How to Tame a Cat (ManxMan)

Chapter Twenty-Six: Cat's Meow

[AN: When you see a note at the beginning of a chapter, please read it; it's going to be important. This story is rated Mature for a reason. They will be doing some graphic naughty stuff, so if you feel uncomfortable reading it or want to stop at any time, you can skip down to '- - - - - - -' or message me to see what you missed. Enjoy!]

~Chapter Twenty-Six: Cat's Meow~

A familiar and completely unwelcome tightening in my gut is enough to pull me from my sleep Friday morning. It is not the sensation itself – sleeping through it has never been a problem – but the sensitivity it brings to my sleep-weary body. An arm draped across my torso, a hot body pressed against my back, feet entwined with mine.

It has been a little while since I last woke up with a tent in my pants and it is usually easy enough to ignore in my sleep. The only difference this time is that it was not caused by a wet dream. The hand casually rubbing me through the crotch of my pants is proof of that. I growl a little and start to squirm when the hand slides a little lower to cup me.

At first, in my hazy mind, I thought it was my own hand doing the rubbing – it would not be the first time – but that assumption is quickly proven incorrect. "You're awake," Ryland murmurs into my ear, his voice husky.

I jerk my head up, no longer in a sleep-clouded state. That is my biggest mistake. The moment I am no longer half-asleep, there is no longer a sense-numbing barrier between me and my current state of arousal. My breath hitches as his hand slides over the straining fabric. "Ryland," I groan, not sure whether I am angry, or in desperate need of more contact.

His hand slows down to an almost non-existent friction and he pulls his head away from my neck to look down at me with a hunger in his eyes. I am hissing at the loss of pressure. "What is it, amore mio?" He inquires softly.

"Please..." Please what?

Please stop? Please let go?

"...more," I beg, turning my head to glare at him, daring him to stop now. If I had not just woken up – if I was thinking rationally, I would never have let him touch me, let alone beg for more. But in hindsight, I was not thinking rationally; I was thinking with my body. And, more often than not, that kind of thinking ends badly. I cannot say this was one of those times.

Ryland chuckles as he moves his hand away. I reach out to try to capture his hand, but instead of pulling away completely, he slides his hand up to my waistband and slips his hand beneath the fabric. With no underwear to stop him, his hand brushes against my dick and he grabs it with ease.

His hand starts sliding up and down. Even though my brain is telling me that it is not wise to let him do this, my body has no chance at hiding my reaction to the way he is moving his hand...and that is soon not a problem when his fingers rub over the head, eliciting a moan from me and erasing all concerns. The pressure begins to build beyond what is comfortable, but it is still not enough to bring my climax. When his hand teasingly slows down again, I arch my back, pressing further into his hand to create some friction of my own.

A hand slides over my ribcage and I am suddenly being rolled onto my back with Ryland on his knees and elbows above me. I bare my teeth at him when I realize that his hand had left my pants, earning a soft smile. "Kiss me and I will continue," he promises, the hand slowly creeping down my clothed chest, but stopping before it reaches my waistband again.

I hesitate. The haze of arousal is still in play, but there is a difference between accepting what is being given and giving something of my own. A kiss is...we have already done that and I would be a liar if I said I did not like them. Though, I would also be a liar if I said they did not make me nervous by making me want something I shouldn't. Still, what difference does one more make?