for no sex. I feel my age. Thirty-fucking-two. I realize he’s younger than me, and for the first time, I’m in this responsible position that I’ve never been in before. Maybe this is why I’ve always dated people older than me.
The elevator finally reaches us. We saunter into the empty space that suffocates with our body heat, and I stand against the wall. He stands right next to me, and we stare ahead at the elevator doors, watching them slowly, slowly glide closed.
Even with thick tension and confession of feelings, I expect nothing to happen.
Jack glances over at me. I lock eyes with the pretty boy, and he leaves his spot, shortening the space between us. Oxygen is imprisoned in my lungs.
Nothing is going to happen.
Jack faces me.
Nothing is happening.
He braces a forearm to the elevator wall beside my jawline. His chest lifts and lowers in coveting breath against my taut body.
Nothing…is…
Our mouths are achingly close, his knee edges near my groin as he leans in, and our eyes peruse each other so fucking quickly, I can hardly keep up with Highland.
He’s in pursuit of me with rapt fervor. “Ask me again.”
Nothing is happening?
Damn am I wrong.
Heart rate spiked, my gaze consumes him, seeing if this is real.
Jack presses closer, uneasiness flashing in his eyes, like maybe I’ll reject him. “Oscar…”
I hesitate to touch him, my muscles on fire. “Don’t fuck with me—”
“I’m not,” he chokes out. “I’m not.” We’re not touching, but it feels like we’re already clinging to each other for dear fucking life. “I promise.”
Our foreheads nearly brush, his lips ghosting over mine, and in a husky breath, I whisper, “Can I kiss—”
His mouth presses to mine, the tension of this is happening, this is happening, this is happening stretches tendons in our necks and arms and bodies—and when it sinks in, we snap fully together. We collide into each other with breakneck desire, our lips crushing and teasing open.
I drop my hardbacks.
Barely hearing them clatter at our feet, my freed hand clutches the back of his skull, and he fists my Yale tee and claws at the hard edge of my face. Lip-locked, I feel his curiosity. His hand that strokes the roughness of my jaw. His waist that arches against my pelvis. The outline of his erection brushes against my hard length. Fully-clothed, he can feel me.
I can feel him and the twitch of his dick as he craves more. I’m burning the fuck up, and his tongue slides against mine with effortless skill that welds me to him with molten steel. Fuck.
I grind forward into him. He pushes back, still trapping me against the elevator wall. His breath hitches against my mouth, maybe overwhelmed at the newness of being with a man. Like he’s been starving for this his whole life and wants to drink his entire fill in one go.
Thirty-three floors.
We have to descend thirty-three floors together before the elevator reaches the ground.
His hand curves around my neck, my traps, feeling my muscles. A groan is trapped in my throat. Holy fuck. Making out with Jack is like strapping into a carnival ride and whirling at high speeds. Dizzying, adrenaline-fueled.
Muscles flexed, I thread my fingers through his hair and deepen a teasing, playful kiss, my grin against his mouth, his smile against mine.
I squeeze his ass.
“Fuck,” he groans roughly when our lips break, his forehead pressing to the wall beside my jaw with a staggered breath. His hand is still on my jaw. Our eyes are open, and I watch his head turn and his attention draw to our bodies. We’re two men pushed chest-to-chest, pelvis-to-pelvis, and it’s taking everything in me not to palm him. To feel him against my hand.
And then Jack drags his hand back and forth over his length that bears hard against his jeans. “I’m so hard, dude,” he breathes. “It’s killing me.” His gaze lingers on my mouth.
Christ.
Blood cracking another thousand degrees, I glance over his shoulder at the numbers ticking downward. Floor 3. He follows my gaze and sees too. We pull apart. Lit up to an indescribable degree.
I grab the hardbacks, still set to broil. He faces the elevator doors, his hands on his head and breath coming hard.
He seems relaxed. Like he’s basking in the aftermath of a good fuck, even if all we did was kiss. He made the first move. This time, at least. I almost can’t believe it. But then again, his blood cells might as well be named Charisma and