L Witt - Nine-tenths of the Law

I’m supposed to think this is wrong .

His fingers trembled, then tightened in my hair, as if he was afraid I’d pull away.

If this is wrong, I don’t remember why .

His lips barely leaving mine, his voice wavering as if he was on the verge of losing control, he whispered, “I want you so fucking bad, Zach.”

If this is wrong, I don’t care .

“I’m not going anywhere,” I said.

In a low, ragged growl, he said, “Thank God.” The pad of his thumb ran along my jaw and his hand rested on the side of my neck. “I don’t even know why I left last time.”

“Because we were there for all the wrong reasons?”

He shrugged, then nodded. “Probably. But that was then. This is now.”

Something in my mind relaxed, as if up until that moment, I wasn’t sure why we were here. If we were here for the same reasons as before, or if this was something else.

“This isn’t about Jake anymore, is it?” I said quietly.

He smiled and kissed me. “Not even a little. The other night had everything to do with that son of a bitch.” He ran his fingers through my hair and kissed me lightly. “Tonight has nothing to do with anyone outside this room.” He paused. “And speaking of which, I think we should take this into another room.”

I said nothing, only nodded. I was in his house. In his arms. Now moving into his bedroom. Each time we moved closer to the inevitable, it startled me as if I kept expecting us to step back instead of forward. Or expected him to come to his senses, because I sure as hell wasn’t going to.

The bedroom was on the second floor. The whole way up the stairs and down the hall, we could barely keep our hands off each other. Halfway up the stairs, I stopped and pulled him into a kiss, using the wall for balance when I couldn’t quite rely on my legs. A few steps later, he gently leaned me against the wall and squeezed my hard, aching cock through my jeans. More than once I was certain we wouldn’t make it to the bedroom before one of us pulled the other to the floor, especially when we stopped a few feet shy of the bedroom door for another breathless kiss.

Without breaking the kiss, he shifted his weight to one side, then the other. A dull thud told me he’d kicked his shoes off. Probably shoved them aside so we wouldn’t trip over them.

First article of clothing off. I pulled him closer. This is really happening . With the toe of one shoe, I pushed off the other, kicking it aside. Then the other. My foot brushed against his and even that warmth, that contact, took my breath away. Christ, Nathan, what are you doing to me ?

He broke the kiss, but was still close enough that his breath whispered across my lips when he spoke. “We should-” He cut himself off, kissing me again.

“Should-” I kissed him. I couldn’t get enough. Finally, I managed, “Should what?” But I couldn’t wait for an answer before I sought his mouth again, tangling my fingers in his hair as I kissed him.

“Bedroom,” he finally murmured, but he made no effort to move. I couldn’t move until he did. Even then, I wasn’t so sure I could.

After a moment, he stepped back, but still made no move toward the bedroom. Instead, he just looked at me, at his own hands running up my sides, his face mirroring my own desperation and disbelief.

His hands came together at my collar, and a second later, the first button was undone. As he went for the next, our eyes met, and the unmistakable hunger and lust in his made me thankful again for the wall keeping me upright.

His eyes were in a hurry, but his hands were in control. He unfastened each button of my shirt as if he were making contact with erogenous zones on my skin: slow, steady, one at a time. Maybe he did it to keep his hands from shaking. For the life of me I couldn’t figure out how he stayed so steady, so in control, when it took everything I had just to stay standing.

His hands followed my shirt over my shoulders and down my arms. In the same moment my shirt fell away, his lips found my neck and he slid his hand between my back and the wall. When he kissed me again, his other hand held the side of my neck, the warmth of both skin and lips making my breath catch. His hand trailed down my chest as his tongue explored my mouth.

There was something incredibly erotic about his gentle touch, more than anything I’d ever experienced. Everything we’d done before was desperate, primal, even violent, but this was different. That was black, this was white. This was the slow caress of what I’d thought was an unforgiving hand.

I thought I loved the way his skin felt on my own, but it was the muted brush of fingertips on denim that damn near made me come. His fingers drifted over my cock through my clothes, applying just a hint of pressure, just enough to say yes, I will . And I wanted him to.

“Oh, my God,” I breathed, letting my head fall back against the wall. The vibration of the separating zipper made me tremble with anticipation.

“My sentiments exactly.” He kissed my neck and continued to draw the zipper down.

My hands went from his shoulders to the wall beside me, trying in vain to grab the plaster for support. I desperately wanted to touch him and pull him closer, but the need for balance trumped even that.

“You know, I made a colossal mistake last time.” His fingers closed around my cock.

“I didn’t think you-” I paused, my breath catching as he stroked me. “I didn’t think you did a damned thing wrong.”

“Oh, I did,” he said, his lips brushing my ear as he spoke. “As far as I knew, I was never going to see you again…” He tightened his grasp, still stroking. “…and I missed the chance to see you come.”

I sucked in a breath, not entirely sure if the gasp was a result of his hand or his voice. “Jesus…”

“I felt you come,” he whispered. “I tasted it.” He kissed his way along my jaw. Just before he reached my mouth, he said, “But I didn’t get to see your face, and I’ve been kicking myself ever since.”

I closed my eyes, shuddering as his hand moved a little faster. “If you keep doing that-” Another shudder cut me off.

“Tell me, Zach.” The deep growl fell somewhere between playful and pleading.

I looked at him, trying to hold his gaze. “Fuck, Nathan, you’re-” I trailed off into a moan, pressing my palms against the wall for balance as my spine threatened to turn into pure electricity.

“Fuck yes,” he said. “I knew I missed something hot. I knew you would look incredible when you were this close.”

I wasn’t just close, I was a heartbeat away. I was on the edge, not quite there, not quite, almost… “Oh, God…” My mouth couldn’t form the words to beg him to stroke faster, but my hips said what I couldn’t, and he must have understood, because he stroked harder, faster, and just before the ache became unbearable, I felt my own throat vibrate with a groan I didn’t hear, and came.

An arm around my waist kept me upright and the hot panting against my throat kept me breathing, every exhalation reminding my lungs of their own need to release a breath. He raised his head and looked at me. There was no need for words now. We both knew what we wanted and we both knew where we needed to go to get it.

The bedroom was only a few steps away and, in spite of my shaking knees, I made it across that distance without stumbling too badly. I couldn’t be sure if Nathan’s arm around my waist made it easier or more difficult, but one way or another, I made it.

Without speaking, we separated and got rid of the last of our clothes, dropping everything in haphazard heaps around our feet. Every sound-clothes brushing over skin, muffled whispers of fabric hitting the floor, his unsteady breaths-made this more real and more unbelievable. The Zippo lighter clanked onto the nightstand and a second later, his belt buckle jingled. With a dull thud, his jeans joined mine on the floor.