Then his knuckles brushed against the waistband of my underwear.
Just a graze. Accidental. His hand shifting as he pressed against a particularly dark bruise on my hip.
But the angle was wrong. Or right. Or so fucking perfect that when his knuckles dragged across the fabric, they caught the head of my cock through the thin material.
The sensation hit me like lightning.
My entire body went rigid. Every nerve ending fired at once. The pleasure was immediate and overwhelming and completely unstoppable.
I came.
Right there in his kitchen, standing in nothing but my underwear while he touched me, I fucking came like a teenager who'd never been touched before.
The orgasm ripped through me hard and fast. I bit down on the inside of my cheek hard enough to taste blood, trying desperately not to make a sound. Trying not to move. Trying not to give away what was happening while my cock pulsed and spilled into my underwear.
My vision went white at the edges. My legs shook. Every muscle in my body locked up tight while pleasure crashed through me in waves that wouldn't stop.
Declan kept working. Kept pressing against the bruise on my hip, completely focused on checking for internal damage, utterly unaware that I was falling apart under his hands.
“Does this hurt?” he asked, pressing slightly harder.
I couldn't speak. Could barely breathe. I just shook my head while my cock kept pulsing, kept spilling, kept making a mess that I had no way to hide.
“Good. That's good.” His hand moved lower, checking my pelvis. “No fractures I can feel. You got lucky.”
Lucky. Right. That was one word for it.
I stood there trembling while the aftershocks rolled through me, trying to look like I was just in pain instead of coming down from an orgasm I'd had no control over.
Declan stepped back and started packing up his supplies with the same methodical care he brought to everything.
“Ice the ribs,” he said, not looking at me. “Heat tomorrow. And stay off the bike for a few days. Let your body heal before you go doing anything stupid again.”
“Yeah. Okay.”
He finally looked up. His eyes scanned my face, looking for signs of pain or distress or whatever the hell stepfathers looked for when they were playing doctor.
I kept my expression neutral. Focused on breathing steady. On not looking down at the wet spot spreading across the front of my black underwear.
“You good?” he asked.
“Yeah. Fine.”
“Alright.” He grabbed his first aid kit. “I need to get back to work. There's leftovers in the fridge if you're hungry later.”
He left. Walked out of the kitchen without looking back, taking all the air in the room with him.
I stood there alone, half-naked and covered in bruises and come, trying to process what the fuck had just happened.
I'd come from a single accidental touch. From Declan's knuckles brushing my cock through fabric while he was checking my injuries.
Like my body had been wound so tight that the barest contact had shattered every bit of control I had left.
I looked down. The evidence was obvious. Dark wet spot spreading across black fabric, my cock still half-hard and sensitive.
I was so fucked.
So completely, utterly fucked.
