What He Left Behind by L. A. Witt Read Free Book Online

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 fuck, we might as well have been rubbing naked skin against naked skin.
    Michael pushed me onto my back, and he straddled me. As if having his rock-hard dick pressed against mine wasn’t enough to fuck with my head, he sat up and pulled off his shirt, revealing his gorgeous torso. The thick ridge below his belt made my mouth water—I’d felt him against me plenty of times, and I’d even stroked him through his pants before, but tonight, I wanted him out of those tight jeans.
    “Clothes,” I said, wondering when I’d been reduced to single words. “Clothes…off.”
    “Good idea. All of them off.”
    “Yeah. Now.”
    I shivered—naked in bed with Michael? Why didn’t we do this sooner?
    Never mind that. We were doing it now, and so far, it was well worth the wait.
    Belts came unbuckled. Shirts came untucked. Every motion and gesture and touch seemed so…profound. Meaningful. Like every article of clothing we took off was a rite of passage, and in spite of my eighteen-year-old freshly graduated confidence, now I wasn’t sure I was ready for any of this.
    Michael, though. Michael was ready. He peeled off my clothes like he was unwrapping a gift and wanted to savor the experience—eager to see what was underneath but still in no hurry as he slid his hands under my shirt and pushed it over my head.
    I liked the way his palms felt on my skin—warm, lightly calloused and still soft at the same time—and I wanted to know what it felt like to do the same to him, so I pushed his jeans and boxers over his hips. I was suddenly a lot less coordinated than I’d been before, probably because his hands were still on me, and getting his pants off was a lot more complicated than it was supposed to be.
    But with some fumbling and struggling, we managed, and just like that, we were tangled up in each other like we’d been a million times before, but with nothing at all between us. Sometimes he was on top. Sometimes I was. Sometimes we were on our sides. Always touching, though, and my head spun as we explored each other from head to toe.
    I’d never even thought about how amazing it would be just to feel his warm body against mine—everything from his body heat to the thin hair on his legs drove my senses crazy. I couldn’t stop touching him. Everywhere. Not just his ass or his cock or those beautiful abs. Everywhere . The lines and grooves defining his muscles. Smooth planes and soft contours. I was so fucking turned on, I was sure with every brush of his hand that I was going to come, but apparently, months on end of long make-out sessions had done a thing or two for my stamina. Thank God—I didn’t want this to be over any time soon.
    Michael rolled me onto my back and straddled me again, and my spine arched as his cock rubbed against mine.
    “Holy shit,” I breathed.
    “Feels good, doesn’t it?” He sounded as blown away as I felt.
    “Yeah. Feels…” I moaned and closed my eyes. “Surprised I haven’t come yet.”
    “Me too.”
    “For the record,” I said, gazing up at him, “I have no idea what I’m doing.”
    “Good.” He leaned down and kissed beneath my jaw. “Then you won’t know when I do the wrong thing.”
    I laughed, holding him closer. “Everything you’ve done so far has been amazing.”
    “Likewise,” he murmured and found my lips with his.
    As we kissed, the heat of his naked body pressed against mine was unbelievable. I still couldn’t keep my hands off him—following the gentle curve of his spine, tracing his narrow waist, kneading the powerful muscles of his thighs.
    He lifted up a little, and when his fingers closed around my cock, all my breath was gone. I’d jerked off a million times—how the fuck was it so much more intense when it was his hand? I couldn’t figure out what made it so different, but I didn’t care