Page 25 of Contingently Yours

Lucas

‘Use my hand.’

He wants me to fuck myself with his fist. I want to fuck myself with his fist.

But…I can’t.

What if it’s just another trick, and he makes fun of me for it later?

Worse yet, what if the hard cock stabbing the back of my thigh means he actually does want it as much as I think he does?

Because if he does, I don’t think I could stop myself, and something tells me there would be no coming back from this.

It cannot be humanly possible to feel this lost in someone and not have it change the way you see them afterward.

I know now that he’s right—I do have a crush.

The pin-hair trigger holding me back is the only thing keeping a crush from turning into a complete pulverization by the life force that is Andrew Broadhouse.

For a guy who teases me about breathing heavily around him, his own is ragged against my ear.

It’s a miracle I haven’t already come just from the thought of me having that effect on him.

Andrew—with his razor-sharp tongue, an intellect he tries to hide, and a fearlessness I never even saw in battle—is panting in my ear over how much he wants me. No one has ever wanted me like this.

“Fuck my hand, Lucas,” he rasps in my ear like he’s the one who’s begging. “Show me how bad you want my hand.”

It’s the most messed-up request I’ve ever heard, and the phrase is as bossy as he is, but it’s the delivery in his tone that gets me. The way he speaks it… Well, it’s the nicest he’s ever spoken to me. Or maybe I just can’t take it anymore, because I do exactly what he asked. I move.

Rocking my hips forward, I thrust my cock through the ring he made with his thumb and fingers around my tip.

Every inch of me plunges through that slick hold like it’s a sleeve of relief until the side of his hand hits my navel.

A groan rips from my throat at the burst of static it sends to my nuts and down my legs.

It was the right thing to do because it feels so damn good, but it was also the wrong thing to do. There is no way once is enough.

Especially not after he whispers into my cheek, “Fuck, yes.”

My hips punch backward instinctively, drawing me through his cuff.

He tightens it along the way, making my eyes nearly cross.

The head of his cock stabs the back of my thigh, sending gooseflesh across my skin.

I’m the cleanest I’ve been all day, and yet I feel incredibly filthy.

Yet, it’s a kind of filth I want to live and die in.

How many times have I jerked off and had my release held up by the awareness of it being my own hand, the straining and cramping of my fist taking away from the pleasure?

He’s giving me the answer to all those frustrations, and I’m suddenly terrified he’s ruining masturbating for me for the rest of my life.

“That’s it,” he whispers encouragingly.

His palm moves up my chest, and his thumb circles my nipple, sending electricity across my pecs. I moan and punch my hips forward again.

The slip of my cockhead through that steadfast ring he’s created feels like heaven as it glides over my glans. I want more of it. I draw my hips back just a fraction and do it again. And then again, teasing the tip of my cock.

His grip tightens and on one pass, he slides the pad of his thumb up my slit as I pass through. “Andrew,” I let out on a strained breath, overwhelmed by the pressure it’s causing in my balls.

“You like that, huh?” he asks, dropping his lips to the base of my neck. “Get it, Lucas. Get it,” he urges, and then I feel teeth against my flesh.

His lips suction against my skin there, and his hand falls from my chest. It settles on my hip, gripping me tight, and then I feel him press his thighs against my ass. He thrusts with me, connecting us with each of my little nudges so there’s not an inch separating us.

“Oh, God,” I croak, lost in the sight and the sensations.

It feels like he’s fucking me. Like we’re fucking.

My ring spasms at the thought, and I now know for certain that he’s ruined masturbating for me.

Ruined it and opened Pandora’s box, because as I watch the shape of my cockhead morph each time I jerk it through his grip, I imagine what it might be like to actually have him fuck me.

“Andrew,” I beg again, gripping the wrist that’s holding my cock, although I don’t know what I’m begging for.

“Fucking hell,” his hoarse voice floats over my shoulder. His tongue draws a stripe up the side of my neck over my jugular, telling me that if it was mercy I was asking for, there will be none. His mouth captures my ear, and he twirls the tip of his tongue around the inside of the shell of it.

I let out a cry, learning that my ear is somehow connected to my nuts, as a thrill runs from it down the center of my body.

When his hand snakes back up to my chest and pinches my other nipple, the ungodly pressure in my nuts bursts and my cock spasms, flexing against his grip.

Andrew sucks in a breath and a low growl rumbles next to my ear.

“Yesss,” he hisses, his hand moving into action, sliding down my length to stroke it furiously.

All I can do is make noises that sound like I’m in pain as I watch my release spurt out of me. I’m leaning my weight against him, afraid I’ll fall to the shower floor if I don’t. I might pass out. Is this what sex is supposed to feel like?

I don’t even realize I closed my eyes until I feel his hand grabbing mine.

The hand that was on my cock guides my wrist behind me.

I start to turn my head, wondering if he wants to spin me around for a kiss, but then I feel something against my fingers.

Something wet and slick and hard. His hands wrap mine around it and my foggy brain realizes it’s his cock, stealing my already short supply of air.

Draping an arm over my shoulder, he leans his head against the back of mine and starts to guide my fist. Absently, I realize the Hepperlys are long gone.

My God, I’d completely forgotten about them.

Did they see anything? That concern is quashed when I feel friction against my palm.

He’s…using my hand to jerk himself off. I didn’t think this could get any hotter than it already was.

The feel of his flesh sliding through my grip and the way he’s panting against my shoulder, though, have my spent cock twitching against its recent death.

God, it feels right. I know there is no reason why it should, given our past, but it feels so freaking right.

Resting my hand on the shower wall for support, I pinch my eyes closed and dig deep for energy that I don’t have.

I want him to feel the way I do, to experience the level of release that I just did.

Giving his cock a stroke, I stop at the tip to give it a squeeze.

The grunt he huffs onto my skin has it prickling with gooseflesh.

He’s thrusting so fast, I can barely keep up, clenching his hand around mine.

I want to tell him I’d gladly take over, but he seems lost, like a man possessed.

All I can do is squeeze tighter to let him know I’m here with him, a willing participant.

As soon as I do, he freezes and lets out a groan.

His cock flexes under my touch, making my eyes go wide.

I can feel it pulse, feel the blood rushing through it, the release.

Something warm runs down the back of my thigh.

I shiver. Tendrils of possessiveness and pride wind their way around my heart, knowing he came because of me.

Languidly, I stroke him through his release.

His hand falls away, letting me take over.

I find myself smiling with each uncontrollable jerk of his body against my back, my chest filled with warmth.

Through his ragged breathing, his hand settles over my wrist, squeezing gently.

He’s gone soft, and I imagine it’s a signal to let me know he’s become too sensitive.

His forehead is still resting against the back of my shoulder as he catches his breath.

When he lifts it, I swallow against a flurry of butterflies in my stomach.

What happens now? The urge to turn into him and seal these sensations with his mouth on mine is strong, but so is my apprehension. Except, Andrew always knows what to do, always takes the lead. So, trembling, I slowly turn and face him.

Nothing could have prepared me for what I see.

Cheeks tinted pink, lips parted, chest rising and falling, Andrew stares back at me with his pupils eclipsed.

I’ve never been a jealous man, but I’m suddenly envious of anyone who’s gotten to see this look on him.

But right now, I remind myself that it’s for me and because of me.

I’m oddly proud of myself for doing something so out of my norm.

Flashing him a little smile, I can’t help but get snared at the sight of his mouth.

I wet my lips, wishing the droplet of water I licked away was a taste of him.

He swallows, and I’m pretty sure his gaze is fixed on the tip of my tongue when it peeks out.

His gaze darts downward, and the next thing I know, he’s bending down.

I tense in anticipation, wondering what else he has in store for us, but he rises with the bar of soap in his hand. I’d forgotten he dropped it.

I watch him slather some suds onto his cock and as the water rinses them away. When he hands the bar to me, I reach for it hesitantly.

“I think I smell the grill,” he says. “We’d better go.”