He didn’t stop me.
His leg shifted under my palm, muscles tensing. When I squeezed gently, he made a sound into my mouth that went straight to my groin. My dick throbbed, and I had to fight the urge to push Bennet on his back and press all my weight against him.
I pulled back just enough to look at him. His eyes were half-lidded, glasses slightly askew. His chest rose and fell rapidly.
“Still good?” I asked.
“Still good,” he breathed.
I kissed the corner of his mouth, his jaw, and the spot just below his ear that made him gasp. My hand stayed on his thigh, thumb drawing slow circles.
“Can I touch you?” he asked suddenly.
The question sent heat flooding through me. By now, steam was probably rising from my ears, but I didn’t care. “Please.”
His hand landed on my chest, over my hoodie, hesitant at first, then firmer, feeling the shape of me through the fabric. His palm slid down to my stomach, then my hip. “The one time you chose not to be shirtless,” he muttered.
I caught his wrist gently, biting back a laugh. “You can go under, if you want.”
His eyes met mine, and he nodded. His handslipped under the hem of my hoodie, fingers cold against my skin. I hissed at the contact.
“Sorry,” he said.
“Don’t be.” I guided his hand higher, up my stomach and over my ribs. “Touch me however you want.”
His palm flattened against my chest. I could feel my heart hammering faster. His fingers explored carefully, tracing muscle, finding the hollow of my collarbone, brushing over my nipple.
I groaned.
His eyes brightened. “Good?”
“So fucking good.”
He did it again, more confident this time. I leaned into the touch, then captured his mouth again. The kiss turned deeper, messier. His glasses bumped against my face, and I reached up to carefully remove them, setting them on the nightstand.
Without them, his eyes looked softer.
“Better,” I murmured.
“I can’t see you as clearly.”
“You don’t need to see.” I kissed him again. “Just feel.”
My hand slid higher on his thigh, close enough now that I could feel the slow rise of his crotch. Close enough that when he shifted his hips, my fingers brushed against the hard outline straining against his slacks.
He broke the kiss with a gasp.
“Too much?” I asked.
“No.” His voice came out strangled. “Not enough.”
I pressed my palm against him properly this time, feeling the shape of his cock through the fabric. He was hard and hot, and the small sound he made was the best thing I’d ever heard.
“Lie back,” I said.
He did, slipping the suspenders off his shoulders and scooting up the bed until his head hit the pillow. I followed, settling beside him, propped on one elbow. My hand returned to his thigh.
“Can I take these off?” I asked, fingers finding the button of his slacks.