Page 19 of Contingently Yours

Andrew

Ugh. I can feel my bones. Waking up is like being sucked out of a black hole, your body fighting against the force to stay inside a cocoon of blissful weightless darkness.

There’s that sound again…

Is someone talking? I must be dreaming because it’s way too early to hear voices.

Stretching against the warm pillow in front of me, I point my toes, pulling the stiffness from my muscles and giving my cock a lazy stroke. It’s hot and hard, but the friction brings me no relief or comfort. It’s like my dick is numb and can’t feel my hand.

Can a dick fall asleep like a foot can?

No. Then I’d have that strange sandy sensation in it.

“Andrew…” a hoarse voice calls, sounding desperate.

The pillow my face is squished against seems fleshy like skin suddenly. It’s…beefy and smells clean, with a hint of something sweet. Not at all like Veronica’s.

What am I saying? It can’t be Veronica’s. I’m in the Virgin Isles and she’s in Brussels eyeballing around for Mr. Right.

Ugh.

That can only mean one thing.

Lucas…

Fuck him.

I’m not moving.

“Andrew…”

“ What? ” I murmur against his shoulder blade. “Sleep time. Sleep. ”

I don’t recall any of my past bed partners ever throwing off as much heat as he does. His Chia-ness must be good insulation. I bet he saves a ton of money on not having to buy winter weather gear.

The cool morning air from the coast breezes in, giving me a chill, further breaching that veil of precious slumber.

Nuzzling closer to his back, I give myself another sympathetic stroke.

It’s strange, though. It produces no reaction in me other than frustration.

I wish the rest of me was as asleep as my dick is right now.

Nudging my hips forward, I help it out by thrusting into my grip, but my cock arches against the downy feel of a pillow. Not my hand. What the fuck?

“Andrew,” Lucas croaks more urgently. Something latches over my wrist, something that feels a lot like a hand. Again… not my hand.

One of mine is tucked under the pillow beneath my head. The other is on my dick. My dick that…can’t feel my hand. My dick that feels extremely sweaty and…veiny. Has my dick always been this veiny?

Ah, shit…

Blinking my eyes open, I watch the solid back in front of my face rise and fall with a ragged breath. The biceps resting on Lucas’ ribcage are flexed, and his arm disappears over his side…right next to where mine does, too.

Damn it.

I did it again.

I start to move my hand away, but there’s something about the feel of the dick in it that has me lingering. I’ve never felt a dick other than my own.

Man, it’s thick. It wasn’t this thick the last time.

He’s…hard. Fully hard.

Why is he just lying here and not bolting out of bed? How long has he been awake?

Oh-ho-ho!

Looks like the guy who doesn’t like kissing me has erected a statue in Chia-ville for me. Again !

The twisted-idea fairy in my head arches a brow and nods at the devil on my shoulder. The devil knows exactly what to do.

Closing my eyes, I keep the smile on my face from pressing into his back and give the Lucas log another exploratory stroke.

Weird, but whatever. We’ve practically made out already, and it’s just a dick after all, one of two that I’ve had my hand on before.

The entertainment value and vindication of the breath he sucks in far exceeds the weirdness. Someone likes my stroking.

“Mm,” I groan, sleepily mumbling my next words for effect, “Go back to sleep.”

“Y-your hand…”

What about my hand, Lucas? I want to ask. The hand that you’ve not moved yet?

Our conversation from last night comes back to me. He’s the one who brought this up. Not me. I know now what his scent consists of—big horny hillbilly who likes my kisses and my hand. Suddenly, the idea of him begging seems like a highly satisfying challenge.

Tilting my head, I nuzzle the back of his neck with the tip of my nose and glide my thumb up one of his obscenely engorged dick veins. “What about it?”

And maybe because I’m a bit of a sadist and can’t let shit go, I give him an experimental squeeze. His grunt is followed by a shiver that has his body vibrating against mine.

I have never felt more all-powerful. That’s the only way I can describe the rush I just got from him making sex noises for me. It must be a divide-and-conquer thing, slaying the enemy…with his own dick.

“Y-you…you’re jerking me off,” he rasps.

Is he seriously going to play the Captain Obvious card? Like he’s not stalling on purpose. The coward. I bet his favorite song is ‘ Linger ’ by the Cranberries.

“The more interesting observation is that you’re not stopping me,” I whisper, moving my mouth to the back of his ear, no longer trying to sound like I’m sleep-stroking.

I slide my hand down his length slowly, getting more acquainted with his veins, oddly high on how arousal-frozen and out of breath he is.

“Fuck,” he gasps, and it’s all I can do to hold back an evil laugh.

“How come you’re not stopping me, Lucas? Is it because you like being my boyfriend?”

“What…I…what?”

When I slide my hand back up, I reach the bulbous head of his tip. I know I appreciate a good thumb graze, so it’s second nature at this point. Except, the pad of my thumb comes back sticky and wet. So fucking sweaty.

Wait.

That’s not sweat.

In the words of Dario… crikey .

This feels like some sort of sex leveling up. I’ve made women wet before, but never a man. At least, not that I know of or… felt . Typical Lucas to get some kind of fluid on me.

“I think my boyfriend likes my hand on his sweaty dick.”

His grip kneads my wrist, but doesn’t make any effort to stop me. He comes up with the awe-inspiring rebuttal of, “Shut up.”

This time I don’t hold back my snicker, scooting closer and nudging his stupid chastity pillow up higher toward his ass so I can shove my leg in between his. Time for another squeeze of the vein statue. He’s ready to break. I can feel it.

“Just like you liked me talking bossy to you on the beach at the cay. Yeah. Don’t think I didn’t see the Chia Pet come to life after I brushed your nipple and told you to take it. You like your man being in charge.”

“I…no! I d—don’t.”

He’s panting so hard now, I want to ask him if he truly thinks anyone would believe that pathetic lie. Uncle Lou, we need a sign for where Lucas lives. Denial—population one.

The mattress shifts when I give him a faster stroke. His other arm moves to his pillow and grips it tight. My thigh is sandwiched in between his, where it’s feeling heat it’s never felt before.

It is the mecca of his Chia insulation. How can someone so confounding feel so damn cozy?

I’m basically angry-stroking him at this point, swirling his fluids over his tip and greasing them down his super vein to give me better traction. It’s become personal.

Didn’t like it? He’s so full of shit. I saw the way his Speedo was tented and was gracious enough not to bring it up.

I’ve been turned down before. I can handle it, but not from Lucas. My pride couldn’t take it. Given the way he’s gone rigid as a post and is huffing like he ran a flight of stairs, I don’t think I have to worry much longer. I’ve hit the nail on the head and he knows it.

“Yeah,” I taunt at his ear. “My big tough army guy likes to let go and have his man take charge of him. Don’t worry,” I whisper with another squeeze. “I won’t tell anyone your secret.”

“You…you’re an ass,” he rasps.

Reaching out from under my pillow, I catch a grip on his hair. The second I tug, he groans. It’s the sound of victory. I let my laughter flow right into his ear.

“But what you really mean is, ‘ Andrew, don’t stop .’ Just say it, Lucas. Tell me you want me to get you off. Tell me that’s why you’re doing that mouth-breathing thing you do every time I touch you.”

I swallow as soon as the words are out, realizing how obscene this has become, how obscene I’ve become, but then he shudders. Violently. Just from my suggestion.

Holy fuck. I’m right. He doesn’t want me to stop.

I mean, I know I thought it, but thinking it and seeing this much confirmation of it are two different things.

I can only describe the haze that clouds my brain and vision as an overdose of smugness filtering over me from Lucas’ needy pheromones. I own him. At this moment, I own him.

Rubbing my thumb over his slimy tip, I give his ear lobe a little nip with my teeth. “I bet I can make you come, Lucas. Do you want me to make you come?”

I didn’t know my voice could sound like a sex villain, but it has Lucas gasping and his hips twitching. His shoulder flexes from squeezing his pillow in a vise grip.

“Shut…I…you…”

God. He can’t even speak anymore. I’ve never rendered anyone speechless.

A soft moan filters in through the wall from next door. Keenan is my guess. And here I thought he was the quiet one. The added sensory effect has Lucas’ cock flexing in my grip. Weird.

Weird that I’m still holding it. Weird that it doesn’t feel weird anymore. Fucking rude as hell that he’s flexing from another man’s noises when his boyfriend is holding his cock. I give him another stroke to remind him who got him hard.

“Let me make you come, sweetheart. They don’t have to be the only ones enjoying themselves on this trip. You’ve got your own man here to take care of you. Don’t you?” Stroke. Squeeze. “Don’t you?”

I didn’t know a man’s whimpers could be just as arousing as a woman’s. The peculiar noise he makes, though, has my balls tingling. Power must be a turn on.

“Don’t you?” I repeat, letting my lips brush against his ear.

“Y-yeah.”

W-wait.

What?

I replay what I just said because I don’t even know what in the hell I’m saying at this point. I think I just asked him if he wants me to make him come and…I think he just…begged.

My head has gone light. My cock bucks against his chastity pillow as I suck in a breath.

Holy shit. He’d actually let me make him come. I’d actually make him come. Wouldn’t I?

Er…no! Of course not. Why would I do that?

I was just trying to get him to admit…

What was I trying to get him to admit?

Uh…his obvious attraction to my hand and my mouth.

Yeah. That was it. Fucking jerk, waking me up before I was ready to function.

Releasing the fleshy vein statue, I retrieve my hand, wiping the Lucas fluids on the sheet as I draw back. Gross, but there’s always a price to pay for victory. That was the point, right?

Sitting up, I know I need to bring us back to reality, so I do the only thing I can think of. I slap him on the ass. It jiggles just like his face does.

“Good!” I chirp, bounding out of bed. “Glad to see you’re finally getting with the program.”

I rush to the bathroom without looking back. I don’t need to see that stupid, confused face he gets. His vein statue is his problem to figure out. It’s not my fault that I’m irresistible.

Something makes my boxers shift just as I reach the bathroom door. Glancing down, my thickened cock is tenting the fabric in the direction I need to go. I…grew my own statue. What the fuck is that about?