“You’re not the only one who gets to take clothes off,” he said, a smile playing at the corner of his mouth.
When he reached for the button of my jeans, I caught his wrist, bringing it to my mouth instead, pressing a kiss to the pulse point there.
“Slow,” I said, the word barely audible even in the quiet room.
Jasper nodded, understanding immediately what I was asking for. This wasn’t the quick release of the first frantic weeks, when we’d both been so hungry for contact we couldn’t slow down enough to breathe. This was something with more room in it—the warmth of two people who knew they had time.
I eased him down onto the edge of the bed, following him until he was flat on his back and I was stretched out beside him, one leg thrown over his. The window was open, the cool night air carrying the smell of pine and distant livestock. The mountain was a dark shape against the lighter sky, visible if I turned my head just right.
But I wasn’t looking at the mountain. I was looking at Jasper—the way his chest rose and fell with each breath, the small scar at his collarbone from a childhood fall he’d told me about.
I put my mouth on the scar, then lower, tracing his ribs with my tongue, feeling him shiver beneath me.
When I reached his nipple, I took it between my teeth, just firmly enough to make him gasp, my hand coming up to mirror the motion on the other side.
Jasper’s back arched off the bed, one hand coming to rest on the back of my neck. “God, Deck,” he said, voice carrying the breathiness of a man who was rapidly losing his composure.
I continued downward, mouth moving over the flat plane of his stomach, pausing at the hollow just above his hip bone. His skin was warm beneath my tongue, slightly salty with the day’s work. I lingered there, tracing the sensitive spot with deliberate attention, feeling him shift restlessly beneath me.
When my hand reached the waistband of his jeans, Jasper’s breath caught—a quick, sharp inhale that I felt against my hair. I undid the button with one hand, the zipper with the other, then pulled back just enough to take in the full effect—Jasper sprawled across my bed, eyes dark with want, jeans open, but still on, cock hard against his stomach.
“Jesus,” I said, the word coming out with more feeling than I’d intended.
Jasper laughed, the sound landing somewhere between nerves and genuine amusement. “I’m right here,” he said. “No need to call for divine intervention.”
I pushed his jeans down, taking his boxers with them, then stripped off my own clothing in three quick movements. The air was cool against my skin, but not enough to cut through the heat building between us.
Jasper watched me with undisguised hunger, his eyes doing a quick sweep of my body before returning to my face. “You’re so fucking hot,” he said, the statement simple but carrying more weight than its four words should have been able to.
I reached for the nightstand, fingers closing around the bottle of lubricant I’d placed there the day before. “Turn over,” I said.
Jasper complied without hesitation, shifting onto his stomach, then up onto his hands and knees when I nudged his legs apart with one hand. The vulnerability of the position—back exposed, ass raised, completely at my mercy—should have triggered that moment of calculation, that instinctive bracing for whatever came next.
It didn’t. Jasper held himself steady, head turned to the side so I could see his profile, one hand fisted in the sheet beside his shoulder. The trust of the moment landed somewhere in my chest that I filed away for later.
I warmed the lubricant between my fingers, then pressed one against his entrance, watching the way his back tightened at the contact. “Tell me if you need me to stop,” I said, the words automatic after three months of making sure.
Jasper shook his head, face pressed into the pillow now. “Don’t stop,” he said, voice muffled but clear. “Just go slow at first.”
I worked him open methodically—one finger, then two, then three, each movement precise and careful. Jasper took it all, body gradually relaxing around the intrusion, breath coming faster as I crooked my fingers to hit the spot that made him gasp.
“Deck,” he said, my name coming out with more force than he’d probably intended. “I’m ready. Please.”
I pulled my hand back, reaching for more lubricant. “Not like this,” I said, already moving to the head of the bed. “I want to see you.”
Jasper turned to look at me, confusion visible on his face. “What?”
I settled against the headboard, legs stretched out in front of me, cock hard against my stomach. “Here,” I said, patting my thigh. “Like this.”
Understanding dawned on Jasper’s face—the look of a man who’d just been handed exactly what he wanted without having to ask for it. He moved up the bed with quick, graceful movements, straddling my thighs, one hand coming to rest on my chest for balance.
“Like this?” he asked, though he clearly already knew the answer.
I nodded, hands coming to rest on his hips. “Just like that.”
Jasper reached between us, wrapping one hand around my cock, positioning me against his entrance. The contact was electric—hot, slick pressure that made my breath catch in my throat. I kept my hands loose on his hips, letting him set the pace.
He sank down slowly, taking me inch by inch, his face a study in concentration. I watched the play of emotions across his features—focus, then pleasure, then something close to wonder as he settled fully onto my lap, my cock buried completely inside him.
