“Okay… just cover him back up… it’s fine,” he mutters under his breath, like he’s trying to talk himself down.
I hear him round the bed, the soft rustle of fabric as he bends to grab the discarded quilt and tosses it back over me in a clumsy heap.
“Ugh, too early,” he grumbles, voice thick with sleep.
Before I can brace myself, the mattress dips as he climbs back in, deliberately facing away from me and scooting toward the far edge in an obvious attempt to put distance between our bodies.
I keep up the act of being asleep for a few more heartbeats, then roll over slowly, innocently, shuffling closer until my chest is almost flush with his back. I fling my arm over his waist, heavy and casual. Andrew’s whole body tenses instantly beneath my touch. A second later, one of those devastating little whimpers slips out of him when he feels exactly what’s pressing, thick and insistent, against the curve of his ass through our thin layers of clothing.
He clears his throat, voice rough and uncertain. “Slade?”
I ignore him on purpose, keeping my breathing deep and steady, arm staying exactly where it is.
Andrew doesn’t move. He just lies there, frozen, like he’s waiting for me to wake up or pull away.
I let my hand twitch downward, slow and deliberate, slipping beneath the waistband of his pyjama pants and into his boxers. My palm stops, fingers brushing the base of his cock. He’s already half-hard, and it doesn’t take long at all for him to swell fully against my hand, hot and throbbing.
Andrew lets out a quiet, broken moan. “Jesus Christ…”
His hips start moving on their own… slow, tentative little rolls that push him through the loose curl of my fingers, chasing the friction like he can’t help himself. He drags the covers up over his head in a rush, clearly embarrassed, muffling the next soft sound that escapes him. The moan is too quiet, too hidden, and that displeases me more than it should.
I throw the covers off again with a sharp flick of my wrist, the quilt tumbling to the floor in a heap. A low growl rumbles up from deep in my chest as I move, careful but decisive, rolling Andrew onto his front so he’s lying flat against the mattress. I’m mindful of his hard cock trapped beneath him, not wanting to crush it, but the shift still makes him whimper into the pillow.
I kneel between his spread legs, his thighs still pressed flat to the bed so his ass juts up beautifully, forced higher by the insistent press of his erection. My hands slide up under the hem of his pyjama top, pushing the soft fabric higher and higher along the smooth line of his spine until it bunches beneath his shoulder blades. I lean down and drag my teeth across his skin in slow, deliberate bites… pretty little marks that bloom pink and then deepen, claiming every inch I touch.
“You don’t hide those moans from me,” I growl against the nape of his neck, voice rough and low. “Understood?”
Andrew nods quickly into the pillow, the motion jerky and eager.
I hook my fingers into the waistband of his bottoms and boxers and drag them down his thighs, shuffling backward on the bed until I can pull them off completely and toss them aside. The sight of his bare ass makes me groan… Goddamn, it’s so round and plump, perfectly shaped and just begging to be used. I palm both juicy cheeks with my large hands, spreading him open, kneading the soft flesh like I own it.
