No Pressure
Page 21
“Yeah, I’ll have some water.”
Sterling was going to assume the ‘thanks’ was silent. The weird silence grew longer, taut between them. Weir’s knees bumped against Sterling’s calves, and yeah, he was still standing between his splayed legs. For whatever reason, Sterling still didn’t move, they had gone from panic attack to playing an erotic game of chicken. He was taken by surprise by a surge of heat, low in his groin.
“I don’t think I’m in any state to suck your cock, but I’ve heard an orgasm goes a long way toward bringing someone down from a panic attack. Endorphins and shit like that.” Weir waved a languid hand toward his groin.
“That so?”
“Yeah.” He grinned, something else Sterling had never seen him do before. At Buck’s he had been reserved and quiet. The grin changed him; Sterling had a glimpse of a goofy, boyish demeanor, Weir normally hid behind a professional mask of indifference. Weir was handsome any day of the week, the grin elevated him to gorgeous.
It was madness. Pure madness. Faint sounds from the bar penetrated the office, good natured yelling, somebody bumped up the volume on the sound system, the pounding lyrics of the Artic Monkey’s ‘Do I want to Know’ drifting into the small room. He did, kinda, want to know. Fuck, he hadn’t been drinking, he couldn’t blame this crazy on alcohol.
Weir watched him while he stood there between his legs weighing the pros and cons of a blow job. Really? He asked himself, cons?