Summer Sweat (Spruce Texas)

He gives me a look. “How am I supposed to know?”

“Okay, just … tell me what you’re feeling. Or something.”

“Fucking freaked out is what.”

I squeeze his arms again. “Let me rephrase my question, then. What do you … want … to do?”

That makes him hesitate. The more I ask, the more he seems to close up. “I … I-I don’t know,” he sputters, averting his gaze.

It’s gonna be up to me to start things. “Can I kiss you …?”

He doesn’t answer—a cold mountain of fear and desire.

I lean forward and, after a moment’s hesitation, put a soft kiss on his lips. Our eyes close at the same time, entering a world of nothing but pure feeling and prickling anticipation. After second of hesitation, he kisses me back just as softly, matching my slow, careful energy. Am I leading this dance, or is he? My hands slide down his arms and come to rest at the small of his back. Our lips know exactly what to do. It’s the one and only thing we’re totally damned practiced at by now.

I pull away from his lips. “Now touch me.”

“Huh?”

“Put your hands on me. Touch me.”

He obeys, wrapping me in his arms and gently hugging me against him as we continue kissing. I’m already rock hard. It is an indescribable sensation, to be so horny and so emotional all at once. No kind of jerking off can simulate this complexity. My mind isn’t capable of imagining this experience on its own whatsoever.

The touch of his hands on my body, what that does to me.

The feel of his soft lips against mine, and how it’s a pristinely balanced mixture of unfiltered joy and terror.

Why does it make me as excited as it does scared? Am I afraid I’ll never feel this good in my life ever again? Am I already scared of it vanishing, like everyone and everything good does in my life?

I push the thoughts away—by literally pushing at Harrison as we kiss, guiding him backwards to my improvised cushion of old blankets and towels. Harrison barely notices they’re there as we descend upon them, his back to the makeshift bed, and me on top of him, straddling his waist as we kiss.

His hands slip beneath my shirt, cool fingertips running over my skin. Then they slide down to my waist, where his hands find a perfect fit grabbing hold of my ass and squeezing.

I don’t know where to go from this. All I want to do is kiss him and enjoy this for hours, because it’s all I know how to do. It’s all we’ve done. Is something supposed to come next? Is he expecting anything? Should I know? Is he expecting me to know?

None of those questions seem to be occurring to him, because all he does is keep his eyes closed and kiss me back.

It feels like hours that we make out, subtly grinding against each other, still fully clothed. I realize I’m sitting on his crotch, and with each hump, I’m feeling something there.

His dick.

Hard as steel.

Pushing with urgency against his jeans.

I stop and pull back from his face. “Are you wantin’ to do, like, something else?”

Harrison blinks at me. “Something else?”

“Yeah. With less clothes on or whatever.”

His eyes search for an answer. He scrunches up his face in frustration. “I don’t know. I want to do whatever feels good.”

“You’re really fuckin’ hard.”

“I know.”

“I feel you poking me back there.”

As if in response, his cock flexes in his jeans. He must be totally throbbing—like I am. He frowns at me. “It’s not like I can help it.”

“So obviously you’re feeling good. Me, too. But do you wanna feel … better?”

He gives me a questioning look. Then it seems to hit him. “I’m not … I don’t think we …” He snorts with disbelief. “Are you sure you wanna move that fast?”

“I’ve got you right where I want you. I’ve been waitin’ for this for I dunno how long.” I bring my face really close to his. “I want to do everything with you, Harrison.”

He stares into my eyes. “Alright,” he finally says, still slightly bewildered. Then he sits up and brings his lips to mine again. I put my arms around him and give in to the kiss.

I feel like I’m floating.

Then he pulls away again. “Everything?”

“Yeah, it’s what I said, isn’t it?”

“But …” His eyebrows pull together in that cute way they do whenever he’s puzzling something out. “Everything is … a lot of things. What do you mean by ‘everything’?”

“Whatever comes to mind. Stop overthinkin’ it.”

His eyes narrow. “All I do is overthink.”

“So let me help you out with that.” I press him back against the towels, then move my lips to his neck. I feel his body sigh with pleasure as I make a necklace of kisses across his neck. My fingers rake up his abdomen, pulling up his shirt. Then I crawl down and bring my lips to his abs. I can’t fucking believe I’m doing this. My lips press into his ridges of muscle. I slowly go lower and lower until my chin is flirting with the crotch of his jeans.