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This can’t be happening. But damn, how many times am I going to be surprised in a day? Until it sinks in for good. That he’s into me. That he’s not playing me.
He scoots forward on the leather couch. I stay standing like a brick wall, and his other hand—his other hand settles on my waist, fingers edging towards the elastic band of my gym shorts.
“Jack,” I breathe.
He stares up at me from beneath long lashes. “I’ve been thinking about this all day…ever since we kissed. You said we could do other things, right? I don’t know if I’ll be any good, but can I…” His chest rises and falls like he’s mid-marathon again. “Can I suck you off?”
Fuck.
My cock swells in response. Yes. Fuck yes. We’re already in a perfect position. I’m standing between his spread legs while he’s seated on the couch.
It was like our bodies agreed before our brains.
“You’ve never had a dick in your mouth?” I question, just to be sure. Of goddamn course I remember him saying he’s never been physically intimate with a guy before.
“You’d be the first,” he smiles. “Like I said, I might not be any good, so if you tell me to stop—”
“I wouldn’t,” I cut him off. “Sexual affection isn’t about being perfect, Long Beach. If you’re about to bite off my dick, I’ll tell you, less teeth, open your mouth wider. Half the fun of fucking is the discovery. What works for you and me together…”
Those last words hit strange.
Like a left hook that thumps too softly on a bag. Too tenderly.
It feels good, but it won’t knockout an opponent. It’s not right for the situation. Because we’re not sleeping together, him and me.
Jack searches my face. “Have you changed your mind about the agreement?”
“No,” I say. “No sex. It still stands.”
He nods once. “But we can do this?” He begins to draw my shorts downward. Our shallow breaths fill the quiet.
“Yeah,” I answer, and I go ahead and drop them to my ankles. Stepping out of my shorts, I thumb the elastic band of my Calvin Klein boxer-briefs.
His gaze glues to the length of my cock, which presses hard against the navy-blue fabric.
I don’t know how I feel about being his first. It could mean I’m just gearing him up to be more confident to journey off into the land of dick. But at least I know I’ll treat him right. How he should be treated for a first time, and the thought of Jack being in damaging hands—being hurt or emotionally wrecked—is enough to lower my guards. I know I want this now.
With him.
Especially with him.
Jack begins to tug down my boxer-briefs, and I let him pull the fabric down my ass. My hard length is freed from its confines and stands at attention. I watch his chest collapse in raw arousal. The sentiment coats his gaze the longer he stares and stares and stares.
Blood pumps down into my groin. I harden more.
Fuck.
16
JACK HIGHLAND
I’m wide awake, muscles tightening in blood-rushing, mouth-watering, scorching desire, and I’m staring at a hard cock. His cock.
Oscar is bigger than me, and I’m pretty well-endowed. Did not expect him to outsize me, and I’m not bruised by it. But I’m simultaneously more aroused and more nervous of taking him in my mouth.
My left hand clutches his muscular waist, and I let my palm trail to his back. Down to his ass, and I grip him.
His abs flex.
Jesus fuck, a grunt tangles in my lungs, and we’re not even doing much yet. I shift on the couch. Wanting closer, I edge forward. He stands between my knees like a confident fortress, and I’m used to foreplay with more delicate and soft things.
But I like this too.
A lot.
“Remember how we were talking about stopping?” Oscar asks. “You know you can stop at any time too?”
“Yeah, I know,” I nod. But my breath is jagged. Ragged. Torn up like I’m being plowed with feelings—physical and emotional peaks that I’ve never met. I’m starting to wonder if this is what it’s like to really be with someone after amassing so much untouched desire and deep interest over so many years.
He’s not someone I saw on a college campus one time and then met up with for a date.
It wasn’t quick and simple.
While I drink in his arousal, I rub my palm over my jeans, feeling the strain that begs for firmer grip and touch, and then I take that hand to do to him what I’d do to myself.
I fist him. I stroke him once and study his expression. Oscar is staring down at me, watching me as intently as I am him.
Nerves swarm with a strong pulse of need. I question whether Oscar has been with someone who couldn’t take him in their mouth.
Maybe I’ll be the first that can’t do it—fuck that thought, dude. I’ve never failed at the things I’ve set out to do, and it might take me longer to reach some goals, but in the end, I always reach them.
