Page 32 of Contingently Yours

Lucas

The sight of Andrew prowling across the bed with that determined expression is both terrifying and arousing.

The odd thing is that the terrifying part is just as enjoyable as the arousal.

I have no idea what to do or what he wants to do, but I feel free.

I didn’t even know I felt fettered before.

But now, with both of us stripped bare, seeing the hunger in his eyes, and his hard cock pointing to the ceiling like a twin to mine, all my worries seem weightless.

They’re all still there in the back of my mind, but yet, none of them have their claws in me at the moment.

No more feeling insecure about my ability to help sell these properties.

No more worrying over my bills. No more discomfort about whether seeing Mark and Shannon at the wedding together will be awkward, even though I assured Julia it won’t.

And no doubts over Andrew pretending later that whatever happens tonight didn’t happen.

Because right here, right now—he and I? It feels right.

Seeing on his face that he thinks so too is the answer I didn’t know I needed.

Slipping one knee between my legs, he inches forward, towering over me. “Good looking, huh?” he smirks, leaning down to cage his hands on either side of my shoulders.

“You know you are.”

Just as I think he’s leaning in to give me another one of those breath-stealing kisses, his head lowers.

My nipple is enveloped by his mouth, and I gasp.

His weight lowers onto me. I can feel his cock pressed up against my thigh, and he damn sure can probably feel mine pressed into his abdomen.

The pressure there and the static electricity that zips from my nipple down to my balls have me fighting to hold still.

My fingers are in his hair before I even realize it.

It’s so soft and feels like a privilege to be able to touch what always looks so wild and unruly, as though I tamed an animal.

He murmurs something that sounds like, “Those fucking noises you make for me,” and moves on to my other nipple while squeezing my thigh. The combination has me making more noises I’m sure I’ve never made in my life.

I’m leaking against his stomach. I don’t know if that’s going to weird him out since he’s made comments about fluids on more than one occasion, but when a streak of wetness paints my thigh, I’m not mad about it.

Not at all. His taste…it was like a drug hitting my tongue when I took him in.

I don’t know why he stopped me, but I feel a sense of pride knowing that the precum smearing against my skin may have, in part, been from my doing.

I desperately want to pull him up for more kisses, but he moves lower, his breath ghosting down my abdomen. I watch his hand trail over the line of hair on my stomach, down to my groin. He pauses, staring at my dick.

Is he having a change of heart? Is there something wrong with my dick? I can count on one hand how many partners I’ve had, and while I don’t regret the low number, I wish I were more versed in sexual cues so I could have some idea of what he’s thinking.

“I got tested after Shannon…” I hesitate, drawing his gaze up to mine. “Everything came back negative.”

His brows quirk, telling me my health test results probably weren’t part of his concern. “How long ago was that?”

“Four years.” I don’t know why it makes my face heat. There’s nothing wrong with abstaining. “But…I should still be good.”

He blinks at me, and now I know why I’m slightly mortified. In the Andrew Broadhouse logbook of sexual activity, you’d have to be completely incapacitated to go four years with no human contact. His palm glides down the underside of my cock as an almost-delicate caress.

“I’m good too,” he says, looking entranced and moving his hand over my pubic hair. “I got tested before our trip.”

Was he planning on hooking up with someone while we were trying to sell properties? I’m torn between a flicker of unfounded jealousy and feeling like I snagged the prom king.

He whispers something reverently, distracting me. It sounds a lot like, ‘ So fluffy ,’ as he blows a stream of breath over the hair around my cock.

I shudder and have to inch my legs apart when he slips his other knee in between them.

His palms run down the tops of my thighs and then back up, warming them with a touch that’s surprisingly gentle.

With his lips hovering over the tip of my cock, it’s all I can do to hold still.

I pray it doesn’t twitch and slap him in the mouth.

What is he doing? Also, what is he waiting for?

“ Four years?”He arches a brow, looking concerned and maybe even angry.

I avert my gaze to the ceiling and shrug like it’s no big deal—because it’s not.

Each of my brain cells is more focused on whether I’m going to get to experience what I hope I’m about to.

A hand wraps around the base of my cock, angling it up.

I look back down, but his attention is fixed on my dick again.

“Well, fuck you, Shannon,” he mutters and draws a stripe up the slit of my cockhead.

My cock does twitch now, bucking against his grip. I don’t know what his hostility toward my ex is about, but it was worth waiting four years for that little lick. And it’s worth waiting the three seconds following until he takes my cockhead into his hot, wet mouth.

For the love of monster trucks, the sight of Andrew’s sassy mouth with my cock in it is the only thing I need to see before I die. His cheeks go concave, increasing the suction around it, making me cry out a warbled noise.

He hums as though he approves and draws off for a breath before taking me in again. His tongue swirls around my glans, teasing it. My hips buck involuntarily, making the roof of his mouth crash into my tip. Grunting, he pops off and wipes the slobber off his chin with the back of his wrist.

“This isn’t working,” he says breathlessly at the same time I murmur, “Sorry.”

My first blow job in forever, and I fucked it up. Damn it.

Glaring at my dick like it committed a crime, he mumbles, “I don’t know what I’m doing.”

The confession quashes my embarrassment and makes me sympathize with him until he adds, “But I have another idea,” and barrels off the bed.

Where is he going? I rise onto my elbows as he rummages through his discarded shorts and pulls out his phone. If he thinks taking sexy nudes is a good alternative to exchanging our first blow jobs, I’m going to have to say something.

I watch his bare ass trot to the bathroom, feeling my heart sink with each step, even as I admire the dimples in his cheeks.

When he returns a second later with a bottle of lube in his other hand, I lean back, trying to pretend I wasn’t momentarily terrified he was calling it quits.

Climbing back on the bed, he resumes his place between my legs, but his thumb flies over the keys on his phone.

It seems like an odd time to be on the phone.

“What are you doing?”

“Calling in a lifeline.”

“A what?”

“Have you ever been with a man?”

He’s asking me that now? “No… Have you?”

“No, hence the lifeline.” Patting the outside of my thigh, he assures me, “Don’t worry. They’re professionals.”

Wait a minute. Is he…texting someone for gay sex advice?

“They? Who are they? ”