Page 39 of Forgiving Utah

He groans again, almost as loud as Logan and Owen, before turning his head. And that's when our eyes lock.

“What the fuck,” he snaps, snatching his hand out of his pants.

My whole body ignites. “Are you jerking off to the sound of your roommates fucking?”

His face is flushed, hair falling in tousled waves around his shoulders. “Ever heard of knocking, motherfucker?”

“I thought—” I swallow hard at the sight of his dusky, peaked nipples. “I heard something. Thought you were, uh… hurt.”

Really, Dev?

“Hurt?” Christian gestures sharply at his dick, still tenting the crotch of his sweats. “Does this look like it hurts to you?”

“Well, you could’ve been, like, in pain. Or having a bad dream. Or, fuck, I don’t know, Christian, I panicked.”

“You barged in on me stroking my cock because you thought I was having a nightmare?”

A nervous laugh bubbles out of me, and I take in his room. The place is a disaster: clothes everywhere, magazines piled on top of the nightstand. A large terrarium takes up the back wall, glowing red. Inside, the biggest fucking snake I've ever seen lifts its head, tongue flicking out like it's sizing me up.

“You jerk off in front of your snake?” is all I can think to say.

Christian snorts. “She doesn’t give a shit.”

“Okay… and you jerk off to your roommates fucking?” I ask again, meeting his gaze where he's still sprawled on the bed.

He stares at me lengthily before muttering something in Spanish. Then he points over my shoulder. “Unless you plan on helping me finish, motherfucker, you can leave.”

Now that gets my attention.

Closing the door softly behind me, I shrug out of his jacket. “Help you finish, huh?”

“Yeah. That’s what I said.”

“You’re serious?”

He lifts his chin high, shifting slightly. “I don’t say shit I don’t mean.”

Now, that's a lie, and I know it. A big one. But when I glance down at his cock straining against the thin cotton of his pants, precum dampening the fabric, I accept this for what it is: A challenge.

He thinks I'll turn around and leave. But I won't. My own dick might not be fully on board at the moment, but the rest of my body is.

“Last chance,” he murmurs. “You helping, or leaving?”

“Well, since you asked so nicely…” With a smirk, I stalk toward the bed.

His breath hitches when I straddle his thighs, and my palms immediately run down the smooth expanse of his tattooed chest. Script curves along his collarbone, slightly faded from time.

“What does this mean?” I ask, tapping on the words inked in Spanish. One half of them is scribbled out.

“Live fast, die young.” He stares up at me, pupils blown wide. “Got it when I was seventeen. The die young part felt fucked up after what happened to Huckslee in high school, so Tay scratched it out with a tattoo gun.”

“Hmm.”

Darker ink stretches across his side, giving the illusion that his ribcage is made of mechanical cogs and gears. A snake coils around roses on his shoulder. All of his tattoos look professionally done, unlike my arm full of flash shit that I mostly traded for drugs. There are scars threaded through it all, not hidden but incorporated into the ink, probably from wrecking his bike.

I slide my fingertips over his nipples, across his abs, before tugging down the waistband of his sweats. His hard cock springs free and slaps against his lower stomach, as thick as I remember. Another moan from the room next door cuts through our heavy breathing when I wrap my hand around him. “You gonna answer my question about jacking off to your roommates or not?”

“Not.” Christian closes his eyes, hips bucking into my palm.