Page 13 of Contingently Yours

Lucas

It feels like I just fell asleep, and yet I can tell the morning light is coming in through the balcony windows, illuminating the darkness behind my closed lids.

I don’t want to move yet; the jet lag and exhaustion are weighing me down.

Maybe we can miss breakfast right along with Dario and Mason.

Reaching out, I hit the cancel button on my phone to silence the alarm, performing the action blind from muscle memory.

It felt like I lay awake for hours last night, listening to the sounds coming from next door. Sounds of pleasure. Pleasure times…three.

I’ve never heard men make love before. I mean, I’ve heard myself, but…

that’s different. And yet, I guess it’s completely the same?

Pleasure is pleasure. I just…how am I supposed to look three people in the eye today after hearing what they did last night, like I was practically in the room with them?

I can’t even pretend I’m a boyfriend. How am I going to pretend I didn’t hear Keenan yelling, “Aw, fuck yeah!”

Here, I thought he was the quiet one.

Burying my face deeper into the pillow, I grunt at a tingling sensation in my cock. Andrew is right; I have been exceptionally sweaty on this trip. My dick feels like it’s in an oven right now, stuck between my thighs or…

Wait a minute.

It can’t be stuck between my thighs. I’ve got underwear on.

The haze of sleep clears like the sun evaporating fog, and my senses come online. There’s something warm and solid pressed against my back and something heavy draped over my waist. Something fleshy pressed against my stomach. And something… gripping my cock.

“Uhn…” A groan floats over my shoulder, a jaw brushing the back of my shoulder blade. “You snore.”

Andrew! Oh, God.

Every muscle in my body locks up as my eyes blink open to the harsh light.

I can see the plush comforter cocooned around me.

The heat behind me either suddenly burns warmer, or it’s my awareness.

I’m not just cocooned in the comforter. I’m cocooned in Andrew, telling me I know exactly what that sensation on my dick is.

Shifting my gaze, my breath stalls in my lungs. That is definitely Andrew’s arm slung over my waist, disappearing under the covers mid-forearm.

Oh, fuck…

His hand… It just moved. Is he…stroking me?

“ What …are you doing?” I croak, too stunned to move. What the hell do you do in a situation like this?

“Trying to sleep,” he grumbles against my shoulder. His knee bashes into the back of my thigh, and his grip gets tighter, sending a bizarre tingle to my balls. “Why are you so close?”

Is he kidding me? First, he kissed me yesterday, and now he’s…stroking my dick while I sleep. Is he into guys? Into… me?

It feels like there’s a thick lump in my throat, making it difficult to speak.

I can’t even remember the last time someone hit on me, let alone touched me.

I certainly didn’t expect that if it ever happened again, it’d be from a guy…

a guy that is Andrew Broadhouse, of all people. I thought he hated me.

“Why are you…holding my dick?”

A dismissive snort gusts across my skin even as his thumb grazes the tip of my cock.

I never thought I’d get hard because of a guy, but if he keeps this up, I’m about to set a record I didn’t know was possible to set.

His touch is surprisingly sensual and completely at odds with his personality.

I can’t take it anymore and latch my hand down over his wrist.

“I’m not,” he whines sleepily. “I’m…I’m…”

Trying not to hyperventilate, I hold as still as possible. I’d jump up, but what if he doesn’t let go and breaks my dick? Granted, I’ve not used it in a while, but I’d like to again someday. Some day, when I’m not playing fake boyfriend to the world’s most infuriating man.

The silence feels deafening compared to the moans and cries we pretended to ignore last night.

Finally, his grip goes slack. He slides his arm back to his side of the bed, taking his wandering hand with him.

My cock, unfortunately, is now officially awake, along with the rest of me.

Clearly, it doesn’t know that it was the Devil who was just holding it.

It’s quiet. Way too quiet for what just went down. Andrew never shuts up, and I can tell from the tension I feel behind me that he’s not fallen back asleep. He needs to explain. How are we supposed to work together today after…whatever the hell that was?

“What the hell was that?” I call over my shoulder.

“I am not responsible for what I do in my sleep,” he drawls. “And why are you so sweaty? I should have known . Ugh.”

The mattress jostles, telling me he’s wiping his hand on the sheets. He’s the one who crossed the red line and is acting like I just infected him with cooties.

“Because you were holding my dick,” I counter, sitting up and throwing my legs over the edge of the bed. I adjust my junk, but it does little to remove the feel of his hand around it.

“What?” he squawks. “Like my hand was a dick sweater? It was probably all your tuft.”

“My what?”

Glancing back, I can’t even see him. He’s got the comforter pulled all the way over his head, which would explain why he sounds so muffled.

“ Tuft ,” repeats the lump in the bed belligerently. “Do you have a freaking sheep down there?”

The cover flies off, revealing his mussed hair and his narrowed green eyes. He bolts out of bed, hustling toward the bathroom. “Gross. Now I need to wash your dick sweat off my hands.”

The door slams before I can act as childish as him in return. I’m left sitting here with the ghost sensation of his hand on my cock, feral moans from last night in my brain, the peculiar feeling of his mouth smashed against mine, and the sight of our messy bed. I feel…strange.

I’m hurt when I shouldn’t be. Warm over not waking up alone for the first time in years.

And there’s a foreign sense of longing in my chest at the memory of cries of bliss I know damn well and good I’ve never made before in my life.

This is way too much to process. I…need a granola bar.

Maybe my blood sugar is low or something.

Instinct has me wanting to make the bed, but then I remember how Mason dropped in unexpectedly last night, so I leave it and move to my suitcase.

I can barely focus on what I’m doing. Am I dizzy?

All I know is that we’re supposed to take the boat out today, meaning we’ll be on the water.

I rummage around for my swimsuit and shorts because cooling off sounds like a good way to cleanse my body of Andrew and the peculiar hot flashes assaulting me.

Is this what happens when you’ve been alone for too long—you react to the touch of anyone, even a guy you can’t stomach?

The door to the bathroom flies open, and he scowls at me. I’ve never thought I was near his level of immaturity, but I don’t know what else to do, so I scowl back. He’s looking at me like I put his hand on my dick. He’s such a child.

Maybe I am, too, because I’m not about to change into my suit in front of him.

I’ve changed and showered plenty of times in front of the guys in my unit, but none of them ever made crude comments about my body hair or…

kissed me. Also, for some reason, my cock is tingling again now that the hand that grabbed it is back in the room.

My cock clearly needs a serious dick slap, which I’ll gladly give it in the privacy of the bathroom.

Tromping around the end of the bed, I refuse to make eye contact with the perverted menace. Can’t he just man up and admit that he accidentally cuddled me in his sleep? He didn’t have to be rude about it and insult me. Civilian men have no feelings, not the other way around, like people assume.

Whipping a shirt out of his backpack, he flaps it in the air with a crack like he’s getting the wrinkles out. Can you say passive-aggressive? Ten bucks says he’s going to keep acting like ‘ the incident ’ was my fault.

Reaching the bathroom doorway, I can’t bite my tongue any longer. Apparently, spending this much time with Andrew makes me as petty as he is because I get one last dig in before I slam the door. “My dick is not sweaty.”