When I glanced at De’Andre in the mirror, he met my gaze and shook
his head, a faint smile on his face. The front of his jeans was
dark and damp, twin handprints on his thighs where I had pushed
myself up when I stood. “You’re cool, Nicky,” he finally told me.
“You’re aight.”
I leaned over the sink, soaping my hands, and
the hem of my T-shirt pulled up over my ass. I felt De’Andre’s gaze
on my backside and didn’t flinch when his hand eased between my
buttocks because I anticipated the touch. He thumbed along hidden
flesh until he found what he was looking for, then rimmed my tender
hole. “Come back to my crib,” he said, his words as gentle as his
thumb between my buttocks. “How ‘bout it, Nicky? Let me hit this
tonight.”
“I don’t know,” I started, aloof, but his
thumb slipped into me with a slick popand my knees buckled.
Suddenly he was on his feet, standing behind me, hands on my hips
and his limp dick pressed against my ass. I gripped the sides of