“No.”
Just trying not to traumatize my aunt by coming in my pants while sitting next to her. That's all. Simple.
My aunt must have heard Whit's question because she hands him a blanket, and he spreads it over the two of us.
Well, good. At least now my dick is covered, but now Whit’s fingers start to go crazy.
He’s playing with the string of my sweats, and I bite back a groan as I close my eyes and will myself to stop being so weird.
“I hope you’ll stay with us for Thanksgiving,” my aunt tells Whit.
His fingers still against me before starting up again.
“What makes you think we’ll be together then?” I ask, kind of grumpily.
“Oh, shut up, you,” my aunt tells me and then says to Whit, “You’re welcome to come.”
“That sounds very nice, Mrs. van Beek.”
She blushes. “Call me Del, please.”
I roll my eyes and shift on top of Whit. I cannot get comfortable.
“How can you stand him on top of you all the time?” Sem asks, his long, thick legs sprawled out in front of him, picking at the label of his beer.
Whit is tracing his finger over my happy trail again. “I enjoy it.”
“He enjoys it,” I say snidely and then place my head on his shoulder, shifting my body down a little, moving his fingers up to my chest.
Now he’s running that thumb aimlessly over my nipple ring. Back and forth. Tugging, rubbing. My eyes nearly cross as bolts of desire shoot down to my cock. I can’t stand it anymore. I’m too wound up, and I need some relief. Like yesterday. I cannot sit here another minute.
“I need to go to bed,” I blurt, realizing that I had just interrupted my uncle.
I have no idea what he was saying or if it was important. All I know is I need Whit’s hands off me.
I jump up, clutching the blanket around my waist, and jog up the stairs two at a time.
I hear footsteps behind me, but I don’t stop. Just enter the room, and kick the door shut. Only it doesn’t close, just hits something and then opens.
“Are you okay?” Whit asks, and I glower at him as I drop the blanket.
“Do I look okay to you?” I hiss, and his eyes widen slightly when he sees the tent in the front of my pants. It’s enormous. “Shut the fucking door before they get an eyeful.”
Whit steps inside and closes it, locking it.
And then we are staring at each other in the dimly lit room.
“That looks painful, Caleb,” Whit finally says, and I groan.
“Your fingers are infuriating. You shouldn’t have touched me like that back there,” I say as I adjust myself and turn around.
It’s one thing to lie on top of this guy and occasionally snuggle, but it’s another thing entirely to dootherthings.
But currently, I’m forgetting the reason why it matters so much.
Whit clears his throat and then gestures to the bathroom.
“Perhaps you should take care of it.”