“Fuck,” I groan into his mouth, and he pushes his eager hips forward. I feel the evidence of his want against my thigh, which spurs me on. “You want this so bad, don’t you, pretty boy?”
“Uh-huh,” he groans. I expected him to deny it. “Need to feel you.” He breathes against my neck as he starts fumbling with my pants. My mind spins at his directness. It’s such a fucking turn-on. I’m leaking into my jeans. I reach out and slam my hand against the stop button. We jolt to a stop before I kiss him again, my hands blindly seeking the zipper of his jeans, undoing them.
“Fuck yes,” he whimpers against me. His warm palm wraps around my length. His touch is tentative, but when I grab his dick and start stroking him, he grabs me tighter. He fucks into my hand, his dick hot and heavy. Stickiness leaks from his slit, and I smear it around his cockhead, then fist him harder. His thrusts soon become irregular, his moans deeper, guttural. He rests his head against my shoulder, his hand sliding up and down my cock in unskilled movements. It’s sloppy and messy and oh so fucking perfect. The scent of our arousal fills the small space, and everything disappears in a haze of lust and alcohol. There’s only now, and how fucking amazing Wes feels against me.
His thrusts grow frantic, and he starts shaking against me. “I’m gonna come,” he rasps. A second later, he spills in my hand, his cum hot and sticky. I quickly follow him, slumping against him, as my body convulses through the aftermath of my climax. I can’t remember the last time I came this hard, if ever.
“Shit,” he pants. “That was…”
“Yeah.” My walls are down, no resistance left in me. I ease away from him, then tuck myself away, leaving my pants open. I feel strangely… light.
Wes eyes his sticky hand, then wipes it against his briefs and tucks himself away, too. He avoids my gaze, and I start the elevator again. We don’t speak, and when we reach Wes’ floor, he stumbles from the elevator the second the doors open. He turns around, looking ruffled and confused. His cheeks areflushed, his eyes swimming with post-orgasmic high. He looks like he wants to say something. When the doors are about to close, his hand flies out and stops them.
“I don’t know what this is,” he says. His honesty does something to me.
“I don’t know what this is either,” I admit.
He brushes his hand along his face, then smiles. “I wouldn’t mind more, though.”
Fuck. Me.I don’t know what I was expecting, but it sure as hell wasn’t this.
“Okay,” I just say, and Wes gives me a curt nod, removing his hand from the doors.
“Goodnight, Jett.”
The doors slide closed, and it’s there, right on my tongue, theWilson, but after what he just admitted to me, I can’t bring myself to say it. I swallow, then nod back. “Goodnight, Wes.”
Chapter 9
Wes
Irolloverinbed and stare at the wall. It’s white and blank. I really need a picture there or something. Maybe I can find a local artist. Something colorful. That’d be cool.
With a grunt, I kick off the covers, roll back onto my back, and let the fan cool me down. Why am I so fucking hot and sweaty?
I reach for my phone and check the time. It’s just after one in the morning.Great.I have to be up in four hours to go for a run before work.
I roll over onto my other side, tuck my hands under the pillow, and stare at my other blank wall. Jesus. Boring much?
I really need something to look at if I’m going to be fucking tossing and turning all night.
Rolling onto my back again, I groan, rubbing my face. I’m considering taking a sleeping pill, but if I do, I’ll be groggy all day, and I can forget that run.
You can forget the run anyway if you don’t sleep.
I close my eyes, and Jett intrudes behind my lids. He’s been there, living rent-free in my brain since that night we stroked each other in the elevator. My feelings are all over the place, but regret isn’t one of them, maybe because I’ve always been highly sexual.
Yeah, but not with a guy.
Not any guy, though. It’s Jett.TheJett. He went from a hometown hero to an asshole, to a man who fucking touched my dick. Twice. And I want more. Hell, Iaskedfor more. Why? How? Does it matter? Apparently not. My dick sure doesn’t give a shit.
Hooking up with a guy was definitelynoton my bingo card.
I slide my hand into my briefs and palm my cock. It quickly stirs to life as I envision Jett dropping to his knees.
We’re still in the elevator, and the sickly lighting does nothing to dampen how hot he looks.
His eyes are wide and blown black as he looks up at me, giving my length a few tugs. Unlike me, he knows exactly what he’s doing when he teases the tip with his tongue and then blows on it. My body shudders, and my skin breaks out in a swath of goosebumps.
