Page 21 of Straight to You

RYDER

A ll I want to do is shower off the night and bleach my memory of Kyle. His presence clings to me like a bad taste I can’t spit out. Especially since I know we’re right about it being Kyle. The more I replay everything in my head, the more unsettled I feel because it makes sense.

The first time I saw Kyle, he was sitting at the bar, already watching me.

When our eyes met, he didn’t even pretend to look away.

He held my gaze like he wanted me to know he was looking.

Then, every interaction we’ve had since then, he’s been hyper-focused on me .

And he’s definitely not a fan of Logan. I don’t believe he hasn’t listened to the books I narrate, I just don’t.

“I think I’m gonna shower,” I tell Logan. “Try to clear my head.”

He nods, and I make my way down the hall to the bathroom. While the water warms up, I undress and catch a quick look in the mirror—my beard’s getting a little long, so I give it a quick trim before getting in the shower.

The second the hot water hits my skin, I feel the tiniest bit of relief.

My body’s been tense for hours. Kyle knew we’d be at the bar tonight, I’m sure of it.

There’s no way it was a coincidence. And the emails feel too personal, between the timing, the context, and the obsession disguised as affection. It’s got to be him.

A shudder runs through me. I reach for the soap and lather up quickly, scrubbing harder than necessary, trying to wash off the sick feeling lodged in my chest. This whole thing is draining the life out of me.

I’m exhausted from pretending I’m fine, even though Logan’s never once asked me to be.

If anything, he’s given me complete permission to fall apart, and reassured me he’ll be strong for both of us.

He’s been so fucking good through all of this.

I don’t know what I’d do without him. Hell, I should take him on a vacation when this is over.

Somewhere warm. Mexico, probably, so we can lie on the beach and forget any of this ever happened.

By the time I step out of the shower and wrap a towel around my waist, I feel marginally better. I pull on some clean clothes, run a hand through my wet hair, and head back out to the living room, wanting to be close to Logan.

He’s on the couch, watching me as I walk in. “Feel better?” he asks.

I nod. “Sort of.”

“Good,” he says, shifting to make room for me next to him on the couch, but I don’t want space. I want to be on top of him, wrapped up in him. With everything that’s going on, the dynamic between us has flipped. I’m needier than Logan ever was, but I don’t care, and he’s never once complained.

I don’t take the space he made for me, and instead, I plop down on his lap. All I want are his hands on me, making everything else disappear. His touch seems to rewire my brain and leaves no room for fear, or noise, or doubt—only desire .

It’s not just about escape, though. It’s about him. The way I haven’t been able to stop thinking about him. The way being near him isn’t enough anymore because his touch feels essential. I need it as much as I need my next breath, and I need him to know how much.

“Logan,” I whisper.

He turns to me instantly. “Yeah?”

I hesitate, unsure of what to say and how to bring this up, despite our conversation in the kitchen the other morning.

“The other night…” My voice catches as I trail off.

But Logan doesn’t rush me. He simply waits for me to collect my thoughts, like he knows exactly where this is headed. As much as I appreciate what he’s doing, I also want him to take the lead the way he’s been doing with everything else lately.

Heat crawls up my neck and onto my face as I drag a hand through my damp hair, feeling like my whole body’s vibrating with nerves.

I don’t think Logan would reject me, but still, I’ve never asked him to touch me before.

This feels like a huge step. “Yeah. Uh…do you think…” I swallow, pulse hammering in my ears.

“Do you think we could do that again? Like now.”

He smiles at me with so much affection in his eyes, it’s overwhelming.

“If you want to,” he says. “Yeah. I want to.”

I nod because my mouth won’t work anymore.

He closes the distance between us and takes my hand. The gesture is so simple, but it makes my heart race. “Alright,” he murmurs. “Come on. Let’s go to bed.”

I let him pull me down the hall toward his room with our fingers laced.

The air is filled with so much tension, so many nerves.

When we crawl into bed beside each other, it’s like I suddenly forget how to exist. My limbs feel stiff, and I have no idea what to do.

Do I strip? Do I wait for him to make a move?

Do I shove my hand down his pants? The first time felt so natural, and now I feel like I’m a stumbling teenager trying to hook up with someone for the first time.

Logan turns to face me in bed and strokes my arm. “You sure you want this?”

My heart is racing as I respond. “Yeah,” I whisper. “I do, I just…I don't know what to do.” I let out a nervous laugh, hoping he doesn’t take the semi-distraught look on my face for anything more than nerves about initiating. “I want this—want you,” I clarify.

I’m not desperate the way I was last time, but the need for him is still there. I replay the way Logan sounded—the low groans, the way he said my name—and my cock starts to perk up. His moans were the sexiest thing I’ve ever heard, and I want to be the reason he makes those sounds again.

Logan grabs the new bottle of lube from the bedside table and pushes his pants down, kicking them off his feet.

His semi-hard cock springs free and he squirts some lube in his palm and starts stroking himself slowly in front of me.

My eyes are locked on the movement, watching every little twist of his wrist.

“Touch yourself,” Logan’s commanding, gravely voice instructs, and fuck, I obey.

Logan lets out a muffled groan that shoots straight through me, and some of my nerves begin to fade. Heat pools low in my stomach, and I mimic his earlier movements—stripping off my pants and slicking myself up with lube. I let out a shaky breath as I stroke myself.

“Ryder,” Logan says, his voice low and rough.

“Yeah? ”

“You’re so quiet tonight. You sure you’re good?”

“Yeah…need a little more to get into it tonight, that’s all.” I don’t know how else to explain it—that I’m waiting for his moans to hit me like they did last time, so I can get lost in him.

Logan groans again, the sound quiet but deep, and his hand moves faster now. “Anything I can do?” he asks.

“I want to hear you moan,” I say, completely shameless in my desires. “Then I want you to touch me.”

Logan’s whole body tenses, and he lets out a sharp, guttural sound. “Oh fuck,” he groans. “Fuck, Ryder. That’s the hottest thing I’ve ever heard.”

I turn my head to look at him, owning what I just said.

His lips are parted now, and his eyes meet mine.

We’re so close again. As close as last time, lying side by side with our heads on the pillows.

God, he looks good. Has he always looked this good?

How the hell did he go from my best friend to this? To the only person I desire?

“Keep going,” Logan says, his voice low and commanding. “Keep touching your cock, Ry. Grab my wrist when you want me to touch you.”

I want it now, so I grab his hand instantly and guide it to my cock, and the second his fingers wrap around me, he loses it.

The moan he lets out at my cock in his hand makes me gasp and reach for him in return, my hand sliding around his cock like it belongs there.

My strokes pick up, breath coming fast and shallow, my whole body trembling under the ever-building pressure.

“Oh, fuck.” The words slip from my lips like I don’t even have control of them.

“Feels good, doesn’t it?” Logan asks, all breathy .

“Yes. Fuck, yes—it feels so good. I’m obsessed with your hands on me.”

His groans mix with mine, low and needy, and for a second, it feels like the rest of the world disappears. It’s just him and me and the sound of my name falling from his lips over and over—it’s overwhelming in the best possible way.

“I want to try something,” he says. “Can I?”

I don’t even care what it is—I want it. I want him. So I pant out a desperate, “Yes.”

He lets go of me, and I immediately whimper at the loss of contact.

“I got you, Ry. Sit up,” he instructs, and I do.

I move, pressing my back against the headboard, my heart beating erratically with anticipation.

He straddles my lap, facing me so closely, bare skin pressed against mine, our velvety straining cocks brushing together, and it sends a bolt of heat straight through me.

He’s heavy in a way that’s impossible to ignore, and I’m really into it.

His weight feels grounding. He’s all muscle and warmth and hard edges, it’s like being fully surrounded by him in a way I’ve never felt with any of my previous partners.

Before I can fully register what’s happening, his hand wraps around both of us, and he starts stroking.

Oh fuck.

I’ve read about frotting before—hell, I’ve narrated scenes like this, described it in explicit detail.

I thought I understood the pleasure, thought I’d read these moments enough to know exactly what it’d feel like.

But nothing compares to the real thing. Nothing even touches it.

This is so much better than anything I could’ve imagined.

This must be what Logan meant when he teased me about missing out on essential research by never hooking up with a man before.

His silky cock drags against mine in the best way and his breath hitches when I rock my hips up to meet his rhythm. It’s all so much, and yet, not close to enough. His grip on us is perfect; it’s steady and firm, and I never want him to stop touching me.

Every time he groans, it drives me closer and closer to the edge. I want more. Need more. But I never want this to end.

He leans forward to press his forehead to mine. His breath ghosts my lips, and once again, I think about leaning forward and kissing him while his hand is wrapped around our leaking cocks.

“You’re fucking beautiful like this, Ry,” he praises.

The words shoot through me, but not as much as when he leans in, lips brushing against my ear as he whispers, “Come for me, Ry. Cover our cocks in your cum.” Before giving my ear a wet, teasing lick, I can’t stop my mind from imagining what else his mouth can do.

He’s so filthy when he’s telling me exactly what he wants from me, and I break on his command.

I groan as the tension snaps and I come all over his hand and cock, just like he told me too.

He curses under his breath, still fucking up into his fist, chasing his own release.

And fuck, he’s loud as he follows me over the edge.

Just the way I like him. His dick jerks against mine, his release coating my skin.

For a moment, neither of us moves. The only sound in the room is our ragged breathing trying to come back to normal as we stare into each other’s eyes.

Logan is still straddling my thighs when he lets go of our cocks. Then, without a word, he lifts his hand to his mouth .

The one that had just been wrapped around us, stroking our cocks.

The one that’s still coated in cum.

Our cum.

And without breaking eye contact, he licks the cum off his fingers—and my jaw drops.

It’s another thing I’ve read a hundred times, but watching him do it? Seeing his tongue drag slowly over his knuckles with my cum on them?

Something inside me snaps, and the sound that leaves me doesn’t even sound human.

“Jesus Christ,” I choke out, my whole body tensing again. “Fuck, Logan. Fuccckkkk. That’s so sexy. Why is that so hot?”

Logan’s lips form a smug smile as he drags the pad of his thumb over his bottom lip, and he slowly licks it before pushing it in his mouth and letting his lips close around it.

The whole time his icy blue eyes never leave mine and when he pulls his thumb out with a pop, I can’t fucking breathe.

All I can think about is how his mouth would feel sucking my cock like that.

How did I think I was straight before when that was so fucking hot?

The fantasies I’ve been having about him are not friendly.

Not with how strong my desire is to crash my mouth to his, or how much I want to hear him moan, or how many times I’ve envisioned us coming together, or feeling his tongue on me.

And watching him lick our cum off his fingers?

That feels like the moment everything in my world finally shifted into place.

I thought I’d had plenty of what I previously thought of as ‘great sex’ in the past, but nothing, not a single experience, has ever made me feel the way I feel right now.

Like my entire body is still aching for more, even after I came harder than I knew was possible just from his hand .

I want to know what his mouth would feel like on my dick, my mouth, my hole.

What it would be like to have him own me entirely, to hand over every bit of control and let him take me apart.

What it would feel like to have him inside me, to be inside him.

I want him. Every single piece of him. I want it all.

These thoughts should probably send me into a full-blown identity crisis, but they don’t. Because at the end of the day, I’m still me, and Logan has always been mine. Sure, maybe this changes a few things, but what doesn’t change is how right being with him feels.

He’s always been my favorite person, and now I want him in every way possible. I want to kiss him senseless and figure out what else we could be.

So, I’m not going to sit here and analyze the past ten years of my life, or wonder how I never realized I was attracted to men, or continue to question everything I know about myself, because the simple truth is I want this. And nothing has ever felt as much like mine as Logan does.

He climbs off my lap and goes to the bathroom to get a hand towel, and when he comes back, he raises an eyebrow like he’s asking if I want him to clean me up.

I nod because yeah, as hot as it was watching him lick my cum off his fingers, I’m not sure I’m ready to treat our cum like frosting just yet.

He doesn’t say anything as he wipes me down, his touch surprisingly soft and gentle.

And then, like wiping me clean wasn’t the most intimate, boundary-blurring thing we’ve ever done in our friendship, he tosses the towel aside, turns toward me, and pulls the blanket up over both of us and snuggles in .

“Goodnight,” he whispers before pressing a kiss to my forehead, and I swoon at the gesture.