The thought alone makes my dick jump with excitement. I palm it through my sweatpants, trying to hold in the grunt that wants to escape me. I’m so hard I could hit a home run with this thing. I’m equal parts irritated and desperate. It’s annoying, but also kind of a turn on. I grip my dick as I purse my lips, my gaze falling over the body next to me. Over Hudson…
As terrified as I am that he’ll roll over and feel me, or worse—seeme with my hand over my dick, there’s a part of me that finds the idea hot as hell. My dick throbs, liking the idea too much.
Just like last time.
When I’d thought about being discovered in the bookstore. When I thought about being shoved up against those shelves, books tumbling down around me whiletheystroked my dick. I mean, it was me, but… I didn’t envisionmyselfjacking myself off in public. I imagined my hand was someone else’s, but it wasn’t like I had a clear picture of a person. Just theideaof someone touching me, driving me over the edge, of having to keep quiet or I’d draw attention…
Fuck, my dick twitches again at the thought of that. I have to fight to suppress the moan that wants to escape me. Hudson shifts, and I freeze. I can’t tell if he’s sleeping or not, and something about that is equally thrilling as it is terrifying.Thinking about Hudsondiscoveringme with my hand around my dick doesn’t deter me the way it should. In fact, I think it only makes it worse.Maybe I am developing a kink or something. Like some early midlife crisis shit. Is this what happens before you turn thirty? I thought it was supposed to be motorcycles and Corvettes, not dicks with a mind of their own.
I let go of my dick, trying my best to remain still as a statue, to keep my breathing even. Hudson settles, and I let out a shaky breath. I keep my gaze on him as I slide my hand beneath the waistband of my sweatpants, beneath the tight fit of my boxer briefs. Slowly, I slip my hand over my smooth shaft as I focus on keeping my breath steady so I don’t draw attention to what I’m doing. There’s a small part of my brain that tells me this is a bad idea. A fucking terrible idea. But the minute my thumb brushes over my slit, the minute I feel the familiar sticky, warm wetness of precum collecting there, I can’t deny how good it feels. I swallow hard, my gaze still fixed on Hudson. My eyes rove down his back, noting the way his muscles are corded in his back from his position. Even through his shirt, in the low light, I can see the definition. I wipe the precum over the soft, sensitive head of my dick and bite my tongue to keep quiet. Then I hear him. He grunts out a sound, his shoulders shifting again, and I freeze, hand wrapped around my leaking dick, unable to move. I can’t even breathe. And then he does it. I barely have a second to react before he rolls over, and instinct kicks in, along with reality.
What the fuck am I doing? This is wrong on so many levels. So fucking many…
I roll over suspiciously quick, sucking in a breath as I pull my hand out of my pants and press my dick between my legs, my entire body tensing as I try to think the most unsexy thoughts imaginable, trying like hell to kill this damn hard-on that is making me feel every bit like some creepy pervert straight out of Bates Motel.
I let out a heavy breath as I stare at the wall, trying my hardest to ignore the ache between my legs, trying to ignore how fucking wet I am at the thought that Imightget caught, even now. I swallow hard and close my eyes.
“Dead kittens. High School Musical. Waiting in line at the DMV,” I whisper to myself as low as I can as I force my eyes shut. I bury my face in my pillow.
Fuck, this isn’t working.
And because I’m a glutton for punishment, that’s the moment I feel Hudson against me. His front molds to the curve of my back, and the heat from his body warms me. And then I feelhim.
Or rather, his dick. Hard againstme.
My own twitches in response, and I tense, unsure what to do. I listen for any sort of sign that he’s awake, but I can’t tell. I should get up, head for the bathroom, and just… fix this.
That way, I can sleep. Thunder echoes in the distance; the rain a soft pitter-patter on the roof.
I should move, but I can’t.
All I can do is keep my eyes closed and pretend like I’m not having some middle of the night existential crisis and pray he rolls back over. My breath catches as panic laces through me, but it’s not panic because his dick is touching me. It’s not even a panic that he’shard.I mean, it doesn’t happenthatoften anymore, but I’ve definitely woken up hard in the middle of the night before, so I know it’s not entirely his fault, and it certainly isn’t mine. It’s not even a panic because I could get caught.
Those things make the most sense, but… what’s making me panic right now,doesn’tmake sense to me. At all.
His body shifts again, and I feel the twitch of his dick against me like an earthquake.
Precum coats my head as my dick throbs, as I press my legs together; my heart racing like a roller coaster diving down from the highest peak.
I close my eyes as my body tenses, going numb from the realization that I’m panicking because my best friend’s dick is pressed against me, and I don’t hate it one fucking bit.
Chapter Fourteen
Hudson
I don’t know what it is that has my dick hard. This isn’t an issue I have often. For a while, I was sure I’d used up my dick in college between all the alcohol and girls that I hardly remember. It was all a drunken fog.
But since then… there’s been no one. My focus has solely been on work and dodging my parents when they call to check up on me, and the rest of the time I’m just trying to get as much breathing room as I can from my therapist’s suggestions.
Maybe that’s the problem. Maybe I’m too busy. So busy, that even my own dick isn’t interested in me… or anything I do. Am I really that boring?
Looking up at the ceiling, I let my mind wander to all those memories Trey brought up earlier. The parties we went to. The girls we fucked.
I used to be fun. I did things and hung out with people and had experiences. I never let my diagnosis stop me from anything back then. I can’t say I wanted all those things, because I don’t really know if I did, but I never let my diagnosis get in the way. I blended in, as I was supposed to. It wasn’t so bad… But after graduating and getting my job with the Wolves, I somehow turned into a hermit and became everything I promised myself I would never be.
My throat gets tight as I focus on breathing. What about today is so different? What is it that has my dick springing back to life? The stress? That seems like it would have the opposite effect. The storm? Unlikely. Can’t be because I’m tired—that also doesn’t feel right.
But it could be…
