22. Olivier

While his hands aren't on my neck, this man has me in a chokehold. To say I was surprised to see him again tonight would be an understatement. I was floored that after that awkward as fuck disaster of a double date he'd want anything to do with me again, so the fact that he's repeatedly letting me suck his lower lip is beyond my wildest expectations for how this day would end.

He's hot and sweaty. Slight trembles, like he's feverish or something, run through him. For someone as big and strong as he is—as perfectly made and honed to such a polished finish—he's acting like a wounded animal that I stumbled upon in the freezing cold. I don't think he's ready for what I want yet, but it's okay.

I'm just glad he's here. "You're not fucking anything up." Though I don't want to, I put some space between our faces. "What do you want? Sleep? Another drink? Wanna watch a movie and for me to shut the fuck up?"

His hand wraps around the arm I'm about to lower. "I want this."

"You're not ready."

"I'm ready," he argues with one of those growly sounds that goes straight to my balls.

I guess I don't know what to do from here. It's not like we're friends. We're not lovers, either. I'm not about to usher him over to the bed and ask him to "talk about it," and as much as it might take the edge off, I'm not getting down on my knees for him either, because if nothing else, I feel like we've moved past that. Kissing makes the most sense, but if he can't kiss me back, and I'm unwilling to kick him out, then what? What do I do?

"You want me to do all the work?" I ask.

"I'm sorry, I just realized you had been. It felt good. I liked it. I think I just sort of—froze."

Oh. "Are you sure you liked it?"

He nods, his hand on my arm going from bracing to gentle, running up my arm over the fabric of my sweater. All his unsolicited touches feel so good.

More of that. Please.

"Why'd you freeze?" I ask.

"I don't know."

"Are you freaking out?"

"No."

Fearing I may talk this kiss I want so badly to death before I even get to have it, I try a different approach, leaning back in, but this time, letting my mouth meet his neck.

At first contact, he sighs a long, shaky breath, and his head lists to the side to give me room. I press open-mouthed kisses from his shoulder, closer to his throat, and up to his ear. Slowly, hungrily, I give him my very best. I lift my other hand to caress his stubbled cheek, and my blood hums when he turns to lightly brush his lips over my palm. I nip at his strong jawline, and his response is to wrap an arm around my waist and pull my body against his.

The hard outline of him brushes the tip of mine, and I shudder, moan.

"Olivier," he breathes, and something bursts inside me at the sound of my name on his lips. The way he says it—like the most beautiful line of poetry ever written. Reverent.

His chin nudges my nose, and I pull back to find him staring at me—looking deep now—maybe too deep. "I want you…" I whisper.

"So much," he says, finishing my sentence. And that's when our mouths meet in the middle.

My lips part, and his part with them, slanting to suck and tug, and for a few seconds, that's enough. It's a taste of softer than expected flesh and a scrape of stubble on my chin. It's our noses rubbing together the way our cocks are. My hands slide into his hair to keep him with me.

"More," I groan softly. "Give me more."

His mouth opens wider, taking mine with it, and our tongues tentatively touch in flickering licks at first, and then, because my confidence is rising by the second, I seal my mouth to his and sink my tongue in deep.

He grunts, clutching me closer and following my lead, kissing me back with thick, wet glides and increasingly ravenous lips.

I'm light-headed and struck with a need so strong it feels lethal. Since we're both complete shit at being with a man, I guess, and we've found something that's working for both of us, the kiss builds with a burning intensity I've never experienced. I grind my crotch against his, and his grip on my waist moves to my ass, clenching one of my glutes in his powerful hand.

He was right—it is really good. I can't think of much at the moment, but I'm pretty sure this kiss will take the top spot—The GOAT. Fuck.

I don't know what I love about it most. The naked hunger of it, the paradox of tenderness and aggression that's as confusing as it is addicting, or the sounds we're making. Wild, man noises. Grunts and low rumbles and resonant groans. It's so fucking hot. Jesus.

I want to start ripping off his clothes. I want his skin beneath my hands and to feel the flesh of his cock against mine. I want to run my hand through his crack and find his hole, feel it pucker and make some other noise come out of him. I want his hands all over me. His mouth, too. I want to clutch his head between my legs and arch my back until my cock is so far down his throat, he's the one choking. I want to fuck him in every hole.

His mouth breaks from mine in a sharp gasp, and I fist his hair, agitated and on fire, so turned on I want to bark an order at him not to stop. How dare he?

The side of his hand glides along his bottom lip as he looks at me warily. He's breathing heavy—I mean, we both are.

"Time out," he says.

I press my lips together and close my eyes, trying to take a deep breath to diffuse my irritation and my lust.

His gaze turns assessing. "Something's different."

My jaw clenches. "No shit."

"No, I mean… Actually, I'm not sure what I mean."

I point at the bathroom. "Are we gonna keep going, or should I go ahead and take a cold shower?"

"Where is this going?" he asks, anxiety lacing his tone.

"If you're not dying to get off at this point, dude, I don't know what to tell you. Guess this isn't your thing after all."

He ignores my pissy attitude and starts unbuttoning his shirt. "I was about to come in my pants. That's why I stopped. But also—what's going on with you?"

"What do you mean?"

"I mean—for someone who likes being choked, you're pretty fucking aggressive."

"Any other critiques?"

"It's not a criticism."

"‘Fucking aggressive' is a compliment?"

"I just wasn't expecting it."

He was the one frozen and shaking like a hypothermic puppy, and that makes me aggressive? "I was only kissing you."

"If we're fighting, this is a stupid fight," he says.

"That's never stopped us."

"Point." He undoes the last button, but instead of sliding the shirt off his shoulders, he lets it hang open, exposing the white, sleeveless undershirt beneath.

Hot. Hot. Why does he have to be so fucking hot? "What's your problem?"

"Who said I had a problem?" he asks, looking genuinely confused.

Fine. I'll just say it. "I don't think you want this."

His eyes narrow. "Want what, Olivier?"

"To have sex with me."

His entire face changes. He looks at me like I just put on a clown mask, and to be honest, I feel like I did. This wouldn't be the first time my big mouth got me in trouble. Not even the first time tonight. "Can we take this one step at a time, please?"

"Meaning what? What does one step at a time look like to you, Drew?" I laugh, and it comes out derisive. "Because we might need to turn back the clock, and instead of putting your hands around my neck you hold my hand first instead."

He raises his palms in surrender. "I get it. Okay? If you're trying to remind me what an asshole I was, I don't need reminding. But you weren't exactly an angel either. Not that it justifies what I did."

I sigh as loudly and obnoxiously as possible. "I wish you'd forget about that. Obviously, I was into it."

"I still shouldn't have?—"

"No. Drew. You shouldn't have. But you did, and I liked it, and I'd let you do it again. So, we all learned something about ourselves that day, and it wasn't all sunshine and roses. Moving. On."

He looks appropriately chastised, bowing his head and putting his hands into his pockets. The way his clenched fists spread the fabric over his crotch makes his erection look enormous. I have to force myself not to stare. I am brutally frustrated, and I have no idea what to do with this man.

"What do you want?" I ask, willing to admit defeat if I can at least get off.

"I'm still trying to figure that out. That kiss, uh…"

I scowl. "What?"

"You really took charge there."

"Why is that bad?"

"I didn't say it was bad. I said it was unexpected."

"You basically told me to do all the work."

"Yeah…"

"So…what now?" I ask.

"I'm thinking. Can you give me a second?"

I turn my back on him and pace to the other side of the room, my own erection still raging in my pants. My balls are getting bluer by the second. I may as well be wearing a cock ring. Maybe putting a bed between us will help. Or, like I'd rather, move things along.

"We haven't talked about sex," Drew says eventually.

I stare at him, expectant. It's not like he asked a question.

He continues. "Yesterday you said you wanted to fuck me."

"Uh-huh."

"What'd you mean by that?"

"It's pretty self-explanatory," I say.

"So, you want to fuck me."

"Like I said."

"In the ass?"

I slide my jaw from side to side. I wouldn't think, with all the sex I've had in my young life, that I'd ever have to feel like a virgin again, but I do. A fifteen-year-old virgin, even. "I hear that's how all the boys do it," I say drily.

"That's not where I thought this was headed," he says, meeting my eyes, something pained in his gaze.

"Okay. Fine. If that's your line, that's your line."

"That's not—Jesus, Olivier, sometimes you're the easiest person to talk to in the world, and other times you make it fucking impossible. Can you relax? For like, one minute?"

I shrug. I'm not sure I have an answer to that. Not one he wants to hear anyway. But I can probably keep my mouth shut for sixty seconds.

"I came here tonight because I do want more—and I don't know if what I want is more time with you, or if it's more physical than that. You need to understand that my sex drive's been in the toilet for a while now."

I arch a brow because that doesn't track for me at all.

"You'll have to take my word for it," he says, noting my skeptical glance. "But we have this chemistry… I haven't felt like this in a long time, and the fact that you're a man—it does fuck with my head a little."

"You know I get that, though, right?"

"Then how are you dealing with it?"

I shrug a shoulder. "I guess I figure what goes on in my bedroom is my business. If I want to know what it's like to be with a man—with you—then I'll just go with it."

"And you know for sure you want to be with me—have sex with me."

"I'm positive," I say, wondering if there's something more I could tell him to make it clearer.

He rubs a hand over his mouth and then lets it fall to rest on his chest. Over his heart. He takes a deep breath that it looks like he works hard for. "Okay," he says.

"Okay…what?"

"You can fuck me."