Page 127 of The Faking Game
A flush races up my cheeks. “Anything. Everything. You got hard last night too. At the party. And at the poker game.”
His eyes darken. “I wasn’t sure you felt that.”
“I did.”
“Mhm.”
“Does it bother you? Not to get to…”
He lifts an eyebrow. “Not to come? Yes. It’s not pleasant, but I manage. And I make sure to finish myself off when I’m alone.”
My throat dries. He said that on our date.More recently.I glance down again and wonder what he’d look like. I’ve already felt him against me.
“You’ve got those eyes. Like you did in the sex shop.” He reaches over and tips my head back up to his. “Do you want to see it? No expectations, sweetheart.”
“I’m just… I mean… yes.” It comes out a little strangled. “Yes. I’ve never been close to a man before. I’ve never…”
“I know.” He pushes the covers down off the both of us. There’s a thick outline in his sweatpants. I sit up on my knees beside him and feel like I can’t breathe, can’t think around the excitement.
“Remember you can always leave if it becomes too much,” he says. He pulls up his T-shirt and reaches down to hook his thumbs in the waistband of his sweats. “No hard feelings. I’ll never be angry.”
“I know.”
“Repeat it back to me.”
“Yes, Calloway, IknowI’m safe with you. I can leave if it’s too much. I can throw the covers back over you and kick you out of my bedroom.”
He chuckles a little. “That’s my girl.”
He lifts his hips an inch off the bed and pulls down his sweats and the boxer briefs peeking out beneath.
His cock emerges thick and heavy against his stomach. It’s a dusky color, and it looks so big. Are they always that big? I’ve seen erections before, of course. Just never in person. There’s a vein that snakes up along the hard shaft.
West groans. “I’ve never been looked at like that before.”
“Like what?” I look away from his cock to meet his eyes. A languid heat hangs in the air instead, in every relaxed line of his body, in the flush in my cheeks.
“With such focus,” he murmurs.
I look back down at him. At the thick, curved head. Beneath my gaze, his length twitches. I smile in delight. “I’ve heard they do that.”
“You’veheard.” He lets out a low sigh. “Jesus Christ.”
I inch closer to where he’s stretched out on my bed. The urge to touch him makes my fingers tingle.
“I want to touch you,” I say. “Can I?”
He reaches up with his hands and puts them behind his head. “I’ll keep my hands right here for you. I won’t move.”
“Good. And you’re not allowed to touch me either.”
“I won’t, sweetheart.”
I inch forward on my knees, my eyes already moving across his torso. I’ve never been able to just study a man like this before. Lazy, unbothered, without urgency. With this much trust. He has grooves in his stomach, a hint of a muscly six-pack. Dark hair that runs below his navel to meet his cock.
I reach out to run a hand along his carved stomach but stop just shy of his skin. “What about a safe word? You said that was important.”
His eyes are hooded. “I don’t need one.”
