Tell Me It's Real(98)

Soon enough, he started to grunt and I gripped his ass, suddenly wanting him to come down my throat. He knocked my hands away and pulled out, a string of spit falling onto my chin. He reached down and brushed his thumb over my lips as I lay panting against his thigh. “That…,” he said hoarsely. “Jesus Christ, how the fuck did you learn to do that?”

I buried my face, unable to stop myself from blushing. “Good?”

“Good?” He was incredulous. “Paul, that was… I’ve never….” A little shudder rolled through him as I started to stroke him lazily. He let me go at it for a minute before he grabbed my hands. “Up. Get up. Bedroom.” He pulled me up and I stood in front of him while he kicked off his shoes and wiggled out of his jeans and underwear. He stepped out of them and left them on the floor, standing completely ass-naked in front of me. His chest was heaving, his dick swinging out in front of him. He was fucking gorgeous, all of him, every piece and part. He grabbed my hand again and pulled me down the hall. My gaze never left his butt as he walked in front of me.

He was perfect. Everything about him was perfect.

And as we got closer to the bedroom, I realized how not perfect I was. My skin was pasty. My stomach was slightly flabby. I didn’t have a muscled ass. I didn’t have the biggest dick. I didn’t have a built chest or a strong back. My body didn’t make the V shapes his did. I was more shaped like a W. He was hard lines, chiseled flesh, bronzed skin. I was a marshmallow melting in a cup of cocoa.

The shakes started in my shins, of all places. Each step I took, I could feel my legs trembling until it worked its way up my thighs and past my groin, where it settled in my stomach like so much poison. I felt weak. Sweaty. Gross. Vince didn’t seem to notice, but then he was a man on a mission.

Vince’s bedroom was just as sparse as the rest of the house. An expensive-looking bed sat in the middle, unmade, the white sheets and comforter in disarray. He turned and closed the door behind us. I didn’t know why—he lived alone.

He turned to me, his cock against my clothed thigh as he pushed me against the closed door. He started rubbing himself against me, and never even in my wildest imagination could I have ever thought something like that would happen. My frayed nerves quieted momentarily as a surge of lust shot through me at the idea of me being fully clothed and him naked. It made me feel stronger. Braver.

He attacked my mouth again and made this happy little sound as his tongue found mine. I tentatively reached my hands up and pressed them against his back, the skin warm and strong under my fingers. His piercing scraped against the fabric on my shirt and it was like a line of fire across my chest.

Then he put his hands on the hem of my shirt and started to pull it up. I panicked and grabbed his hands, forcing him to stop. He pulled away from me, a surprised look on his face.

“You okay?” he asked.

I nodded. “Yeah.”

He tried to move his hands, but I wouldn’t let him.

“Paul?”

“Yeah.”

“What’s wrong?”

“I just….”

He kissed me, his nose rubbing against mine. “You scared?” he whispered.

I let out a shaky breath. “You could say that.”

“We don’t have to do anything you don’t want to. I would never rush you.”

“I know.” I couldn’t help but sound annoyed.

“Then what is it?”

“You.”

“Me?”

I struggled for words that wouldn’t make me sound insane. “You… look at you. You’re fucking perfect. Every inch of you is perfect.”

He smiled shyly, looking away. “You like the way I look?”

“Yes,” I said roughly. “Yes. I like the way you look.” I gripped him tighter.

“I’m not going to hurt you,” he said quietly. He leaned forward, still caught by my hands, and kissed my shoulder. “It’s real, okay? I promise you it’s real.”

I was embarrassed by the way my eyes burned, and I looked away. He kissed his way up my shoulder, biting gently into the tendon and muscle near the base of my neck. He dragged his tongue up until his nose bumped my jaw. And then he kissed me again. During the moments it took him to complete this simple action, he never tried to move his hands from my hold on him, and he never tried to push until there was more that I couldn’t give. He waited. He waited until I would either let him continue or push him away. And if I did push him away, if I did say no, I knew that he wouldn’t judge me, he wouldn’t snap at me harshly. He would accept it as he had so far and wait until I made the decision for myself.