Recovering, I manage to join him, kissing back. His scruff scrapes my skin, and our tongues meet once, twice. Clay explores me, careful but not tentative, and I can feel him claiming his pleasure as he deepens the kiss.
My entire body comes alive, and I hum under my breath as I drag my hand over his broad chest.
When Clay finally pulls back, I gasp for breath.
“Wow,” I say. “That’s nice.”
Clay pulls his eyes away, a little embarrassed for himself. “Didn’t know I was going to do this tonight,” he says.
“Me, either. But I liked it.”
He grunts. “Yeah.”
The conversation and sexual tension has me all worked up, and I’m sweaty and horny and definitely not thinking clearly.
But I slow myself down, breathing in the dim light.
“We can stop right here if you want. Give you time to think.”
Clay frowns. His hand goes to my side again, and with smooth, firm pressure, he pushes me back onto the couch, getting above me properly.
“I don’t like to second guess myself.”
I grin, turned on by the power exchange between us. There’s a spark from our dynamic in life that carries over here, too.
I bunch his shirt in my hand. “Good. Then kiss me again.”
This time, what starts as a grunt turns into a low growl. Clay pulls me up and into his arms, taking me in another deep kiss. I tug on his shirt, bringing him down to the couch with me, and our bodies crash together as we make out.
Clay drags his hands up and down my abdomen, feeling me. The attention drives me wild, but it’s nothing like the flutter that goes through me when he takes my face, cupping my cheek.
“Your mouth,” he says as he looks at me. Clay drags his thumb down and over my bottom lip, feeling me. “You’re so fucking soft.”
I bite down lightly on his thumb. “And so hard.”
Our bodies pressed together, I can feel his dick pulse in response. His erection is thick in his jeans, and when I move my hips, my hard cock rubs against his.
“Is that okay?” I ask, my mouth pressed to Clay’s. I move my hips again, letting him feel what I’m talking about.
Clay’s grip lands on my side. He opens his mouth, almost talks, but then takes me in another kiss instead, answering with his body.
I moan under my breath while we make out and dry hump, grinding our stiff heat together. We’re still dressed, and I feel the soft cotton of his shirt, the worn denim that hugs his thighs, but also the hairy backs of his forearms and the warmth of his skin.
Clay kisses me harder, his confidence rising. I lose myself in the sensations, forgetting everything except for the electric pulse of desire and pleasure and need.
When we knock a cushion to the ground, I snap out of it and pull back, breaking the spell.
Panting heavily, I’m flushed, a little dizzy, and halfway to orgasming in my pants.
Clay leans back, catching his breath, too.
He furrows his brow. “Nicholas,” he says, voice rough. He doesn’t come up with any more words, but he doesn’t have to. I understand everything from his eyes.
“Glad you liked it, too.”
I grin. He’s cute as hell right now, and I’d love to progress to actual nude frottage by candlelight. But I meant what I said earlier. We need to exercise some caution here, and I’d rather end on a high note and leave us both wanting more.
Which, based on the serious bulge in Clay’s pants, seems to be a mutual desire.
“We should call it a night,” I tell him.
Clay’s brow stays tight, but he doesn’t object. “Fine.”
“And pick this up again soon?” I clarify. “After we’ve both had some time to sleep on it.”
Clay nods. “Yeah. Sure. I’ll, ah….” He pushes a hand through his hair and stands, recovering himself more. “Soon.”
I stand and swipe a quick kiss across his lips, wanting the brush of his scruff one last time.
Before I cave to temptation and prolong the night, I make my exit, and whistle happily the whole way home.
