Page 92 of Muscle Cub

He released my nipple and leaned in to tease it with his mouth. He sucked and flicked it with his tongue, and…

It should’ve worked—it probably worked for most men, and it usually worked on me—but in that moment it tickled in a way that was irritating more than arousing, and I flinched.

He immediately stopped. “Sorry.”

I shook my head, furious with myself for making him feel like he’d done something wrong.

“What can I do to help?” His voice was low, unsure, so unlike him. In any other situation, no matter how inappropriate, he would’ve teased me. I would’ve acted appalled, he would’ve laughed, and when I couldn’t help but smile, we would have moved on. “Or not. I don’t have to do anything if you don’t want me to.” It was excruciating how carefully he spoke.

If I gave up, I’d need to release him. Let him find a better prospect. He deserved more.

But I wasn’t ready for him to give up on me.

“Maybe if you kiss me…” It always started with his kiss.

He brought his lips softly to mine. It was perfect, gentle and sensual to start, then blooming at the right speed with the right amount of low simmering heat.

I jacked myself frantically, every muscle in my body straining, gasping like a drowning man with his face just breaking the surface.

He granted me a breath, and even that was perfect, like a warm caramel pulled in two.

I stared into his eyes, my mouth open in a silent, desperate plea, yet still wanting to protect him from my fear.

He touched the tip of his nose to mine, looked at me with incredible tenderness and empathy, and whispered, “It’s okay.”

And I let go.

My body went limp, deflating on a sigh. A moment of sweet release before hope receded to guilty relief.

“Fuck. I’m sorry.” I shrank away from him, avoiding eye contact. I took a deep breath. “I don’t get it. I took the pill last night. Perfectly timed for the delayed effects. I woke up hard. I was hard on and off all day. You know.” I gestured toward the living room, clenched my teeth. “It was working.”

Austin hummed, trailing his fingers in soothing circles through the hair on my belly. “It’s probably the alcohol. Technically, you’re not supposed to drink on those meds. Everybody does, of course, but…”

I covered my face with my hands. “I’m so fucking embarrassed.”

“Aww, come on.” He pulled my hands away and forced me to look at him. “You don’t have any reason to be.”

“It’s just so frustrating to not be able to do what I need to. And to feel like I’m disappointing you.”

“Paul. Stop.” Nothing stopped me like him using my given name. “I understand why you’re frustrated, but I’m not disappointed. Not even close. You came. You hung out with my boys. You pulled off this whole Sandy-at-the-end-of-Grease move. And you danced with me, which was major.” He settled beside me, laying his head on my shoulder and draping his arm over my belly. “Now we’re here in this super nice trailer, enjoying all this amazing body contact.” He squeezed me against him. “And it’s only the first night.”

Was it really enough for him? What if I couldn’t resolve this and he came to resent it? “I’d understand if you wanted to go back to the party.”

He stilled. “You wanna go back to the party?”

“I meant… you could go by yourself.”

He propped himself up on his elbow and stared at me. “You think I want to hook up with other people?”

“I’m not accusing you of anything. You’re twenty-six years old, and there’re hundreds of guys up there who could make you happy and—”

“Are you asking me to leave?” Disbelief warped his voice.

“God no. No.” Him thinking I wanted him to leave was a thousand times worse than if he’d wanted to go. “I just don’t want you to feel like you’re missing out on anything because of me.”

“I don’t. I’m not.” His eyes were wide, his expression earnest. “I’m happy being here with you.”

“You could have anyone. Why me?” Somewhere down the road, he might wish he’d made a different choice, and it would hurt worse to hear it then.