Hedoesblush now, accompanied by a soft groan, yet he doesn’t resist when I pull him closer.
“I’m sorry,” he murmurs, leaning his forehead against mine. “I’m fucking nervous.”
“I know.” I chuckle, my hand reaching up to brush over his cheek. It’s soft and clean-shaven, a hint of his shampoo reaching me when I lean in. A subtle flowery note that conjures up images of endless fields dotted with wildflowers, none of that harsh stuff that causes your eyes to water in the locker room.
“I’m fucking nervous, too,” I admit against his lips as we melt into another kiss. It’s safe ground by now, since we’ve done this several times.
While our tongues play with each other, my hands wander along his sides, slipping under his oversized shirt. I rest them on his hips, right above the waistband of his jeans, but when he leans into the touch, I take it as permission to explore more.
My palms travel over stretches of soft, warm skin, tracing the cut of abs I hadn't expected to find under his boxy shirt. I hesitate for a second when I reach his chest, then rub a thumb over one of his hardened nipples, teasing a gasp out of him.
“Not good?” I murmur between kisses, unsure how to interpret his reaction.
“Yes. I mean…good! Just…didn't expect i-it.” His answer drowns in a groan as my fingers pick up their work again, this time pinching the little bud gently between my forefinger and thumb.
His fingers dig into my shoulders, and he rises on my lap, then bucks his hips forward. There’s a bulge behind the zipper of his jeans, pressing against my stomach. The moment he realizes what he’s doing, his eyes widen, and he draws back.
“Stay!” I tell him the same moment he stammers out a “So-sorry.”
He cocks his head at me, gray eyes finding my own in the dark.
“You sure? Isn’t this…too much?”
“Why would this be too much? This is literally what we meant to do.” I laugh, amusement mixing with exasperation as my thumbs rub small circles into his skin. They’ve slipped farther down when he tried to pull away, now drawing invisible patterns as my hands slowly slide down his back again. As he arches into the touch, his gaze drops between us.
“Yeah, sure, I…I just thought that for the first time, I should be the one to…uhm…give you pleasure, you know? In case you felt uncomfortable around…”
“A penis?” I provide helpfully when he trails off. “Please, I’m a football player. I think I’ve seen enough penises in the locker room to promise you that I’m not scared of them.” I wink, and he snorts at my joke, rolling his eyes at me.
“That’s different, though,” he argues just as I put my hands on his ass to pull him closer.
“Maybe,” I murmur against his lips, “but I also enjoy giving pleasure. So, relax. I’m notoffsideyet.”
“Should’ve picked a better safe word,” he grumbles, but the words dissolve in our kiss, and this time it doesn’t take long for Linden to gain some confidence.
His hands are all over me now, urgent strokes over my shirt at first, then, as we lose ourselves, they slip under it. Every touch feels like a small act of worship on my skin, his fingers blindly mapping out every inch of me as he slows down, almost reverently tracing over my abs and navel, dancing on the waistband of my jeans.
I’m semi-hard behind my fly, sighing with relief when he pulls down the zipper. Despite my courageous words, my fingers shake when I return the favor—of course, he notices, and we laugh between kisses, half embarrassed, half amused.
It’s a weird but familiar sensation to cup another man’s bulge in my hand, similar to a déjà vu. I feel like I should know what I’m doing, but I’m worried I might get the details wrong.
I don’t have much time to linger on that thought, though, because the next moment, Linden traces the outline of my erection through the thin material of my boxers, making me gasp. I push into his hand, wondering what it will feel like without the last bit of clothing between us—how his callusedpalm will feel compared to the smooth hold of the girls I’ve been with.
“Tell me if you’d like it differently,” I breathe against his skin as I nose along his jawline, my hand blindly fumbling for a way into his boxers.
His dick is hard and smooth in my hand, with a cut head that has pre-cum leaking out. I’m underwhelmed by the normalcy of it all—I’m jerking my roommate’s erection and no big revelation is happening before my eyes—yet excited at the same time. I want to make him come, feel his hot release spill into my hand, and hear him say my name when I do it. I always liked to pleasure my sex partners and watch them fall apart in front of me, so why should this be any different?
“That’s perfect—you’re doing perfectly.” He gasps, and I preen under his words. A sassy quip dances on the tip of my tongue when his hand closes around my erection in return, making me moan. The sound is much more enthusiastic than I anticipated, and I bite my lip.
“No!” Linden protests immediately, and every muscle in my body freezes.
“No?” I echo, confused. “Noas inoffsi—”
“No, as in: I want to hear your moans,” he cuts in, and I huff out a laugh at his vehemence.
“I don’t think your truck is soundproof, Lind.”
“So? They’re all busy wannabe line dancing in there,” he reasons. I want to argue, but the moment he flicks his thumb over the tip of my erection, my head drops back with another groan.
