Page 7
“Just being a good friend, Bran. That looks painful.”
His eyes drop to my lap. Then back up. A slow smile spreads across his face.
“Looks like I’m not the only one.” He tips his chin toward my jeans. “You’re pitching a tent too, dude.”
I look down. Fuck. All that dirty talk about wet throats and backed-up loads worked on me just as much as it did on him. I was so busy trying to break him I played myself.
“Just grab it,” he says, all smug now. “Go on. I’ll close my eyes. Ten seconds and you’ll feel like a new man.”
“You’d love that, wouldn’t you?”
“I won’t judge. Shit, I’ll even lend you a hand.”
“Lend me a hand?” I snort. “You serious right now?”
“Why not?” He inches toward me on the couch, smile widening. “I know my way around a dick, Dyl. I’ve had plenty of practice on my own. Guarantee I’d get you there faster than any girl ever has.”
I don’t know what angle he’s playing. This is new. “You’re getting desperate.”
“Am I?” Our knees are pressed together now, heat coming off him in waves. “Because you’re the one sitting here all tensed up, trying to get me worked up with your little stories. But look at you. You’re barely hanging on yourself. If anyone’s desperate here, it’s you.”
“You want to touch my dick, Bran? That what you’re saying?”
“Just trying to put you out of your misery.”
I stare at him. What the fuck is happening right now? Are we still messing with each other? He’s bluffing. Has to be. Fine. I can play just as dirty. “Go ahead then. I’m not stopping you.”
That’ll make him back off. It’s one thing to run your mouth. Another to actually do it.
Except he doesn’t back off. He reaches over and puts his hand on my thigh. Just above my knee. His palm is huge and warm, and my whole leg lights up under it. My cock twitches against my zipper and a breath leaks out of me that sounds way too close to a moan.
“See?” he says, low. His thumb drags back and forth across the denim. “Desperate.”
“You’re the one with your hand on my thigh, Bran.”
“And you’re the one who hasn’t moved it.” His other hand goes to my belt. He’s not fucking around. He unbuckles it, pops the button on my jeans. The zipper rasps as he drags it down.
This is insane. I should shove him back. Laugh it off. Tell him he’s out of his mind.
But I don’t. I just sit there and watch as he pulls my jeans open. My boxer briefs are tented, a dark wet spot soaking through the fabric right where the head is straining against it. He sees it and one corner of his mouth curls up.
“I’m gonna make you lose,” he says. “But trust me. It’s not gonna feel like losing.”
Then he reaches past the waistband and pulls out my aching cock.
4
My best friend is holding my dick.
That’s a sentence I never thought I’d have to process, but here we are. Brandon’s got my cock in his big, calloused fist, and goddamn, it has no right to feel this good.
Some part of my brain is waving a red flag, screaming that this is a terrible idea on every level. But a week of pent-up frustration has turned my head to mush. All I can process is the relief of finally being touched.
“Bran,” I manage. “This is—”
“Shut up and enjoy it.” His grip tightens. “I got you. Close your eyes.”
“Fuck.” My head drops back against the couch as he squeezes.
