What He Left Behind(12)

Michael turned a bit serious, though. “I thought about it. I’ve just—” He swallowed hard, and some color showed up in his cheeks as he avoided my eyes. “I didn’t want you to think I was trying to persuade you.”

“Persuade me? To what? Be gay?”

“Yeah.”

“Why the hell would—”

He met my gaze. And held it. And held it. And—

Oh.

Oh.

I gulped. “Are you…”

The color in his cheeks deepened. “Would it weird you out if I told you I’ve wanted to kiss you since last year?”

Slowly, wordlessly, I shook my head. The guy I’d been fantasizing about for the last few months wanted to kiss me? After a long, silent moment, I said, “Do you still want to?”

Michael nodded. “A lot.”

“Me too.”

His eyebrows flicked up. “Have, um, have you ever kissed anyone before?”

“Not…” My face burned, and it was probably as red as his was a minute ago. “No guys.”

“Girls?”

I nodded.

I thought he might be put off by that or think it was weird or something, but the corners of his mouth curled up and his eyes narrowed a little. As he curved his hand around the back of my neck, he said, “Good. Then you already know what to do.”

Before I could protest—I know how to kiss a girl, not a guy, and I never said I was good at it!—Michael kissed me.

And if I had any doubts left that I was gay, they evaporated the second our lips met. Kissing girls had been all right, but even the deepest, hottest kiss I’d ever shared with a girl didn’t curl my toes like this one did. Then Michael teased my lips apart with the tip of his tongue, and oh, yeah, I was definitely gay. This was easy. Effortless. My chin brushed his, and the lightly abrasive stubble—Michael had had to shave since junior high—was an unexpected turn-on. His lips were so soft, and that roughness was as masculine and hot as the short hair I couldn’t stop running my fingers through.

When we separated, I was dizzy and out of breath, and that had never happened before.

Yep. Definitely gay.

Michael licked his lips. “I’ve been waiting to do that for so long.”

“Good news,” I said. “You don’t have to wait to do it again.”

He didn’t wait.

We made out a few times after that. A few times? Hell, any time we could get away from the prying eyes of adult supervision. All through our senior year, any chance we had, we were kissing in cars, beneath the bleachers, in our bedrooms when we could be absolutely certain our parents wouldn’t walk in. Sometimes shirts came off, sometimes hands just slid under letterman jackets, and every once in a while, a brave palm would drift over the front of someone’s jeans, but it never went further than that. I was nervous and inexperienced, and Michael always seemed perfectly content to make out. He loved kissing, and so did I, so neither of us complained about doing a lot of kissing.

But now high school was over, and suddenly I was restless. I wasn’t bored, just curious. Adventurous. As if my newly minted diploma and my odometer hitting eighteen suddenly made me far too mature to still be a virgin.

Now that my mind was made up, I couldn’t stop thinking about it. Every time I saw Michael, I was so turned on, I could barely speak. And when we finally got some time alone while his parents were at work, I was damn near shaking as we kissed and touched in his twin bed.

I couldn’t wait. Not one more minute.

I broke the kiss and managed to catch my breath enough to speak. “I kind of want to go further this time.”

Michael looked me in the eye. “How much further?”

I licked my lips, my whole body tingling with excitement and nerves. “Let’s see where it goes.”

His grin drove my pulse skyward. “I’m in.”

“Took a whole lot of arm twisting, didn’t it?”

He threw his head back and laughed. “Getting naked with you is not going to take any arm twisting.”

I should’ve laughed, but my breath caught. Getting naked together. Holy f*ck. Yes. Now.

He met my eyes, and his laughter was gone, and I knew right then there was no turning back. This was happening, here and now, and I couldn’t wait to be completely overwhelmed by him.

Bring it on, Michael…

Oh, he brought it on. For the longest time, we made out like we always did, but it was different this time. We were breathing faster, holding each other tighter, like our bodies knew this was only the beginning.

Michael made the first move. He slid his hand between us, cupping my erection through my pants, and kneaded with his fingers. I groaned, and I rubbed against his hand, almost like I was f*cking his palm, and it felt amazing. Especially when Michael lifted his head and kissed my neck. My neck and my dick weren’t connected, but the combination—his light little kisses and the pressure and friction below my belt—was insane.

“Why the hell didn’t we do this sooner?” he murmured. “This is hot.”

“I dunno. But don’t want to stop.”

He moaned something I didn’t understand, and when I ground against him harder, he gasped. That was when I realized I was pushing the back of his hand against his own cock. Maybe…

I lifted my hips and nudged his hand away. Before he could protest, I came back down, and now the only things separating my dick from his were two thick layers of denim, but holy f*ck, we might as well have been rubbing naked skin against naked skin.