Chapter 25

Nolan

I'd just turnedoff the faucet in the kitchen, after rinsing the plate our s'mores were served on, when Dawson spoke up.

"Come to bed with me," he said the words warmly.

I stopped drying my hands on the dishtowel. It hadn't been addressed exactly, where I would be sleeping. I'd assumed it would be the couch.

"I can sleep on the couch, it's fine."

"You are not sleeping on the couch," Dawson said, shaking his head. "That thing will kill your back and then some. You can sleep with me, my bed is more than big enough to fit us both, and I promise you, I don't bite, and I'm not going to try anything," he pledged as he held his hands up. "Unless, you want me to. But that's up to you, champ."

I couldn't help the smirk that formed on my lips. On one hand, I knew I should say no.

But something changed between us on that couch. Dawson had told me flat out he... liked me.

And then he fucking kissed me.

Thing was, I wanted to do exactly what he was asking. I wanted to crawl into bed with Dawson, and the last thing I wanted to do was sleep. But I was also sated from the sugar and tired from the drop in adrenaline from everything that had happened. So I really didn't have the energy to fight with him.

"Fine," I said, letting out a yawn.

"Really?" he said, a little surprised. "I thought you'd fight me on it, at least a little bit."

"Too tired to argue," I said as I sauntered over to him. "You going to show me where the magic happens or am I going to have to find it myself?" I asked as I stared up at him. Dawson's sexy grin spread wide on his face, making my entire body blush.

"Follow me, champ," he said as he turned to lead me down the hall. My heart beat loudly in my ears every step we took toward his bedroom, and that was when it hit me.

That this, sleeping with Dawson, was actually a reality, and that made me nervous.

Not because of his implications, or because of what I wanted, but because I'd literally fantasized about this moment for two years, and now that it was here, a reality, I wasn't sure what to actually do.

Fucking hell.

Dawson started to undress as we entered his room, the light coming on almost immediately.

He definitely wasn't kidding about the size of the bed. It looked big enough for three people, and suddenly the negative thoughts came rushing back. After all, he was Mr. March, how was I to know he didn't have orgies back at his place on the regular?

But something told me, that wasn't the case, and I decided to go with my gut instead of my self-sabotaging brain.

Just as he removed his shirt, his gaze caught mine.

"You okay, Harding?" he asked, pulling me from my thoughts. My gaze settled on him standing there, shirtless, in his damn briefs, looking like a five alarm fire all on his own, and my stomach twisted in knots.

"Yeah, I just..."

Dawson walked over to me, half naked without a care.

The way he stopped in front of me, how he set his palm against my cheek, thumb brushing along my jaw, fixing those golden eyes on me made me feel like I was about to become a puddle on the floor.

"Hey, I meant what I said. We don't... we don't have to do anything you aren't comfortable with. I don't expect anything from you. I want to take care of you."

The natural inclination to debunk his sweetness pestered me from inside my psyche, but I fought it.

I didn't want to ruin this moment with my anxiety and self-esteem issues. So instead of asking why, I nodded.

"Okay," I said as I let Dawson lead me to his bed like a lamb to the slaughter.

He pulled down the covers, waiting for me to get in. I curled up underneath them, in his sweatpants. I had opted not to borrow a pair of underwear, only because it felt weird to me to wear someone else's underwear—let alone underwear that belonged to the man I'd fantasized about—even if it was just a formality. I'd take my clothes to the Laundromat in the morning, hit up the local Target and get some new digs to hold me over until I could get back to my apartment and back to normal.

Dawson was definitely bigger than I was in all ways that counted, so his sweatpants were a little loose on me, but not so loose they didn't fit. They hung on my hips and I half worried they would fall down, but they seemed to hold. Though I couldn't deny that under his covers, all cozy in those sweatpants, my balls felt spoiled as all hell. The minute my back hit his mattress, I felt a wave of stress melt away.

Dawson climbed in beside me, keeping his distance and I hated it. I didn't want him to be so far away. It didn't feel right. So for once, I did what I wanted to do. I did what felt right, despite the voice in my head telling me otherwise. I scooted closer and threw my arm over his hip, pulling him into me.

Dawson leaned over his shoulder, looking at me.

"Really? A brat like you doesn't want to be the little spoon?"

I smirked at him in return even though he couldn't see me.

"Gotta keep you guessing or else you'll get bored," I teased him, fixing my front to his back.

The brush of his ass against my cock sent a jolt right to my damn system, and my cock immediately began to swell. A dark groan escaped my throat, which I hadn't meant to happen, but I was powerless to stop it.

I was powerless against the sex appeal of Dawson Richards.

"I don't think you'd ever bore me, Nolan," he said as he arched his back, pushing back against my budding erection.

"Fuck," I hissed as I tried to breathe through the sudden flush of heat and desire.

"I can stop if—"

"Hell no," I said as I let my hand fall over his hip, across his stomach, my fingertips grazing the waistband of his briefs. "I like it. I don't want you to stop."

Dawson chuckled darkly as he slid his hand over top of mine, dragging it down beneath the waistband of his briefs, so I could feel his warm skin, his coarse hair, and his...

Holy fuck.

The memory of grinding myself against Dawson was still hazy, but I'd seen enough photographs of strategically placed items to formulate an idea of the size of his cock.

But the touch alone proved I had underestimated him, because it was definitely larger than what I was used to—if I was used to anything, really—and it was thicker than I'd expected.

Dawson slowly guided my hand up and down his cock, building a slow rhythm that caused my own dick to throb. Instinctively, I ground my erection against his clothed ass, just as my thumb brushed over the tip of his head to be met with warm, sticky precum, and I let out a strangled groan.

"You like that, don't you?" Dawson's voice egged me on.

"Yes," I breathed desperately.

"Is that what you want, Nolan?" His voice had taken on a hint of teasing, but it was entrenched in lust and was making my head spin.

"You want my cum down your throat, hmmm? Dripping out of your tight ass?"

Dawson thrust his cock into my fist, the wetness spreading, and I didn't think twice about what I wanted.

I slid my hand out of his briefs, and Dawson turned over, looking at me with worry.

"Yes," I said as I leaned over him, straddling his thighs again. In the low light of his bedroom, the shadows fell on him beautifully, and I tugged at his waistband.

Dawson looked up at me with surprise, but he let me pull his briefs down, and the sight of his cock springing free was better than anything I'd ever fantasized about.

As I looked at the sight of his swollen, pink cock bouncing back and forth, leaking salty, sweet precum, I wondered if I would die choking on his cock. His length and thickness alone made me half consider abandoning this plan altogether. Maybe that wasn't such a bad way to go.

I sucked in a deep breath before signing my death certificate as I leaned down and licked his shaft from base to tip.

"Jesus Christ, Nolan!" Dawson gasped. His entire body tensed as I took him into the back of my throat in one fell swoop.

"Oh fuck!" Dawson hissed, his hands going straight for my hair. His fingers gripped my locks tight, the surprise of the moment dissipating as Dawson found himself once again. He thrust into the back of my throat, making me nearly gag. But I didn't dislike it one bit.

In fact, I kind of loved it.

"You like that, don't you?" he asked, his voice shifting to something darker. "You like choking on this dick?" He grunted as he thrust into the back of my throat again. I answered him by hollowing my cheeks, swirling my tongue around his thick head, and humming my appreciation, which only made him hiss and grab my hair tighter. So tight it hurt but in such a delicious way.

My cock throbbed in my sweatpants, and I could feel a wet spot already forming as I mindlessly thrust my own hardness against the inside of Dawson's sweatpants.

"What's the matter, champ? You all worked up with nothing to fuck?" he taunted me as he slid his cock out of my mouth, pushing forward so that I was the one now on my back, eyes wide in surprise,

Dawson's heavy, naked form held me down, his leaking cock leaving a sticky trail down my abdomen as he grabbed me by the waistband of my borrowed sweatpants.

"Dawson, please..." I begged, wanting to finish what I started. The taste of his precum still lingered in my mouth, but I wanted more. I wanted to make him come. I wanted to feel him and his thick cock bursting like a dam in my mouth. And then I wanted to—

Dawson palmed my erection through my sweatpants, right on my wet spot.

"That's what I thought," he said, his voice husky as I involuntarily thrust against his palm, feeling a mixture of shame and desire.

"Please, I need to take care of you," I said weakly. It was true, I did want to make him come, but it was more than that. I needed to be able to say with my body the words that were so difficult to speak with my tongue.

I want you.

I want this.

I don't want this to end...

"No, no, we're not doing that again," he said, and I wanted to ask what he meant. But before I could, he yanked my sweatpants down to my ankles, my own cock springing free, wet and wild.

"Look at that big, beautiful cock of yours," Dawson said, his voice all gravelly and sexy. I thrust into the air, from the sound of his voice alone. My cock literally ached. I wanted to come so fucking bad, and to hear Dawson like that... to see him like that... naked, swollen cock on display as he stared down at me with a startling intensity, I had to grab a hold of myself. I needed to be touched.

"Ah, ah..." Dawson growled as he smacked my hand away, the motion making my cock bounce and twinge from the impact.

"I didn't say you could do that," he teased.

"Dawson, please, I..." My words faded into nothing as Dawson's thick hardness pressed against mine and his hand wrapped around us both. The feel of his cock against mine, wet and slippery, made me see stars. A deep groan left my chest and bubbled from my lips as Dawson built a rhythm, stroking us together.

"I don't know if I can hold off. I—"

I couldn't hold it. With one squeeze and thrust, I was erupting like a damn volcano over both of our cocks, over his hand, and my vision had gone white.

"God, you are beautiful when you come," he purred as his thrusts came to a halt. "Fuuuuuck..." He groaned, long and low, the sensation of his pulsing, throbbing cock against mine throwing me into rapture. We both laid there a sticky, wet, gross mess of mutual cum, until our breathing had returned to normal, and Dawson removed himself from atop of me, falling to the other side of the bed, his limbs still tangled with mine.

Slumber crept in under the crash of adrenaline, of relief. I vaguely registered Dawson wiping me up with a towel before crawling back into bed with me, pulling me close to him.

The last thing I remember before darkness fell, was the warmth of his hold, and the whisper of one word.

Mine.