Page 58 of Dear Mr. Brody

“I didn’t come in my pants.” I pinched his ass and he jumped.

Laughing, he started to unbutton my shirt. “You could always come in my mouth.”

“Wasn’t frotting supposed to be my first lesson?” My bold question wasn’t enough to hide the slight tremor in my voice as he unfastened the last button.

He pushed open my shirt, running a hand down the center of my chest. Parker had seen my chest in photos, but having him here, staring down at me like a sculpted statue of a god come alive, my inadequacies threatened to drown me.

“Christ… you’re even better in person.” He flicked his thumb over my nipple, smiling when I hissed. “I didn’t think it was possible to say the word frotting and sound cute at the same time. You proved me wrong.”

“Cute?”

“Fucking adorable.”

He kissed me again until I begged him for more, until I whispered his name, overwhelmed as his fingers worked open the fly of my jeans. I lifted my hips and shoved my jeans and briefs down as much as I could, Parker’s lips never leaving mine. His hot, rough hand gripped the base of my dick, and I bit his lip. He grunted, his hold only getting tighter as his tongue plunged into my mouth. I fumbled with the button and zipper on his jeans, taking longer than I would have liked. But it was worth the effort. I’d never looked at another man’s dick like this, and definitely not this close. Thick and not too long, the pink head touched his stomach. My mouth watered, and if I was brave enough, I might’ve leaned down and tasted him. But all I had the courage to do was touch him. I ran my thumb through the moisture leaking from his slit and down his crown to his shaft. He was foreign and decadent.

“Fuck, do that again,” he said, raising his hand to his mouth, he spit into his palm.

I did as he asked, watching as he lowered his hand and wrapped it around me. Slick with saliva, he pumped his fist up and down my length. My fingers curled around his cock, working him in fast, needy strokes, his deep moan resonating inside my chest. He grabbed my wrist, and at first, I thought he was about to put on the brakes.

“Why did you—”

But he took us both in one of his large hands, silencing me with his mouth. Skin on skin, our cocks aligned, smooth and hard, sliding and rubbing together inside his vise-like grip. The friction was beyond anything I’d ever felt before, and there was no way I would last more than a few minutes. Our tongues, urgent and insistent, tangled together, our teeth crashing and biting as we both climbed higher and higher, desperate to reach the peak.

“Ah… God… oh fuck—”

Gritting my teeth, my hands held the back of his neck, my forehead pressed against his as my orgasm ripped through me, spilling over his fingers. Parker wasn’t far behind, the sound he made, this low, rumbled growl, branded itself in my brain as his release coated his stomach and my chest. We didn’t speak, our heads still together, both of us breathing, chests heaving with our eyes closed. I didn’t think I’d feel emotional about it, about getting off with a guy, but for some damn reason my throat felt thick, and I had to pull away.

“Everything alright?” he asked.

“Yeah… you?”

He chuckled and rubbed his sticky hand through the mess on my chest. “I think I’m doing okay.”

It was hard not to smile, the intimacy of the moment passed, taking the heavy feeling inside my chest with it.

“Should we clean up?”

“Might be a good plan…” he said, a smirk lighting his eyes. “But I’ve got to say, I kind of like the idea of you being covered in my spunk.”

“Like a dog pissing on a hydrant?”

“When you say it like that, it sounds gross.”

I laughed, and he was all smiles as he placed a chaste kiss to my lips. I stood and tucked myself into my briefs and zipped up my jeans, the evidence of what had happened already drying on my skin. Parker used the guest bathroom to clean up while I used mine. By the time I finished, I found Parker standing, fully dressed, washing our dinner dishes.

“You don’t have to do that,” I said.

He set a plate into the drying rack. “I don’t mind.”

Parker dried his hands with a towel and hung it on my stove. It all felt too familiar again, and the awkward feeling I’d had earlier resurfaced.

“You’re freaking out. I can tell,” he said, slowly approaching me.

“No… I’m good. I promise.”

He draped his arms around my waist. “You’re not a very good liar, Mr. Brody.”

“Honestly, tonight was… emotional for me,” I said, and he pulled me closer. “That sounds ridiculous, but it’s the truth.”