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Harrison did. Slowly at first, watching Jake rather than his own hand, changing the pressure when Jake’s breathing changed, repeating whatever dragged the strongest reaction from him. And Jake had the increasingly unnerving sense that Harrison was learning him. Quickly.

“Yeah.” Jake tipped his head back. “Fuck, that’s… God.”

Harrison smiled, and Jake’s eyes fluttered shut.

“Look at me.”

Jake did and Jesus Christ.

Harrison was still fully dressed beneath him, shirt rumpled, blond-grey hair mussed against Jake’s pillow, those brown eyes fixed on his face. Watching every fucking reaction Jake couldn’t hide.

And that was somehow worse than being naked.

Then Harrison slowed his hand.

Stopped.

Not releasing him, just holding him there.

Jake frowned. Took a breath. “You planning on leaving me like this? Because that’s fucking cruel even for a copper.”

“Show me.”

Jake’s pulse kicked. “Show you what?”

“You know what.”

Oh. Oh.

A grin slowly spread across Jake’s face. “You want a demonstration?” He rocked his hips. “Try before you buy?”

“Don’t ruin it.”

Jake laughed, but the sound thinned when Harrison loosened his grip, leaving just enough slick pressure for Jake to move through. Fuck. Then Harrison rested his other hand on Jake’s hip and waited.

Jake looked down at him. “What exactly d’you want me to show you?”

Harrison held his gaze. “What you’d be like.”

Jake’s grin faltered.

Harrison tightened his hand fractionally around him. “When you’re inside me.”

Fuck.

So there was his answer. Not if…when.

Harrison wanted that. Wanted him that way. This tough, controlled older man currently lying beneath him fully dressed, telling Jake when to move and when to look at him, was actually imagining letting Jake inside him.

Just not tonight.

Jake could work with that.

Christ, he could more than fucking work with it.

Jake had never been shy about sex. Never been shy about his body either. If someone wanted a show, Jake Whitton could put on a fucking show.

But this was Harrison.