Page 35 of Phobia

His left hand dipped between my cheeks, two fingers circling my rim and dancing over my taint as he continued jacking me off.

“Oh fuck,” I groaned, thrusting against his hand before I could help it.

“Is that good?” he asked, his breath hot against my ear. I hadn’t even realized he pressed his forehead against my temple until he spoke.

Nodding, I clutched the arm of the couch to keep from fucking his hand like a maniac.

He pulled his left hand out quickly and spit on his fingertips before diving backin.Smearing his saliva around my hole with the left, his right hand worked steadily on my shaft, stroking, squeezing, until I was practically panting and wriggling against him.

“Can I try something?” he asked.

I didn’t trust myself to speak, so I nodded again.

The pad of his finger pressed against my hole. Slowly, inch by inch, he sank it inside of me. The slight burn, the pressure. The fact it was fucking Larkin? I moaned, grabbing onto his jean-clad thigh to try and keep myself here on Planet Earth.

“It’s so tight,” he whispered, crooking his finger inside. A burst of pleasure spiraled through me and I bit my lower lip, committing every sensation to memory while also trying not to come too soon.

His left hand might have been finger-fucking me slowly, but his right hand sped up, working the tip of my cock in fast, sure movements. I might have been trying to hold out, but he clearly had other ideas.

“You gonna bust?” he asked, his breathing nearly as ragged as mine, his own bulge unmistakable even behind the restrictive denim.

“Fuck yes.”

“Good. I want to see it. Look at me.”

I did as he said, forcing my lust-drunk gaze to meet his. That was it. The moment I locked onto his sultry brown eyes, I was done for. He drove his finger deeper into my ass and jerked my cock and the planets fucking aligned. My orgasm started somewhere in outer space and ripped through me, hurtling down my spine and straight to my balls. I unloaded all over the inside of my shorts, groaning and grunting and trying to keep my gaze on Larkin’s as the waves of pleasure tried to swallow me whole.

“Goddamn,” Larkin whispered, his gaze fixed on me with rapt attention. His tone sounded almost reverent, which would have made me blush if I hadn’t already nutted all over him.

I was shaking by the time I was done, exhausted from fighting the morality battle within myself and from the aftermath of someone else giving me one of the best orgasms of my entire life.

Without speaking, he slid his hands out of my shorts carefully and reached for the box of tissues on the end table.

“Let me go get you a towel or something.” I got to my feet, wobbled, and hurried to the bathroom to clean up quickly. After I changed into a fresh pair of shorts, I returned to the living room with a damp hand towel.

It was too late.

Larkin was asleep on the couch.

A twinge of disappointment shot through me. More than a twinge, if I was being honest with myself. What was I expecting though? To come back and find him naked, his thighs spread, waiting for me to deep-throat him into oblivion? And then we’d cuddle on the couch and fall asleep like we’d done countless times before?

I shoved the fantasy scenario back in its box and grabbed the throw blanket from the back of the couch, draping it over his torso even though I knew he’d kick it off in the middle of the night. Thanks to our many sleepovers over the years, I knew he was a hot sleeper. But he was also a snuggler and more than likely would wad it up and hold onto it like a person.

Wishing that person was me, I stumbled to my bedroom and flopped face-first onto my bed. I lay there for a moment, sulking about sexualities and friendships and crossed lines, before I realized I didn’t havemysleeping partner, the one who wouldn’t break my heart.

Grabbing a well-worn and well-loved stuffed goose from where he’d gotten wedged between the mattress and the headboard, I tucked him under my arm and exhaled a sigh. Mr. Goose was safe, which meantIwas safe. To most people, it probably seemed ridiculous that a twenty-two-year-old needed a stuffed animal to go to sleep, but I did. It was one of the few things that kept my anxiety in check, especially this time of year.

The goose was a gift from Larkin when we were thirteen. He gave it to me before the ambulance took me away,thatnight, just after he’d saved my life. It was his prized possession, the only thing he had when he moved to our small New Hampshire town from a shadowy, unknown past in New Mexico.

I clung to itthatnight and every night after. They were both my guardian angels, one for the day and one for the night. And once a year, on Halloween, I was lucky enough to have both of them curled up in bed with me, keeping me safe. It was the only combination that kept the ghosts away.

I squeezed Mr. Goose tighter. Another horrible holiday was fast approaching. It seemed like yesterday was the beginning of the fall semester and now Halloween was two weeks away. I longed for the days when it used to be my favorite holiday, before it became my nightmare. But as long as I had Larkin and Mr. Goose, I’d be ok. I’d survived once. I’d survive again.

At least, that’s what I told myself over and over until I fell asleep.

When I woke in the morning, Larkin was gone. The blanket was folded neatly on the end of the couch—the only evidence he’d ever been there.

Chapter 2