Page 93 of The Revenge Game

“I want to do this with you, Justin,” he says quietly.

His words sound sincere, but there’s still something in his vulnerable expression that makes my heart clench.

I lean down to brush my lips against the sensitive spot below his ear that I’ve discovered drives him wild.

“You’re so sexy,” I whisper, but it still doesn’t remove the lingering uncertainty on his face.

Did someone hurt Drew? Did one of his ex-boyfriends make him feel like he wasn’t enough in some way?

The thought of Drew being hurt causes something protective to flare inside me.

I kiss him, and it’s a dreamy, languid kiss that feels like Sunday morning pancakes and lazy cat cuddles, the kind of kiss that makes time stretch like warm honey.

Eventually, I reach for the lube in my bedside table drawer.

I’m trying for suave, but I squeeze the lube bottle too enthusiastically, and suddenly, lube is everywhere, the bottle slipping through my fingers like it’s auditioning for a slapstick comedy routine.

And we’re both laughing, giddy, intimate giggles that make everything feel easier.

Drew’s chuckle vibrates against my skin as he guides my hand to where he wants it.

Our playful mood shifts into something more intense as I breach him carefully, watching his face for every tiny reaction. Each tiny flutter of his eyelashes, every subtle shift of expression, feels magnified, significant.

Thankfully, my fingers aren’t trembling for this intimate exploration, even if the rest of me feels like I’m vibrating out of my skin.

I want to pour everything I’m feeling into every touch, every movement. How do you thank someone for making every first time feel like coming home?

Drew’s skin flushes pink down his chest, his breathing growing more ragged.

I move my fingers inside him, hitting that spot that makes him makes him arch off the bed with a gasp.

And oh my god, this is another side of Drew I get to discover. Drew without his careful composure, Drew letting himself just feel.

I continue to pleasure him until he’s glassy-eyed and panting, his head thrown back against the pillow, his lips red and swollen from our earlier kisses.

I’m going entirely by instinct because I can hardly bear to rip my eyes from his face.

“I’m ready,” he gasps.

Oh, holy shit.

I fumble for more lube and a condom, nearly demolishing my bedside table in the process because, apparently, my usual coordination has taken an impromptu vacation. Nerves chew my stomach lining.

But it’s Drew, so it’s going to be okay. Even if I mess this up somehow, he won’t judge me for it. He’ll guide me through this like he’s guided me through everything else, with that perfect mix of patience and understanding.

A mix that makes me feel so safe.

“What way? I mean, what position works?—”

Oh fuck, I almost trotted out a football metaphor there, luckily pulling myself up in time.

Luckily, Drew answers my question in the best way possible, pressing me back against the sheets and moving to straddle me, his thighs bracketing my hips as he settles into place.

The sensation of Drew taking me inside him steals every coherent thought from my brain. My world narrows to the exquisite pressure, the impossible heat, the way his body trembles as he adjusts.

A sound escapes me that I didn’t know I was capable of producing, something between a growl and a whimper, raw and desperate and completely beyond my control.

Each tiny movement sends shockwaves through my entire body. I’m pretty sure I’m going to die, but what a way to go.