I try to push myself away from him, terrified that I’ll come all over myself.
“You are so fucking hot like this.” Rafe’s words send a wave of equal parts shame and joy through me. I gasp and squeeze my eyes shut. “Keep your eyes on me.” He angles his hips up, intensifying the pressure between us.
“Don’t—” I beg. “I can’t—I have to—I’m gonna—”
Rafe catches my scrabbling hands and winds them around his neck, kissing me silent. I shiver when his hands run up my back.
“Look at me.” His voice is thick and terrifying, and my body responds to it. Rafe’s eyes are almost black in the dim light. Too intense. I concentrate on the light sprinkle of freckles across his nose instead.
His hand moves to my lower back, right above my ass, and I tense, eyes flying to his. He pushes down slowly and grinds our hips together. The pressure is incredible, his arm like a vise. I can feel it begin, little uncontrollable trembles of pleasure skittering from my balls and my spine and my stomach and my thighs like the electric arms of those plasma balls at the museum where I went to on a class trip before Mom died. I put my hand to the glass and the tentacles of electricity jumped to my fingers like magic.
Rafe presses me down harder and harder, his strength inexorable and his eyes ravenous. He runs his other hand up my side under my shirt, the light touch to my ribs a shocking whisper compared to the engulfing pleasure between my legs. Then he cants his hips up and pushes me down as if he could press us into one body.
One second I’m staring at Rafe, his mouth set in concentration, his eyes heated, and the next, my whole body tenses, seized with pleasure. Rafe’s hand is immovable, holding me to him even as every muscle clenches. He’s looking at me as I come, and his face is pure satisfaction. His eyelids go heavy, and he bites his lower lip between sharp, crooked teeth and shudders against me.
Then he pulses his hips up once, tightening his stomach muscles until his neck cords, and comes, his head thumping back against the platform, his mouth open, breath caught. He looks so vulnerable suddenly. Like I could do anything to him.
My thighs tense over and over and my stomach flutters, seeking the last shadows of shivery pleasure.
I want to kiss Rafe’s throat. My mouth is right there and I can smell him, warm and earthy. But then he moans softly, and his hand slides from my lower back down to my ass. He barely touches me, but I tense up automatically, bad memories tumbling it all down, the delicate, dreamlike fog turning tarry and black.
Rafe freezes and inches his hand up to rest on my back once more.
And I hate it. I hate that he made me feel so good and then I probably made him feel like shit. I hate that I just had the best fucking orgasm of my life and then I ruined it. I hate that I wanted to kiss Rafe’s neck and instead I’m freaking out. I hate it. I hate myself for fucking it all up. I hate myself for being such a mess that I can’t even get off without wanting to punch myself in the face.
Rafe slides his hand up my back soothingly. It’s not sex anymore. He’s rubbing my back like Mom used to do when I couldn’t sleep. I take a deep breath and force myself to relax. His hand moves up to my head, stroking the short strands of my hair. I let out the breath I’ve caught and lie back on him, trying to recapture the feeling of relaxation from a minute before.
But I’m also sticky, and with each passing second, it’s all I can think about, and the more I think about it, the twitchier I get. I need to get washed up, like, now.
“Where’s the bathroom?” I croak into Rafe’s neck.
“You all right?”
“Yeah, I just… um… sticky.”
Rafe chuckles and my face burns. I feel gross. Sticky and dirty and a little shaky. I clamber off of him, probably squishing something vital in the process. Before I can get away, though, he grabs my shoulders.
“Colin?” He sounds almost shy. I look at him, but I’m jonesing to get into the bathroom. He leans in so slowly that I have every opportunity to pull away. But I don’t. I let him kiss me softly on the mouth. “I’ll go with you,” he says, gesturing to the door.
I don’t want him to. I need a little distance, some space to think, but I nod.
Under the fluorescent lights, I look like crap. My face is flushed and my eyes are too bright. I want to put the door of a stall between us, but I force myself to stay at the sink and clean up. Every time I glance into the mirror, Rafe is hovering behind me, a slight frown on his lips. I don’t know why. It’s not like this is new to him.