I shuddered and pulsed through the orgasm, and Drew stayed with me through it all. He stroked me even as I shuddered and worked me even after I stopped. I collapsed against the cushions, so spent I was totally boneless.
“Damn,” Drew whispered, and I felt the gentle touch of his fingers over my sack, kneading it gently as it relaxed along with my cock.
I made a sound that could only be described as a purr and half smiled. “That feels good.”
“I wasn’t sure how I’d feel,” he said, cautious.
My lids were heavy, but I forced them open. “And?” I asked.
“I thought it would be weird, you know?”
I nodded. He was still playing with my sack, almost like an afterthought. It was because of that I wasn’t nervous.
“I like the way you feel.” He went on. “I liked the way your dick felt pulsing in my hand. I watched you explode all over your chest. I made you do that,” he whispered.
I smiled lazily. “Yeah, this is all your fucking fault.”
And if he kept talking like that, I was going to explode all over again.
“Did you… like it?”
I laughed. “Best hand job I ever had.”
“What did it feel like?” The desire and curiosity in his voice was clear. My heart rate spiked.
I glanced down at his center, noting he was sporting some wood of his own. It made me want to fist pump in the air, because dicks never lied. If he was hard, it was because he was turned on.
“I’ll show you,” I rumbled. “Do you want me to?”
He nodded.
Drew
He took his shirt off.
I was glad he made such a mess of himself, because now I could stare at his chest.
I liked looking at Trent. I liked knowing I was the reason he made a mess of himself.
No, I more than liked it. It made me feel like I was sitting at the start line of a race. The familiar tingle of adrenaline pulsed in my limbs, and the anticipation of his touch made me almost giddy.
Now I understood why I tried to hide from these feelings. Why they scared me so much.
I felt about Trent the way I felt about racing. Just as racing and cars were a part of me, so was he.
People said I had motor oil in my veins. I knew I bled just like every other man.
But I bled for Trent.
I drove into this town and almost immediately felt like this was where I belonged. It wasn’t just because of racing or my sister.
It was him.
Now that I admitted it, I wondered how the hell I was ever able not to.
I sank into the couch and put my feet flat on the floor. Trent was close by. The smooth look of his skin made me want to touch him. His athletic body excited me; his muscles held so much restrained power. There was nothing slight about T, nothing at all.
I stared at his wide shoulders, taking in their bulk, and remembered how fast he’d moved, how easily he maneuvered himself between me and the asshole at the bar earlier tonight. He used his size to his advantage, as a shield for me. Not many men could do that. I wasn’t a small man on my own.
But T could.
He could safeguard me in a way no one else could. He could also make me vulnerable in a way no one else could.
It was a sobering thought.
“You nervous?” he asked from the edge of the couch.
His light-brown hair was mussed, kind of wild and stuck out at the base of his neck from where I grabbed him earlier when we kissed.
I never noticed before how hawk-like his hazel eyes could be. How he was able to look into me as if he saw things no one else would notice.
I nodded honestly. “Maybe a little.”
“I don’t have to.” He hedged.
I glanced at the strength of his back, the rounded shape of his biceps. I was safe with him.
“I want to.”
He nodded and settled beside me, slightly turned so one of his shoulders pressed into the back of the couch.
The TV was still on, the changing pictures flickering low light throughout the room. His skin was illuminated by it, making it too hard to keep resisting the urge to touch him.
His skin was warm, almost flushed against my palm. I drifted down from his shoulder, across his chest to cup his pec. The nipple in the center tightened in response, and I rubbed my hand over it, teasing the bud.
Next, I trailed down a little lower, to the top of his abs, which tightened beneath my hand. They were defined enough that I was able to trace their outline with the pad of my finger.
“I don’t think it’s fair I’m the only one without a shirt,” he drawled.
I sat up and bunched the fabric of my shirt beneath my hand and pulled. I threw it over the back of the couch and settled back once more, reclining a little to give him a full view of my upper body.
I felt a little self-conscious because I wasn’t as built as him. I was leaner and not as wide. I’d never felt insecure before, never worried about pleasing someone else with the way I looked.