9. All hands

Richard

Is this okay? “Hell no, it’s not okay,” I say, but Gabe totally gets the wrong idea and pulls back. I grip his shirt and hold him against me. “It’s not okay because fuck, I need more. I need …” I roll my hips.

“Want me to take care of that for you?”

I nod because making words is impossible. I wait for that overwhelming sense to hit me—the reminder that I have no clue what I’m doing—but it stays silent, and the relief is strong. And I know why. Gabe. I completely trust that he’ll be okay with whatever happens, and it makes it easier to let myself sink into it and enjoy what comes next.

“We’ll go slow?” Gabe asks.

“Fuck, go as fast as you want.”

He chuckles. “I mean in terms of what you want to do. Want me to use my hand? My mouth?”

I nod again.

“Both wasn’t an option.”

“Why not?”

“High school rules. It was only ever one or the other.”

I really want his mouth, but flashing back to those awkward high school years where I first explored what I like, it was always a tit-for-ta