“You don’t wear underwear,” I said.
“I do,” he said. “Just not usually when I’m at home in sweats.”
“God, it’s perfect,” I murmured, reaching for his cock and closing my fist around it. I started to stroke him slowly, the same way I would do for myself when I was getting off. The only difference was the thickness. He had trimmed hair at the base of his cock, dark just like the hair on his head and even softer.
I couldn’t even imagine how good he’d feel inside me. How tight a fit it would be. How it would hurt a little at first, but then fill me up so completely.
Once I’d worked up a rhythm stroking him, it was as if I forgot to be nervous. My usual circus of thoughts quieted down, and I paid attention to every little hitch in his breath, his deep, quiet sounds when I hit the strokes just right.
It was simple, really. Just a hand job in a cozy bed with dim light barely illuminating us from around the covers of the bed.
But it was by far the most intimate thing I’d ever done. Even more intimate than when Brody had gotten me off just a few minutes ago.
I loved that I could make Brody’s breath hitch like that. For once, I wasn’t thinking about the fact that he was an athlete and I wasn’t. I wasn’t thinking about how different our pasts were. I wasn’t even really thinking about the differences between our bodies any longer.
All I wanted to do was make him feel amazing. To study his body like I was a damned cartographer making a map of everything that Brody Bryant was: taut planes, of muscle, yes, but also dozens of other little things.
He had a constellation of freckles at the bottom of his thigh. A healed scar on one of his hips, no doubt an injury from football long ago.
And, I discovered soon, his voice got a little different when something felt really, really good.
“Please keep doing that,” he uttered as I worked the head of his cock, gentle and firm all at once. He sounded faraway. He was one of the most confident, always-present people I’d ever met, but right now, he was letting go, as well.
I happily did as he asked, moving my fist in the same way that had elicited that faraway voice. He started to moan, softly at first, and his hips bucked a little in rhythm with my motions.
“Feels so fucking good,” he said. “Don’t stop.”
Like hell I’d ever stop.
I kept going, and when he started to lose composure I got a sense of deep satisfaction like nothing I’d ever felt before. His breathing got heavier, and I watched his chest move up and down.
“God, I can’t wait to watch you come,” I said softly.
“You’re going to make me,” he responded. “I forgot how good this can feel, Logan.”
I bit my bottom lip as he looked over at me, his eyes half-lidded, gone with pleasure.
He started to rock his hips more and more. His eyes were squeezed shut for a while, but then he opened them again, looking over at me with an almost pleading look in his eyes.
“I’m close,” he uttered.
He moaned, leaning over to get closer to me, and pressed his lips to mine. His tongue slid out and I opened to him, feeling the warm rush of heat. He kissed me like he was asking me for permission this time. Like he wanted to come so badly and couldn’t wait any longer.
“Mhm,” I hummed against his mouth, stroking him a little faster with my fist.
And then he let out the most incredible sound. His perfect combination of a moan and a growl and a sigh all at once. He kissed me so deeply as I felt his cock start to pulse in my hand, heat rushing over the back of my hand and dripping down. I broke off from his kiss in surprise, still staying so close to him that our lips were touching as I gasped against him.
His hips were still bucking as I kept my fist closed around him, letting him finish coming as I held him.
“You,” he whispered, his lips still close enough to gently brush against mine as he spoke.
I kissed him once more before looking down to see the total mess he’d made. That I’d helped him make.
When I glanced back up at him he had a huge smile on his face. “Remember last time you saw me like this?” he asked, giddy.
“Oh, God,” I said, embarrassed at the thought of when I’d walked in on him.
Brody seemed to love it, though. “You know that didn’t bother me one bit, right? You don’t have to feel bad about it.”
“I know, I know,” I said.
Brody hopped out of bed and returned a few seconds later with a warm washcloth. He helped me clean off the back of my hand and then toweled himself off, too.