I reach back and lock it.
He lets go of my wrist. Then he reaches down to the armrests on both sides of the wheelchair and does something I’ve never seen him do. He flips them up. Both of them, the padded rests hinging backward and out of the way, and suddenly the sides of the chair are open. Nothing between his lap and the rest of the room. When I sat in his lap before, the armrests were up.
“Come here,” he says, patting his thighs.
I step forward. His hands find my hips and guide me in and I lower myself onto his lap. My knees settle on either side of his thighs, my shins along the outside of his legs. His hands slide around my waist and pull me in until my chest is against his chest and my face is level with his face.
Eye to eye. Mouth to mouth.
“There you are,” he says. “Finally. Back in my arms where you belong.”
“How long have you been planning this?” I ask.
“Since the shower video,” he says. “I’ve had time to think about what I wanted to do when I got you back in this room. The armrests fold up. I figured that out a long time ago. I’ve been waiting weeks to use that piece of information.”
“What is it you want to do then, Mickey? I’m dying to know.”
“Kiss me, Benji, and I’ll show you.”
I lean in and kiss him. All the hesitation from our first kiss in this bathroom has been burned away by weeks of late-night calls, flirty texts, and that shower video where I showed him everything. My hands slide from his shoulders into his short hair, pulling him closer as his tongue pushes past my lips to find mine. The moan that rises in my throat disappears into his mouth.
His strong arms tighten around my waist. Sitting on his lap like this, with my legs straddling him, every inch of my upper body presses against his. The heat of his chest radiates through our shirts, sinking straight into my skin.
I pull back just enough to catch my breath, our foreheads resting together.
“Your shirt,” I whisper against his lips. “Off. Now.”
Grabbing the hem of his T-shirt, I tug it upward. He lifts his arms, letting me pull it over his head and toss it aside. His chest looks even more impressive every time I see it — the weeks of push-ups and transfers have carved his shoulders into thick, rounded muscle, his pecs full and powerful, with that tempting trail of blond hair leading down into his shorts.
“Now you,” he murmurs.
Mickey grips the bottom of my shirt and peels it off in one smooth motion. The silver chain catches briefly on the fabric before dropping back against my bare chest. The moment I’m shirtless on his lap, his hands are on me, palms gliding over my ribs and up to my chest.
I wrap my arms around his neck and bury my face against his throat, breathing him in.
“I can’t stop dreaming about you,” he whispers into my hair. “Having your weight in my lap. Feeling you pressed against me like this.”
Lifting my head, I kiss him again, taking my time. My fingers thread through his hair as he makes that low, rumbling sound from deep in his chest, the one that always goes straight to my cock.
His hands travel up my spine, tracing every vertebra before spreading wide across my shoulder blades. He pulls me harder against him, our combined body heat warming the silver chain trapped between our chests.
His mouth leaves mine to trail along my jaw and down my neck. When he finds the sensitive spot below my ear, he presses his lips there, then grazes it with his teeth. Pleasure shoots through me so sharply that I grip his shoulders, a loud moan escaping before I can muffle it against his skin.
“You’re noisy,” he says against my skin.
“I warned you in this exact bathroom that I’m a loud and enthusiastic person.”
He laughs against my throat. The vibration of it runs through my whole body because every part of me is touchingevery part of him. I hold his face in both hands and kiss his forehead, his temple, the bridge of his nose, the corner of his mouth. Small kisses. His grip on my back loosens and his face tips into my hands.
I run my thumb along his cheekbone. “Mickey.”
“Yeah.”
“I want to touch you. All of you. I want to make you feel what you make me feel every time you put your hands on me. I want to know what you feel like everywhere. Will you let me see you below the waist?”
His arms are still around me but his face changes. The openness from thirty seconds ago pulls back half a step. He sighs heavily. “Benji. I’m sorry. I’m not ready for that. Not yet.”
“Is it the touching you’re worried about? Or me seeing you?”
