Page 24 of Gym Bros (Bay Area Bros #2)
His hands slide up and down my legs before abandoning them and roaming up my chest to wrap lightly around my throat. He bends me in half, my shins hit the arm of the couch, and he kisses me.
“This is all I’ve been thinking about since you showed me plow,” he murmurs against my mouth as he slides balls deep into my ass.
Oh my god.
This. This is why spit beats half a bottle of lube for me any day of the week. I can feel fucking everything .
I stare at him, shocked and overwhelmed. I almost want to— laugh.
His grin is so wildly sexy, and I’m just gaping at him, unable to process what I’m feeling. Excitement? Arousal? Amusement? Fun? Is this fun ?
Since when has sex ever been fun?
He kisses me again, and I decide to table that topic for later. Wrapping my arms around his broad, muscular back, I fuck his gently moving cock until it’s not so gentle anymore, and I’m groaning with every thrust.
I forgot to say earlier how much I love my prostate, too.
God I’m fucking obsessed with it right now and what Samuel’s cock is doing to it. Wouldn’t trade it for anything.
“I’m really fucking close,” he tells me, like it’s some secret he shouldn’t be sharing.
I’m not too far from another orgasm myself. I’m only semi- hard, but with the way he’s “plowing” me and his abs grinding up and down my cock, I might be in for a first here, too.
He kisses the ultra-sensitive spot underneath my ear and shortens his strokes, bottoming out on each one and pounding my amazing prostate. “Right there—holy shit—do that—don’t stop,” I tell him.
He groans and doesn’t stop kissing or fucking me just like that.
Even when he comes—and I can tell by his groan and the rough stutter his body gives—he keeps fucking me until I let out a sharp cry of surprise.
The second orgasm is deep and nearly gut wrenching.
I clench hard on his cock and squeeze his body tight to me as my cock releases another load between our abs.
“Goddamn,” he whispers, still moving like he’s determined to go until he’s either totally soft or hard all over again.
But I can’t take anymore. I slide my hands down to his ass and hold him deep inside me while I tremble through a strong aftershock. His body relaxes, smothering me, and I don’t give a fuck.
I stare at the ceiling as he catches his breath against my neck. Carefully I slide my legs off his shoulders and the backs of my knees wind up in the bend of his elbows.
I can’t fucking believe I just did that.
I’m not proud of how quickly I wiggled my way out from under Samuel to get to the shower. To be clear, I’m not trying to cleanse myself because I feel dirty or anything—I mean—I do feel dirty but not like—anyway…I just need to get my head back on straight.
And my cum off my abs.
My poor ass. Whatever endorphins were at play during that appalling lapse of judgment did a lot to conceal the fact that he was hammering me with a very big dick. It’s the good kind of sore, but it’s definitely sore.
I’m at a complete loss as to what to think about myself.
The shower doesn’t help. I stay in there slightly longer than necessary—about fifteen minutes—and afterward, I slide on a pair of sweatpants and a hoodie.
No underwear. I avoid my underwear drawer entirely because I can’t get the image of him sniffing my panties out of my head or the way it made me feel, which I can’t even put into words.
Wordless mush. That’s all that’s happening in my head.
“The sandwiches are here,” Samuel says when I come downstairs.
He’s all put back together, shoes and everything, looking like nothing happened. My clothes are folded in a small stack on the couch, though—so there’s some proof.
He looks— bigger .
Taller and broader and just overall larger than he did when I got home with him, and I don’t know if that’s because I know how I fit with him now or because I wasn’t paying attention before.
He’s got my attention as he pulls a stool out at the kitchen island and unwraps his sandwich while he watches me creep over to the coffee table to pick up my wine. Fuck, I barely had any. I can’t even blame this on alcohol. It’s still even kind of cold, and there’s steam rising from his sandwich.
How long did I hold out for exactly? Five minutes? Ten? I came twice.
“Are you hungry?” he asks, when I haven’t said anything.
“Mmhm.” I say, a small sound of assent. I’m hungry. I’m also freaking out.
“So, you were saying something about dating—but you never said, do you like going on dates? ”
“Um…” I make my way toward the kitchen, guzzling the wine. I open the fridge to pour myself another glass. “Sometimes.”
“I’ve never really dated before,” he says between mouthfuls.
The man can eat a cheesesteak, I’ll give him that.
He’s already devoured half of it. And I don’t know why, but there’s something about watching him eat it that’s killer sexy.
He’s got a great jaw. Nice mouth, too. I shiver when I think of where it’s been.
“Not interested?” I ask. “No time?”
“Both. You can sit with me. I’m not gonna bite you.” He winks. “Or tickle you.”
Oh my God.
My turkey sandwich is already waiting on the island in the spot next to him, so I take the seat, wincing a little at how hard the chair feels against my butt. “Sorry,” I say. “Did you want something to drink?”
He holds up his already re-filled glass of water.
I notice my hands are shaking while I’m unwrapping the sandwich. Not much, but enough for me to feel it.
“You all right?” he asks.
“Yeah,” I say with some forced brightness.
“All done talking?”
I tear off a corner of the sandwich and shove it in my mouth, nodding. Everything I’d been planning to say to him is irrelevant now that he bent me in half and fucked me with permission on my couch no less.
“You’re gonna make this awkward aren’t you?” I ask.
He points at his chest. “Me?”
Okay, maybe I’m projecting.
“ You kissed me ,” he says.
“I know.”
“And then you told me to?—”
“Oh my God, I know . ”
“So, what’s awkward?” he asks with a soft chuckle. “I felt like it went pretty well, considering.”
“Considering what?”
“Well, I’ve never given anyone a blow job before for one thing.”
My face is so hot, I put up a hand to keep him from seeing it. “Do we have to talk about it?”
“I guess not,” he says, wrapping up what’s left of his sandwich and putting it into the delivery bag. He takes a sip of water and sets the glass down. Then he takes a deep breath and sighs.
I am burning up.
“All right, well, I’ll get out of your hair, then.”
“I didn’t say you had to leave .”
“Were you gonna ask me to stay?”
“I’m—” I gesture at my barely-touched sandwich. “I’m eating .”
He stands. “Look—I don’t know what’s got you so embarrassed all of a sudden, but no one knows what just happened except me and you. I’m not gonna post about it on my Insta story or anything, so fucking relax, all right?”
I grab his hoodie pocket and make myself look up at him. “I’m not usually like that,” I blurt. I don’t usually date, either. I hook up. If that.
He scowls down at me, and I can see how someone who he was planning to punch in the face would find him a little scary. “Like what?”
“I don’t know—sex on the first date?”
“No?”
I shake my head.
“So what happened?”
“I mean, I—you—I wanted to, I guess.”
“So did I,” he says like it’s that simple, and maybe it is for him? Even though he’s never ever had sex with a man before. Or has he? He never really said. “But it also sounds like you already regret it.”
“No,” I say quickly. I just think maybe he might…at some point… if … But he’s right. No one needs to know. This could be a one-off and not a big deal in the grand scheme of things, but even as that thought enters my mind, I notice the grip my fingers have on his shirt.
I think about the rock hard muscle beneath the fleece and experience another pang of lust not unlike the one that had me telling him to yes, go ahead, put on the condom.
I can’t blame the wine, but maybe it was the hot chocolate? I don’t usually ingest chocolate—I have a figure I have to keep in perfect form, and I prefer to drink my calories in alcohol, not cocoa, but something’s woken my dormant sex drive, and this almost feels like a use it or lose it moment.
But I can’t possibly ask him to stay and use me again. I’ll hurt myself.
“No,” I say again. “It was good.”
“Good?”
The way he’s staring down at me. I wouldn’t call it intense or annoyed, though his tone is—but he looks more curious—entertained.
“Yes, it was good,” I repeat myself.
“As in…you’d go on a date with me again, or…?”
“Do we have to decide that right now?” I ask, exasperated with the whole situation. He’s nothing like I expected. I wonder if I’m as full of surprises for him as he is for me, but somehow I doubt it. I think he’s got me all figured out.
His hand slides beneath my jaw, and he tilts my face up, angling me for a kiss he plants on my lips. “No, we don’t,” he says. “I still have to decide if I want to ask you out again. You’re tricky.”
I nod, staring into his dark blue eyes. They’re actually really nice eyes. Not huge but heavily lined with dark lashes. They stand out as the gentlest feature on his face. Okay, so he looks bigger and hotter.
He strokes my chin between his thumb and forefinger. “So pretty, though.”
“Thanks,” I hear myself saying, even though I’d rather he compliment literally anything else. Even my living room.
“Wish me luck tomorrow?” he asks.
“For what?”
“I’m headed back into training.”
“You’re not coming for yoga?”
“No, I’ll be there,” he tells me.
“Okay,” I say, relieved that I won’t have to worry about when I’ll see him again or have to make it happen somehow. Or avoid it.
“I’ll show myself out,” he says, letting go of my face.
“Um…okay.” I guess he got what he came for. “Don’t hurt yourself tomorrow.”
“Thanks, angel,” he says.
Fuck, someone go ahead and kill me now.