Either bravery or hope convinced Randy to lift his hand and grab Vaughn’s. As he dragged it up and over the cotton, the muscles in Vaughn’s shoulders and jaws became rocks of tension. When he wrapped his palm over Vaughn’s knuckles and encouraged Vaughn to squeeze his thickening cock, Vaughn’s breath hitched so hard that he thought Vaughn might pass out.
* * * *
“Jesus Christ, Randy,” Vaughn whispered. He squeezed again, this time of his own accord. “How do you keep doing this to me?”
Randy shook his head. “I don’t know. But when you figure it out, let me know, will you?” When Vaughn looked up, Randy held Vaughn’s gaze with a smile. “You know, so I can keep doing it when you suddenly lose your mind on me and insist that you hate my guts.”
Vaughn pulled himself up so quickly that Randy flinched. “I never said I hated you. Never. Not one time.”