Resist (Sphere of Irony 3)

“Doing what?” Mitch slides his hips a fraction and groans, his eyelids flickering shut.

“Mitch!” Bracing my hands against his chest—and oh god, what a chest it is—I push Mitch off of me, dumping him on the floor.

“What the hell, Gavin?”

Mitch scrambles to his feet as do I. We’re right back to square one, staring at each other, both trying to be as intimidating as possible. Only this time, that sexy fucker is all rumpled and swollen lipped and I have a very obvious hard-on jutting out from my thin grey sweatpants.

I drag a hand through my hair and tug. Hard. The sharp pain helps me ignore the fact that my cock is beginning to ache.

“Fuck. What are you doing, Mitch? Are you gay? Bi?” Mitch frowns and takes a step towards me. In turn, I take a step back. “I’m not your experiment, Hale,” I spit out heatedly.

Mitch’s head drops. His large hand rubs the nape of his neck. The tension across his shoulders is noticeable from several feet away. The man is so confused.

And you still want him, Walker. Admit it. You’ll gladly do him even if you are an experiment.

Fuck if that doesn’t make my dick even harder. Which, in turn, makes me angrier. Furious at being used, I’m determined to make him talk. Crossing the room in three large steps, I get right in his face, plant my hands across that damn perfect chest, and shove.

“What the fuck are you doing, Hale? Huh? Want a little walk on the queer side? Well fuck you! Just because I’m gay doesn’t mean I’m easy or desperate enough to be your one off.”

Mitch’s eyes narrow and his mouth curves into a scowl. I think about how good that mouth felt on mine and my fury rises another notch. The resentment I feel floods my body with adrenaline, which makes me reckless. I crowd closer still, pushing Mitch back again.

“Why are you here, Mitch? I thought you needed space to find my stalker. So where is he? Did you find him? Or did you come here just to get your cock sucked by the fag?”

With a final burst of anger, I lift my hands to his chest, determined to give him one last push. Faster than I can track, Mitch’s hands cover mine. He flips us around and in one smooth move topples me backwards onto the bed. Once again, I find myself underneath Mitch’s large body.

He pins my hands down on either side of my head, his chest and hips locking my lower body in place. If I wanted an honest-to-god knock-down fistfight, I could get free, but having Mitch hold me down, those grey eyes fixed on mine—it’s like being in trapped heaven and hell at the same time.

“Mitch—”

The desire to yell and scream has turned into another kind of desire. The kind that unfurls low in your belly, starting as a slow burn and cranking into a raging inferno in the span of a heartbeat.

“Shut up,” he growls. “I’m not using you, Gavin. This isn’t an experiment. I…” Mitch closes his eyes for a moment, opening them back up to stare at my face with longing. “I don’t know what this is, but it isn’t a new feeling.”

The sound of my name rumbling up from his chest has me shuddering beneath him.

“Oh.”

That’s all I can come up with. “Oh.” Brilliant. The man just admitted he’s possibly gay or at the very least bisexual. Most likely it’s the first time he’s ever told someone, and my genius response is “oh”.

Mitch licks his lips nervously and lets go of my hands. He pushes back to stand, so I prop myself up on my elbows to watch, unsure of what he’s thinking. My jaw just about hits the floor when Mitch reaches a hand behind his back, those large biceps flexing, and yanks the black shirt over his head, discarding it on the floor.

When Mitch toes off his boots and strips off his socks, I realize that this is actually going to happen. My eyes are riveted to the skin he exposed. It’s not the first time I’ve seen Mitch without a shirt, but last time it was dark and I was freaking out because someone was at the door. This time? I’m able to enjoy the view.

His chest is perfection, just like I knew it would be. Broad and thick, with defined pecs and big shoulders. There’s a small sprinkling of dark hair in the center that thins out before turning into the happiest happy trail I’ve ever laid eyes on.

If I thought his chest was impressive then Mitch’s abs are a work of art that gay men dream of. The skin is flat and tight, each ridge defined, flexing gloriously as he moves. They taper on either side of his torso, ending with sharp obliques that disappear down into his waistband. I want to taste that ‘v’. To drag my tongue down that trail to the prize that waits at the bottom.

“Gavin.” Mitch’s husky voice is tinged with both nervous and carnal undertones.

My gaze snaps back up. Determination, lust, and yes, fear, are all present in those expressive eyes of his.

I understand what he’s saying without hearing the words. Mitch needs me to lead. He’s out of his comfort zone and needs to know that what he’s feeling is okay. I sit up and pull my own shirt over my head. Mitch’s pupils grow larger and one hand rubs across the front of his jeans, his eyes riveted to the small hoops threaded through my nipples. I’d bet everything I own that he doesn’t even know he’s stroking himself.

Fuuuuck.

“Come here.” Shit, my own voice is gone, replaced by a lust-fueled rasp.

Mitch complies, his gaze drifting over my body, from my eyes, to my mouth, to my naked chest and back up. That damn hand of his never stops moving. It keeps fondling and squeezing what appears to be a sizeable erection.