Preston felt like a lovesick teenager all over again, hands fumbling under clothing, bodies pressed together in the backseat of Cam’s car. As roomy as Cam claimed it might be, the automobile makers at Nissan obviously hadn’t had envisioned two full-grown adult men making out when they created the backseat of the Sentra, because the limited dimensions left much to be desired. There was something to be said for stretching out side by side on a full-size bed, where each could explore the other at his leisure, instead of the cramped interior of a car.
Still, by the time ten o’clock rolled around and Preston had to head home—he’d promised Mrs. Schroedinger he wouldn’t keep her out too late—his lips were numb from Cam’s kisses and his balls ached in frustration. He wasn’t the only one, either.
