Page 36 of This I Promise You
It’s like my mind is hyperaware of every point of contact our bodies have. I don’t think I like it.
“I don’t know. I wasn’t really paying attention.” I give him a shy smile. “Sorry.”
“You okay?”
“Uh-huh. Yep. I’m cool.”
He nods and turns back to the stage. His hand back in his lap.
The show ends, we stand, and Easton puts his hand in mine. Oh my holy fuck. I can’t take this shit. I can’t do it. So I rush us directly back to the car.
We both get in and before I can even start it Easton says, “Uh, hey. Would you maybe want to come back to my place? We could hang…maybe watch a movie or something?”
I pause. He wants…to keep hanging out? I’m confused. I thought this whole night was a mess. But maybe I’m reading the situation wrong? Can I handle a movie night with potential hand holding and possible cuddling? We’d be alone, though I suppose his roommate could be there. I could deal with it, I think. Maybe I could avoid the cuddling…for now. But he might think I’m avoiding him. I don’t think…I want to avoid him… Shit,I don’t know.
My jaw is clenched so hard my teeth hurt.
“Sure,” I say as I try to relax a bit. I start my car, turn on my Why Don’t We playlist, and head back to campus.
Turns out Easton doesn’t live that far from Huxley and me. We park in the visitors’ lot near his complex because I really don’t want to get my shit towed tonight, or ever, and we make our way inside. Easton stumbles a bit, but I’m unsure if it’s the alcohol or just because he can’t even walk.
Maybe this is a bad idea too.
We get into his dorm and it’s so damn small that I really have nowhere to go besides stand by the door or sit on his bed. I'd rather not sit on his bed right now, so I opt to stand where I am. He closes the door, hangs up his coat, toes off his shoes, and stares at me.
He steps closer. “Can I help you with that?” he asks as he reaches up to unzip my jacket. I swallow hard and barely nod my head.
He helps me out of my jacket and throws it on the footboard of his bed.
“Shoes?”
“Oh…I’m…I’m good.”
“Okay.”
We’re nose to forehead again like we were at the party. I can smell the alcohol on his breath, but it’s lightly mixed with the amazing spicy citrus scent of his cologne. He’s looking up at methatway again, lips parted, and I realize I have two choices: I can kiss him or I can leave.
FUCK.
I kiss him. Just like that, I kiss him.
His lips are warm and wet. He wastes no time to tongue me down and pushes me back to the bed. I stumble, but since it’s a matchbox in here I land softly on his mattress. He straddles me and makes quick work of finding my tongue again. I wrap my arms around his waist and pull him as close as I can. His hands are cupping my face and he lets out a light moan and I completely lose my shit becausedamnthat’s hot.
His dick is already hard against my stomach. I’m…not. But I’m sure I’ll get there. I mean, I haven’t masturbated since I was a teen. It’s beenyears. Maybe my dick is broken?
My anxiety from the night fades to a dull roar as I try to tell my brain to live in the moment. This is actually kinda…nice. I don’t know. I haven’t kissed anyone for real for real since my ex, and he certainly didn’t kiss me like this.
Easton is messy and quick with his kisses and he refuses to let go of my face. I try to help him find a rhythm, but I keep my hands wrapped around his lower back so he doesn’t get the wrong idea. This kissing is nice, but if this escalates I won’t be able to continue. I hope he knows that. I really hope he can sense that.
Then he takes off his shirt.
Oh no. Then he’s back on me and his hands rest on my pecs in the extremely slim space between us. He slowly moves his way down to my abs and finds the hem of my shirt.
He lifts it and starts undoing my pants
And I freeze. He does want more. A “more” that I can’t give him. Fuck. My brain flares with scenarios and I really don’t know what to fucking do.
But I don’t have to decide because there are keys in a lock and a door is being pushed open.
