His hands feel like fire along my cold bare skin, every icy bit of myself melting as he sweeps his fingers over every single piece of me.
I don’t let the guys I hook up with eat me out. Not that many offer. Mostly, because for what I want, it’s a waste of time. And it usually doesn’t feel good—not enough to make the intimacy worth it.
My heart is racing.
He reaches the thin strip of my seamless thong as he curls his fingers around the fabric and pulls it tight so a burst of pressure ignites against my clit. It surprises me so much I cry out, before he yanks them down over my hips, pulling them slower as he reaches my ankles.
His eyes are searing, staring directly into mine as he prompts my feet out from each leg hole, his grasp warm on each ankle. Every ounce of confidence that I usually feel in this situation has simmered into nothing but vulnerability.
He might be the one on his knees, but he is the one in control.
I want to touch him, but I’m not sure where I want to start.
He lifts his hands, one grabbing hold of my hip with a solid pressure. The other drifts softly, almost reverently against the skin of my inner thigh as he finally breaks my gaze and stares down at my bare pussy.
“Fuck, Gray,” he whispers and I can feel his breath against the overly sensitive skin right there. “This for me?” He smirks, all cocky arrogance—a flash of that hotshot hockey captain I know he can be when he wants.
I huff, “Easier to keep it bare for my costumes.” I try to use the words to build a wall because everything with this boy feels dangerous already, like I’m suspended on a tightrope, the threat of falling for him permanently imminent.
He shuts me up with a warm thumb pressing into his own mouth before lightly playing along my slit.
“That’s not what I meant,” he rasps. He pulls his hand away to show me.
I’m near to dripping, embarrassingly wet considering he hasn’t done a single thing besides kiss me. But he’s gorgeous, a disarray of the perfect picture he’s been before.
The panic is gone from him, his hands steady and eyes bright, but it makes him more beautiful. His brown eyes look warmer even in the yellow light of the showers. He looks just as large, his thick thighs straining against gray sweatpants and a bulge distracting enough that I turn my head. And those goddamn dimples on full display. He’s a blend of boyish excitement and manly self-confidence as he slides my thigh easily over one broad shoulder.
I’m fully exposed, my skin turning pink beneath the sudden stifling heat of the room and his attention.
“So beautiful,” he whispers. Before I can try any response, he licks a wet strip along my slit, flicking his tongue lightly against my clit and then pulling back to blow across it lightly.
“Oh fuck,” I cry, biting down on my lip because my control is slipping.
He peaks up at me, eyes half-lidded, but burning like warm chocolate. “That’s all it takes?” he taunts, but there’s a question in his eyes.
It comes out before I can stop it.
“I don’t usually do this.”
“What? Hook up in a bathroom?” He smirks at me again, eyes twinkling. “Funny—every time I’ve had my mouth on you has been in a bathroom.”
It’s now, when he’s so relaxed, I can see the bright shooting star that is Rhys Koteskiy.
This is going to burn. He is going to burn me.
Except, I don’t care. I’ll let him burn me if he keeps touching me like this.
I shake my head, leaning back as he presses his nose into the pale flesh of my pussy, just above where I need him most.
“Please,” I beg, hating myself for it, even as my legs tremble beneath his hands.
He licks another long swipe, before circling my clit.
Good god, I’m going to melt into the floor. My entire body alight, and I’m embarrassingly close already. I keep avoiding looking down towards him, my head tilting back against the brick.
“This is exactly how I pictured it.” He breathes in, almost like he didn’t mean to say it.
My head tilts down towards him with a smirk alighting my lips—like I might regain control.
“What? A dingy locker room shower stall?”
He huffs out a laugh, his eyes twinkling with mischief as he presses his entire mouth to my clit, sucking hard.
“Fuck,” I gasp.
I slip a little, enough that my hands reach for him, before sinking into his soft brown hair. My nails scrape his scalp a little as he circles me in some witchcraft-like pattern that has me gasping like I’ve been underwater and I’m just breaking the surface.
He groans, jolting my thigh higher, just over the ball of his shoulder. His big hands are holding me nearly off the ground completely, my toes scrambling, and my shoes squeaking as I writhe.
One hand still melded to my ass, squeezing every few moments, he takes his right hand and gently parts me, sliding one finger into me. I cry out, far too loud, but he lets a pleased noise rumble from his plush mouth against my clit. I jerk, but he steadies me, sliding another finger in, speeding his lips and tongue to contrast with the firm, slow stroke of his fingers.
He curls them, just slightly and I make the mistake of looking down at him.
His brown eyes are glowing, locked intently on my face, watching my every move. And then he smirks, letting me see just one goddamn dimple.
I go off like a rocket.
“Already?” he teases, as I pulse around his fingers, gripping them. My shoe squeaks again against the tile beneath me as he puts me back onto my foot. Then, on both feet, after he gently kisses the inside of my thigh as he pulls it from his shoulder. “Fucking perfect. So beautiful.”
A lump catches in my throat.
He’s still on his knees, his hands gentle on the curve of my calves. His hands find my discarded underwear, and after helping me step into them, he pulls them up my legs.
My heart stutters as he presses another kiss to the fabric, this one more reverent than sensual and I hate the way it makes me ache. The way, “Do you want to come home with me?” almost spills from my lips. I feel vulnerable, undone, and somehow more full of feeling than before—not the usual emptiness and restraint I feel after a hookup.
Dangerous, my brain repeats, but my body is ready to tackle him to the floor.
So, after he helps me with my spandex, taking his time sliding it over my legs, smoothing his palms over covered and uncovered skin, I grip his wrists and pull him to stand. Ready to take control back. Ready to—
He lifts his hand, his wrist still enclosed in my hand, and presses his fingers into his mouth.
Whatever noise comes from my lips, some sort of whine in the back of my throat, turns my cheeks maroon. Yet, I can’t look away as he pulls his long fingers from his swollen lips.
He’s everything.
The way I think about him scares me. I need distance before this really hurts. And yet—
“We should do this more.”
His smile is like spun gold. “Yeah?”
“Yeah,” I repeat, feeling a bit like I’m floating. “Yeah, actually, I think this would be good for us both. You need a distraction and I need a… release.”
Something dies in his eyes, his dimples disappearing. It throbs a little pain in my chest, but I ignore it.
“What do you mean, exactly?”
I shrug and play at the hem of my shirt. “Like… hook up? Unless you don’t—”
His hand raises to stop me.
“Friends with benefits. That’s what you’re suggesting.”
I nod.
“I don’t really…” he trails off, seeming to be engaged in some sort of mental battle. “Nevermind—I’m not missing my chance. Yes.”
“Really?” I smile brightly.
He mimics it. “If that’s what you want, Gray, then yes.”
He kisses my forehead on his way out, with a quiet, “Call me,” pressed against my skin.
