Page 46 of Off the Trail

I shake my head. “You’ve been through a lot.”

“Not as much as some,” he says, shrugging.

“Well, I’m glad you made it to me alive and well,” I say, then kiss him before I add anything sappier.

Chapter 18

Shawn

Blaze was vague about exactly how experienced he is, but the fact that he’s apparently not some backwoods player does make me feel better about my own fumbling attempts at seduction.

Maybe if I were doing this with someone else, someone I didn’t trust as much, it would be awkward, but touching him, tentative though I may be, isn’t cringe or embarrassing. It’s exciting. Everything feels like color TV after a lifetime of black and white. Blaze’s beard on my skin, his lips on mine, his hands everywhere. I can smell the day on him, but it smells good. It’s a smell I’m familiar with after spending more of my life in a locker room than in my own apartment: the clean, strong smell of man. But I’ve never been turned on by it before. At least not consciously. I wonder how deep this has been buried, wonder if I should be more curious about why being in this position has never occurred to me before.

I mentally shrug—who cares? I’m here now, and it’s exactly where I want to be—Blaze pushing me into the sofa with his big, strong body, and everything he does making me want more.

His crotch lines up with mine and, oh yeah—that’s the stuff. The pressure of someone else’s body on mine, the catch of our cocks as they drag together through our jeans. It’s good. It’s too good. It’s⁠—

“Shit.” I’m coming in my jeans, wet and sticky and not at all expected.

“What?” Blaze says, distracted by nibbling on my left pec. “Okay?”

“Uh.” What do I do now? Tell him?

He lifts his head instantly concerned. Of course.

“I, um, came.”

His pupils dilate visibly, and his mouth opens.

“You feel good,” I mumble, feeling heat rise in my face when he doesn’t say anything.

“You came in your jeans because of me?”

“Yeah.” My cheeks feel like they could start a pilot light.

He kisses me swift and hard. “That’s so hot.”

“It is?” It smacks more of inexperience and lack of self-control to me.

“Shawn, I’m trying so hard not to come right now, you have no idea,” he says, and I believe him. His honesty is as comforting as always.

“Oh, well…go ahead,” I say awkwardly. “Or maybe you want to⁠—”

His hand is on his belt buckle and fly before I can finish the sentence. He flicks open his jeans, and I catch a glimpse of dark boxers, and then the head of his uncut cock springs out from the slit in the fabric. I can’t see the whole thing, but it’s wine-dark and thick, thicker than mine. He wraps his hand around himself and squeezes, then strokes, not fast to get off, more like to slow himself down.

It’s riveting watching Blaze touch himself. He looks so sexy. My sticky cock twitches in my pants. This is more fun than playing a doubleheader.

“Is it okay if I—” Blaze inches up to straddle my hips, the crown of his cock pointing at my abs. “I need⁠—”

“Yes, yeah, do it,” I urge, because letting Blaze come on me now seems like the only thing I want to do for the rest of my life.

“Shit, yes fucking hell oh my god fuck yes—” I’ve never heard Blaze say a string of words like that, and it’s almost as if he doesn’t know he’s saying them as the first jet of his release hits my skin—it’s hot, and there’s a lot of it. He gasps, his gaze fixed on where he’s painting me. I don’t know where to look—at his red-with-exertion face, or at my glistening wet torso, or at his cock, from which he’s milking the last pearly white drops. It all looks good, smells good, feels good.

He lets go to touch the ribbons of spend on me, glances up with wide eyes, as if he can’t believe he did that. “Fucking hell, Shawn.”

I let out a slightly hysterical laugh. “That was amazing.”

“It was?” He looks startled, then pleased. “Yeah, it kind of was.”