Chapter 3: First Touch
Sam
“Fuck, Sam… don’t stop.”
The broken, gravelly plea went straight to my groin, hot, electric, and completely devastating.
My hand was already wrapped around him—thick, impossibly heavy, burning like a furnace against my palm. I stroked him slow and firm, exactly the way I’d wanted to since the second he’d shoved the blanket down. My thumb swiped firmly over the leaking head on every upward stroke, catching the slick pre-cum and spreading it down the thick, straining length of his shaft.
He was bigger than I’d let myself imagine during all those pathetic, lonely nights. It was the kind of solid, heavy weight that made my wrist ache in the best, most agonizing way possible.
Jake was a wreck.
His head was thrown back against the worn armrest of the couch, his dark hair messy and completely wildly out of place. The black-framed glasses he wore were already fogging at the edges from the sheer heat rolling off his skin. His sharp jaw was clenched so tight the muscle jumped frantically under his light scruff.
Those thick, powerful thighs—heavy with muscle from years of lifting engines and carrying weight—trembled violently under my free hand where I had braced myself against his leg. Every time I twisted my wrist just right, squeezing the sensitive base of his cock, a low, punched-out sound escaped him. His calloused, grease-stained fingers dug into the cheap couch cushions hard enough that the fabric groaned under the strain.
I couldn’t look away from his face. I was entirely captivated.
The quiet, brooding intensity he usually carried like a shield had cracked wide open, leaving him completely bare. He looked ruined already, completely undone by the touch of another man, and I’d barely even started. The scent of him—motor oil, sharp cedar soap, and clean, heavy male sweat—filled the suffocatingly hot living room, mixing now with the sharper, musky scent of his intense arousal.
My own cock strained painfully against my boxers, aching, weeping, completely neglected, but I didn’t care. All I could focus on was the way his hips kept stuttering up into my fist, bucking off the cushions like he couldn’t help it, entirely at the mercy of my hand.
“Jesus… Sam—fuck—”
I tightened my grip, locking my fingers around his girth, and stroked faster. His cock throbbed a frantic, violent rhythm against my palm. Hot pre-cum dripped over my knuckles, slicking my skin. I leaned in closer without meaning to, drawn by the pure gravity of him, close enough that his breath hit my cheek, warm and raggedly uneven. His glasses slipped further down his nose. I wanted to push them back up with my free hand, just so I could watch them fog all over again.
Jake’s whole body went rigid like he’d been struck by lightning.
He came with a bitten-off, guttural curse, his hips snapping upward. Thick, heavy ropes of heat striped my fingers and my wrist in hot, relentless pulses. The smell of it—of him—flooded the small space between us, sharp and filthy and absolutely perfect. His hips jerked through the climax, chasing every last drop of friction against my fist, until he finally collapsed back against the couch cushions with a shattered, trembling exhale.
I stayed on my knees on the floorboards, my hand still wrapped loosely around his softening length. We were both breathing hard, the sound loud in the oppressive quiet of the apartment. Moonlight caught the wetness shining on my skin. Jake’s chest heaved, his lungs fighting for oxygen. The bold black-and-grey tattoos across his solid pecs and thick arms rose and fell with every frantic breath.
For a long, agonizing moment, neither of us spoke. The silence was heavier than the heat.
Then, reality started leaking back in around the edges, cold and sharp.
Jess’s brother.
Jess’s strictly straight, completely off-limits brother.
The man who had just come all over my hand while looking at me like I was the only thing that existed on earth.
I let go carefully, my fingers slipping from his hot skin, and sat back on my heels. Jake’s dark eyes tracked the movement, wide and entirely shell-shocked. His glasses were completely fogged now, hiding his expression. He reached up with a violently shaking hand and pulled them off, setting them on the side table like the frames suddenly weighed a hundred pounds.
“Sam—” he rasped, his voice raw and completely stripped of its usual gruff armor.
“Don’t.” My voice came out rough, panicked. I stumbled backward, putting distance between us. “Just… don’t say anything yet.”
I stood on unsteady, trembling legs and half-walked, half-ran to the bathroom. I locked the door behind me and turned on the faucet, letting the water run scalding hot over my fingers. I watched the evidence of his pleasure swirl down the drain, scrubbing my hands with a bar of cheap soap. I looked up at my reflection in the mirror. My eyes were blown wide, my pupils completely dilated, my chest flushed red.
I tried to convince myself this had been a one-time loss of control. A heat-of-the-moment mistake brought on by the sweltering summer heat and forced proximity. It was just biology. Just physical relief. Something we could both pretend never happened once the sun came up.
When I finally opened the bathroom door and walked back out, Jake had pulled the thin blanket over his hips again. He was staring blankly at the ceiling, one heavy arm thrown over his eyes. I didn’t trust myself to stay in the room for another second, so I muttered a quiet, cowardly goodnight and retreated to my bedroom.
Sleep was an absolute joke. I lay awake for hours, staring at the ceiling, my right hand still tingling with the phantom weight of him.
***
The next day, we orbited each other like two opposing magnets that couldn’t decide whether to violently attract or violently repel.
The morning light filtering through the blinds felt entirely too bright, exposing every secret from the night before. I made coffee in the tiny kitchen, my movements stiff and calculated. Jake was already awake, channeling his restless, chaotic energy into fixing things.
He tightened a loose cabinet hinge above the sink without being asked. He was shirtless again, and it felt entirely deliberate. The bold, geometric tattoos flexing across his back and thick shoulders every time he reached up were a visual torment.
The smell of him—motor oil, cedar soap, clean sweat—filled the small kitchen space until I could taste it at the back of my throat. Every time I moved past him to get to the fridge or the mugs, our bodies came far too close. The kitchen was tiny, and he was massive. My shoulder brushed his solid chest. His narrow hip nudged mine.
The jolt was the exact same as the night before: sharp, low, and completely impossible to ignore. Every point of contact sent a fresh wave of heat straight to my groin.
Guilt sat heavy and nauseating in the pit of my stomach. Jess had trusted me with her big brother. She’d asked me to take care of him, knowing he was having a rough time, and instead, I’d had my hand wrapped around his cock while he whispered my name like a filthy prayer. The immense weight of that betrayal should have been enough to kill the want. It should have been enough to make me keep my distance.
It wasn’t. The lust was infinitely heavier.
We barely spoke a single word through breakfast. The silence was deafening, thick with the unspoken memory of my hand on him. Jake sat across from me at the wobbly two-seater table. He kept pushing his black-framed glasses up the bridge of his nose, his calloused knuckles brushing his own mouth. Every single time he did it, my eyes dropped helplessly to the full shape of his lower lip.
I remembered how those lips had parted when he came. I remembered the exact pitch of the groan that had vibrated from his chest. I wanted to feel that mouth against mine so badly my teeth physically ached with the effort of holding back.
Around noon, as the apartment reached its peak, suffocating summer temperature, my phone buzzed on the counter.
Jess - Can’t wait to see my two favorite guys tomorrow! Taking the afternoon train. Be ready for wine and gossip. Miss you both
I stared at the glowing screen until the black text blurred into a meaningless line. It was a bucket of freezing ice water straight down my spine. Tomorrow, she would be here. In this apartment. Sitting on that very couch. Looking at both of us with those sharp, observant big-sister eyes that never, ever missed a damn thing.
I slid the phone across the counter toward Jake without a word.
He looked down at the screen. I watched the hard muscle in his jaw flex violently. He set his coffee mug down on the formica with deliberate, agonizing care, as if he was afraid he might shatter the ceramic if he squeezed any harder.
“We should… talk about last night,” Jake said. He didn’t look at me. He kept his eyes locked on the black screen of my phone.
“Yeah,” I agreed, my voice barely a whisper.
We didn’t.
The silence stretched on, turning brittle and dangerous. The ice water feeling of Jess’s impending arrival lasted maybe ten minutes before the relentless, boiling heat underneath started melting it away again. By the time the afternoon slid into a humid, sticky evening, the air in the apartment felt charged enough to ignite a match.
We couldn’t stay away from each other. We kept finding pathetic, transparent reasons to be in the exact same room. Jake suddenly ‘needed’ something from the fridge while I was standing right in front of it. I ‘forgot’ a water glass on the coffee table near where he was sitting, aggressively reading one of the dense nonfiction books he’d brought in his duffel bag.
Every accidental touch lingered a full second too long. The brush of our arms in the hallway. The graze of his fingers against my palm when he handed me the TV remote.
We were playing a terrifying, dangerous game, and we both knew exactly how it was going to end.
After dark, the apartment felt smaller than it ever had before. The walls were closing in, trapping us in this pressure cooker of forced proximity and suppressed desire.
I was standing at the sink in the kitchen, aggressively rinsing the last of our dinner plates, trying to focus on the mindless task. The only sound was the running tap and the hum of the old refrigerator.
Then, I felt him behind me.
There was no sound of footsteps. Just the sudden, overwhelming heat of a much larger, heavier body closing in on my space. Jake’s large hands landed flat on the edge of the counter on either side of my hips, effectively caging me in against the cabinets. His broad chest pressed flush against my back. The solid, immoveable wall of him made my pulse stutter wildly in my throat.
I froze, the wet sponge dripping into the sink. I set the plate down carefully, my hands shaking, and slowly turned inside the tight circle of his arms.
Jake’s eyes were dark, almost pitch-black in the dim kitchen light. His glasses had slipped down his nose again, framing a gaze that was entirely feral. The quiet, brooding intensity that usually lived in his face had turned into something devastating and hungry. He looked down at my mouth the exact same way he’d looked at my hand the night before—like he was starving to death and I was the only meal left in the world.
His chest heaved against mine. His voice came out as a wrecked, desperate whisper that barely carried over the sound of the running faucet.
“Show me how you do it.”
My breath caught painfully in my chest. “Jake—”
“Show me how you do it with a guy,” he interrupted, his voice dropping an octave, vibrating through my own ribs.
His calloused hands flexed against the formica counter, moving just close enough that his thick thumbs brushed the sensitive outsides of my thighs. The casual contact sent a shockwave straight to my groin.
“I can’t stop thinking about your hand on me,” Jake confessed, his words pouring out like a dam had finally broken. The vulnerability in his eyes was staggering, entirely at odds with his massive, intimidating frame. “The way it felt. I’ve been hard all fucking day, Sam. I’ve never… I’ve never wanted this. I don’t know what I’m doing. But I need you to show me. I need to know.”
The confession landed low and heavy in my stomach, hot and entirely forbidden.
Jess’s text message still sat unread on my phone a few feet away. Tomorrow she would be here. Tomorrow, this could all blow up in our faces. We could ruin a friendship, a family dynamic, everything. But right now, Jake’s thick, powerful body was trapping me against the kitchen counter, radiating a heat that was burning me alive, and the only thing I could think about was how badly I wanted to ruin him a little more.
I reached up, fisted the collar of his soft gray T-shirt in both hands, and yanked him down to my level.
The first kiss was violent.
There was no hesitation, no gentle exploration. It was a brutal collision of teeth, slick tongues, the lingering taste of the cheap beer he’d been nursing, and pure, unfiltered desperation. Jake groaned violently into my mouth—a low, surprised, filthy sound—and the vibration traveled straight down my spine.
His glasses knocked hard against my cheekbone, the frames digging into my skin. I didn’t care. I didn’t even blink. I kissed him harder, parting his lips, licking deep into his mouth the way I’d wanted to since the very second he walked through my front door looking like every bad decision I’d ever wanted to make.
Jake learned terrifyingly fast.
His hands left the counter instantly. He gripped my hips with his large, calloused hands, his fingers digging into my skin hard enough to leave bruises through the denim of my jeans. He kissed me back with far more raw hunger than actual skill, all frantic need, biting at my lower lip. The scrape of his light stubble against my jaw was rough, burning my sensitive skin, and it was the most intoxicating thing I had ever felt.
When I boldly sucked on his lower lip, drawing it between my teeth, he made another broken, guttural sound. He stepped fully into my space, shoving one thick, powerful thigh forcefully between my legs, spreading them wider apart.
He ground his rock-hard cock right against my aching center through the thick layers of our jeans.
The heavy, blunt pressure was perfect and absolutely devastating. My head dropped back against the wooden upper cabinet with a soft thud, a shameless whine tearing out of my throat.
Jake immediately chased my mouth, refusing to give me even an inch of space. He swallowed my whine and rolled his hips in a slow, dirty, agonizing grind that made bright white stars burst behind my closed eyelids.
The thick ridge of his erection dragged against me again and again, relentless, testing the friction. He was completely out of his depth, fueled purely by instinct and a desperate need to feel good.
“Fuck, you feel so good,” he rasped frantically against my swollen mouth, pausing just long enough to drag a heavy breath into his lungs. His glasses were completely fogged now, blinding him, but he didn’t try to take them off. “Sam—god—your mouth. You taste—”
He didn’t finish the thought. He kissed me again like he was trying to climb inside me, like he wanted to devour me whole, and I let him. My fingers were still twisted tightly in the fabric of his collar, holding him captive against me. My thighs parted even wider around the heavy, denim-clad muscle of his leg, welcoming the bruising pressure.
The sharp edge of the kitchen counter dug painfully into my lower back as his weight pushed me backward. I didn’t care. The pain grounded me. All I could feel was the overwhelming heat of him, the sheer physical strength, the way his broad body completely surrounded mine like he’d been built specifically to pin me in this kitchen and take whatever I was willing to give him.
Tomorrow, Jess would walk through that front door and expect everything to be normal.
Tonight, her older brother was grinding against me against my kitchen sink like he would literally die if he stopped. And I was kissing him back just as desperately, my hands sliding up into his messy dark hair, teaching him with every slow, deliberate stroke of my tongue exactly how good it could feel to give in and want a man.
His broad hand slid down from my hip, his thick fingers gripping my ass firmly through my jeans. He squeezed, pulling my hips forward, forcing me harder onto the solid ridge of his thigh. The friction tore a loud, breathless moan out of my throat.
Jake swallowed the sound like he was starving for it, his chest heaving against mine.
“Show me,” he whispered again, his voice wrecked and entirely broken against my wet lips. His hips rolled forward, grinding that thick, hard length against me one more time. “Please, Sammy. Show me everything.”
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