Page 40 of Contingently Yours

Lucas

Andrew is acting peculiar, even more so than usual.

He’s been smiling at me strangely ever since I stepped out of the shower to find him setting up our room service delivery on the table.

He told me not to wait for him when he went to shower, but that seemed rude, so I held off and checked some messages from the girls and Mom, and sent off my replies.

Doing the polite thing, however, meant I sealed my fate of having dinner for two with him.

I suppose I expected that was the plan when I walked into the bar earlier, but it feels different now that he’s sitting across from me in only his towel, smiling that strange smile.

It’s…sweet and makes my stomach flip each time I catch it.

I think it’s because I keep picturing what it would be like to see him like this in my kitchen back home.

Is this the giddy feeling Julia was talking about?

There’s something in his expression, though. I swear he looks nervous, which can’t be right. Andrew doesn’t get nervous.

Setting my beer back down, my breath catches when his fingertip brushes against mine. It’s like the third time he’s done it throughout what feels like a romantic meal for two with the backdrop of the king-size bed next to us. That’s the other thing…

The Hepperlys are gone. Maybe he didn’t plan a romantic dinner for two, but we don’t have to sleep in the same bed any longer. Did he forget, or did he book a single on purpose?

“Not hungry?” He gestures to my half-eaten sandwich.

I can’t think about my stomach when I’m around him.

I’m hungry, but only for Andrew. Maybe it’s this overpowering infatuation, but most of me believes this is a romantic dinner for two.

The way he sighed when I held him last night, his flirting in the bar, and how he brushed my hand in the elevator…

He doesn’t even need to try. I’ve fully accepted that I’m a goner whenever he’s in the same room. Plain and simple.

Either it all ends after tonight, or it doesn’t.

Either way, we still have tonight. I’m done questioning and fighting why he has this effect on me.

I’ve been cautious and responsible my entire life.

He’s always insinuating that I need to let go.

Staring at where our hands are touching, I swallow against the lump of nerves in my throat.

Weaving my fingers into his, my voice comes out hoarse. “Just…distracted.”

When our gazes lock, the anxiety in his expression fades. It’s replaced with a smoldering look.

His fingers tighten around mine. “You’re distracting too.” His gaze canvases down my chest. “And so is that T-shirt.”

I was going to put pants on before he came out of the bathroom, but I like to air-dry.

Tuft…and all that. When he strolled out in his towel and went right for the table, I thought about it for a moment but decided I’d look more foolish if I made a scene of covering up further.

So, I joined him in just my underwear and this old Tractor Supply Company shirt.

I didn’t think it was possible to make an old T-shirt feel sexy, but he just did with that husky delivery.

The air feels thick as I inhale and rise.

Holding his gaze, I draw the hem up and over my head.

I’m still in awe that he can look at me the way he does.

I’m a man—I have all the same parts that he does.

I don’t know how I’m fascinating to him, but that’s exactly what I see in his eyes.

And it’s exactly what I think of him when he gets up with purpose and steps toward me.

His fingertips slide along my jaw. His other hand grips the love handle above my hips in a way that makes me proud of the curves I’ve acquired since my army days. My heart has never hammered this hard in my chest from an invitation.

Mouth parted, he looks to be searching for words. “I really like my piano,” he finally says.

My heart skips a beat, and I grip his arm. Unable to look him in the eye over the silly little trinket that kept me occupied the other night, while he was miserable. I avert my gaze, but can’t fight the smile his praise brings me.

“I need to fuck you,” he whispers.

I couldn’t possibly have heard what I think I just heard. When my gaze snaps back to his, though, his hand moves lower, covering my ass. He gives it a squeeze that makes my cock flex behind the fabric of my underwear as he leans in.

“Need to be here ,” he murmurs and brushes his lips against mine. His index finger trails down between my ass cheeks, and he looks into my eyes. “Do you want me there, Lucas?”

I’m not a monk. I love sex, but I don’t think I’ve ever wanted it so badly—even though I have no idea if it will feel as good as his fingers did. But I want Andrew. I want to be the first man he’s ever been with. I want him to be mine.

Stepping back on wobbly knees, I hook my thumbs under the waistband of my underwear and drag them down.

I hope the look I give him tells him my answer before I bend over.

There’s nothing worse than underwear lying around on the floor.

Communal living in the military taught me that, so I slide them off at the ankle and toss them where they land on the top of my suitcase, hoping I still look sexy.

He lets out a stifled groan that makes me shudder.

Turning, I climb onto the bed and wait on my knees, unsure of what to do next.

I can hear his soft exhale from here. Watching his towel drop, my skin goes up in flames. All of that is for me. I’m sure he’s bared himself a hundred times for others, but this time, right now, it’s just for me.

He moves to his bag, rifling around in it until he produces his bottle of lube.

Thank goodness one of us is thinking clearly enough to be prepared.

When he slides a knee onto the bed, I’m determined not to be a statue and take the bottle from his hand.

Lying back, I draw my feet up to the base of my ass so I can access what he asked for.

Spreading my knees, I feel so exposed, but in a way that makes me feel desirable, as though I possess something valuable.

Maybe it’s the way his jaw drops as he stares at me when I dribble some lube into my hand and run it between my cheeks.

I’ve never touched myself there intimately.

Watching him watch me removes any thought of inhibitions.

Shannon asked me a few times if I wanted to watch her pleasure herself. I declined, thinking it felt like an invasion of privacy or would make her feel like our regular foreplay wasn’t enough. Looking back, I realized maybe I’d disappointed her by turning her down.

As Andrew grips his cock and gives it a slow stroke, looking drugged, four years of feeling inadequate evaporate. She and I just weren’t the right people for each other. Because right now, I know I could watch Andrew do that—and let him watch me—for hours.

Picking up the lube bottle, he murmurs, “Get your hole, handsome.”

Handsome … I know he’s never said the things he says to me to another man. It gives them importance, the way they slip effortlessly like that from his lips.

Circling my ring, I press inside. It’s instantly apparent that it’s easier and feels better when he does it, but I don’t want to give up.

Staring at the sheen on his cock from the lube he’s applying, the sensation transforms into something more sensual, knowing that he’ll soon be inside me.

Except…the longer I stare at his slow strokes, taking him from root to tip, I grow wary of the geometry.

He’s not overly well-endowed. It’s just an average-size cock.

It’s not even as thick as mine. Yet, a sliver of worry snakes its way through me. Will I be able to do this? Physically?

He distracts me by bending down. His face presses to my navel, against the side of my cock.

He buries his face in the thatch of hair there, a feature I once thought he was mocking me for, and groans.

My tense breathing turns into a gasp of pleasure.

The next thing I feel is his slick fingertip circling the edge of my stretched ring.

Planting his other hand on the bed, he works a path of kisses up my body until his breath mingles with mine.

His mouth melds to mine like melted butter, less commanding and greedy than usual. “Want some company?”

It turns out that wasn’t flirty commentary for him joining me for a kiss. His fingertip presses against mine, where my body is hugging me. The idea of both of our fingers inside me at the same time has me swallowing against a glob of lust. I nod.

Expression attentive, he holds my gaze like he’s intent on reading my every reaction to make sure I’m okay.

It’s a picture of the sweet Andrew, the one who’s turned me into a heart-eyed fool.

I feel the press of his fingertip and exhale.

My ring stretches and burns, but then it gives way, and he joins me.

The contrasting angles of our fingers have me expanded more than he ever has.

It’s all I can do just to breathe. Closing my eyes, I zone in on the moment.

A mix of imagination and feeling the reality sheds the discomfort, and a groan peels out of my throat when his fingertip traces my gland.

Close suddenly doesn’t seem like enough.

Reaching up, I grip his hair and pull him to me.

Tasting his tongue, hints of his beer and burger, I pour the anguish of my maddening need into his mouth.

Pretty soon, my forearm is strained from trying to flex and add to the motion inside of me.

Abruptly, he pulls out and stares down at me.

“That’s enough,” he pants. “I’m going to come just from listening to you if you keep that up.”

I wanted more. I nearly forgot there’s more to come.

Withdrawing my finger, I watch him slide his knees underneath my thighs and shift my hips to help him.

Everything is still so new—the heat from his cock so close to mine, the way I’m lying like this.

I feel like I’m discovering sex for the first time, but at an age where I can truly appreciate it. It’s like getting a do-over.

He dribbles more lube onto his cock and runs his hand over it. With what remains, he makes a languid pass over mine.

“You good?”

Good? I’m dying here, teetering on the edge of a cliff somewhere between want and anxiety.

“Fuck me,” I urge, even as my face burns from the boldness of my demand.

You’d think I just made the air thicker the way his nostrils flare. Running his hand down my thigh, he uses his other to line himself up.

Hell, just the feel of his slippery cockhead against my hole has me sighing like it’s a muscle relaxer.

It’s more than two fingers, though, so I lay my head back and close my eyes.

There’s pressure and then more. I fight not to hold my breath, but I can feel myself stretching to the point of concern.

The sheets are balled in my fists to combat the slicing sensation that’s threatening any bliss I’d previously found.

Flaring my eyes open, I find his concerned gaze on me.

I do not want to throw in the towel, but damn.

I don’t know whether I can do this. Averting my gaze to the ceiling, I focus on my breathing, gritting my teeth, but a pained groan escapes me.

I open my mouth involuntarily, trying to hold back the ceasefire I want to beg for, but feel a hand wrap around my waning cock. His thumb swirls over my tip.

“Lucas, look at me.”

He sounds as strained as I feel. That touch, however, that request, and the look in his eyes as something gives way, has me exhaling as he passes through my ring. My muscles let up, and I find myself panting. I don’t dare move. He’s there. He’s in.

Holding my gaze, he strokes my cock and slowly nudges his hips back and then forward a fraction.

It’s the most bizarre sensation. I can’t even speak, only make peculiar noises—half cries of awe and wonder.

It’s not exactly physical pleasure, but rather an emotional one that has a message radiating through my body— Andrew is mine .

“Okay?” he whispers, face flushed.

I make an unintelligible reply and nod, my head rattling vigorously. I am so not okay. I’m completely consumed. When he nudges deeper, his warm hand still on my cock, the message amplifies— and I’m his .

Gripping his arm, I silently beg for his mouth. To my surprise, his eyes are closed. He looks like he’s having an out-of-body experience. With a tight hold on my hip, he lets out a shuddered breath and looks at me. Pride swells in my chest. I’m doing that to him.

Releasing my cock, he bends down and sloppily carves out my mouth. His hips begin to move, compounding the sensation of fullness. It seeps through every inch of me. The friction passing over my gland sends a storm of pleasure through my entire body.

“Fucking hell, Lucas.” His voice is choppy against my lips. “You should have stopped hating me sooner.”

Typical Andrew—hiding sentiment behind the blame of others.

He knows damn good and well that our hate was a two-way street, instigated by him.

I try to laugh, but it’s just another breathy noise.

The past is distorted now. Four years of exchanging glares and avoiding each other feel like an alternate reality now.

I couldn’t hate him now if I tried. I’m so full.

Full of Andrew. The cliff I was teetering on crumbles, and I freefall.

I hope like hell he catches me because I’m lost forever.