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Before I could consider it, Dawson rolled on a condom and slicked himself up. When the blunt head of his cock pushed at my entrance, I forced myself to slow down and take a breath. Relax.
The slight wrinkle of concern on Dawson’s forehead was unbelievably sweet as he watched my reaction to his invasion of my body.
But it was so fucking good.
I threw my head back with a groan and grabbed his shoulders to keep him from pulling away. The pillows he’d shoved under my ass helped me keep my knees up, which was a good thing since I felt like a puddle of noodles. How long had it been since I’d been this full? I hadn’t had anal sex in a very long time, and even then, it hadn’t been great. This was so different. I knew that regardless of our disagreements or any tension that had been between us, Dawson cared about me enough to make sure I was okay.
I didn’t realize I was breathing his name into the room over and over until he murmured reassurance. “Shh, I’m here. You feel s’fucking good. Jem, shit. Your… your body… I can’t…”
He didn’t finish. His eyes squeezed closed as he began to pull out and push back in again. The look on his face made my stomach tighten and my balls draw up.
I clutched him to me with possessive fingers and all the hope in my heart. I didn’t want this to be a onetime thing. In fact, I thought I might scream and fight if he walked away from me again after this. It was too good. This connection between us was like nothing I’d even imagined before. How was it this intense with someone I barely knew?
You know him.
I didn’t really. I just felt like I did. Kissing him every night, feeling his hands on me every night, was a way of knowing him even if I didn’t know what he liked on his pizza and how many siblings he had.
Veggies and two brothers.
Okay, so maybe I paid more attention to him than I cared to admit. Maybe I’d semi-stalked him online when I was bored, and I’d listened to every word he’d ever said in random conversations in the theater.
But now that I knew what he felt like inside me, on top of me, surrounding me with his strong, possessive warmth… fucking hell. I wanted more. I wanted everything. And I didn’t want to let it go.
Ever.
When his hand moved between us to grab my dick, my brain ceased its ridiculous tumble of thoughts. All I could do was try to hold on while every cell in my body begged for release.
Dawson. Dawson. Dawson.
“Want you to come,” he urged through gritted teeth. “Want you to let go once and for all. Give it to me, damn it.”
I let out a sob and arched my head back, as if my body belonged to him instead of me. My release hit hard and sucked the breath from my lungs. Every muscle in my lower gut contracted, and I made an animalistic keening sound as I came.
The look on his face turned from determined to reverent and tender for a split second before his lids fluttered and he bit out a curse. He thrust deeper a few more times before letting go and roaring into the small bedroom.
We were covered in sweat and cum. Our chests heaved as we tried to catch our breath. I wondered idly if things were going to be awkward between us, but before I could make a joke to try and break the ice, I passed out.
With Dawson Priest’s cock still warm inside of me.
8
DAWSON
Was he dead?
I looked down at Jem, whose body seemed to have gone completely slack, and realized he’d fallen mostly asleep.
I stared at him in surprise before I remembered one time at least six months ago when a member of the crew had found Jem asleep in the back of a wardrobe closet between shows. When he’d come stumbling out, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes, he’d apologized to the stage manager with a sheepish grin. “I could win awards for sleeping. And I can fall asleep anywhere,” he’d said.
Jem Sinclair was hot as fuck, especially naked in my bed and covered with the remnants of our sex together. When I pulled out of him slowly and noticed him wince, I murmured for him to stay still and let me clean him up. He vaguely nodded without opening his eyes.
I cleaned him up like I was some kind of specialty body attendant, enjoying caressing every inch of him with the warm, damp cloth until he was practically as clean as if he’d taken a bath. If I hadn’t been so tired myself, I might have gotten fully hard again simply from looking at him and touching him.
