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“You need to… gah… Arlo… fuck…”
I loved that I could make Jax lose his words in such a tumble of need, and I smiled as I nibbled at his hip bone and pressed a hand to his thigh to stop him moving. He seemed to relish me holding him, and I could get with that plan. He drew a ragged breath as I pressed harder and, at the same time, closed my lips around the tip of his cock. He tried to arch up, and whimpered, and spoke nonsense about me being naked as well.
“Please, stay still,” I pleaded, taking his hands, and placing them above his head. “Let me look at you.”
“Arlo…”
“Wait,” I murmured, then sat up to take off my T-shirt, then everything else until I was as naked as him. His eyes widened; he moved an inch. I placed a hand on his hip in warning. “Let me,” I whispered. It had been too long since I’d been with a man, too long since I’d felt everything inside me begin to unravel, and I wanted him to feel the same. Out of control, losing his mind bit by bit. I caged him in, kissed him, tugging at his lower lip, then soothing the hurt with my tongue, and he gasped into the taste of it.
“Arlo…”
“Tell me,” I pleaded, as I relaxed my stance a little and my erection brushed his. “Tell me this is okay.”
“Arlo…” he repeated, and then, he moved. He gripped my shoulders and levered up to kiss me so damn hard. He twisted, then pushed, and it was him on top of me, and it was bliss as he blanketed me and I carded my hands in his hair.
“You’re beautiful,” I murmured, gripping his curls, and holding him for a kiss as we rutted against each other.
This wasn’t a slow burn; this was a match to kindling. He sat up as I chased for a kiss. He grabbed the lube and placed it on my belly before nestling his face there and kissing the soft bits he said he liked so much.
“You’re beautiful,” he said, and he smiled. “I’m vers; you?”
“I don’t know,” I said with all the honesty I could find. My experience—my sad experience—was hand and blow jobs. Exciting at the time, but then I’d gone back home.
“How about…” He slid down me, pulled out a condom, and bent over my cock, slipping it on with the concentration of a man wanting perfection. He was touching me, kissing my belly, to my balls, back up to my chest, nibbling at my nipple, and then, he took my hand, squirted lube on that and his own, and tugged mine to his ass. “We’ll do this together.” Our fingers tangled and bumped, and when the tip of my index finger found his, and we pushed and stretched, I had to stop, if only to get my orgasm to back off.
The touch of us there, together, stretching his hole for me, was incredible. I whimpered, I know I did, because he chuckled and kissed it away, then groaned when I pushed deeper into him. I didn’t know what I was doing, but he seemed to know that, guiding my hand—moving himself so that I found his prostate because he arched up and shouted, undulating on my fingers—and then, he eased off and my fingers slipped free. In a daze, I waited as he lined himself up.
“Slow,” I warned him. “I don’t want to hurt you.”
The tip of my cock breached his hole, and he stiffened, and then, there was the smile again.
He leaned until his mouth was near my ear. “You could never hurt me,” he whispered, and with his lips moving to mine, he eased down, and I tilted my hips, and we were joined in every way possible.
He stopped for a moment, his breathing ragged. Then, he lifted and eased back down.
“I love you,” he whispered, the glow of the lights on his face as he moved again.
And again.
And again.
I gripped his hips, held him above me, so close that if he sank down again, I’d lose it. I wanted him to come first. I wanted to watch his beautiful eyes widen and hear him gasp as he had done in the hall. There, in the changing lights, he told me what he needed by taking my hand, wrapping it around his cock, and as I curved my fingers and pulled on the length of him—my thumb collecting the pre-cum—he arched and shouted my name. His cum was hot and wet in my fingers, his skin so pale, and when he pushed down one more time, my orgasm stole my breath, and I grabbed him and held him, and I thought I could never let him go. The connection was textbook. I was riding the high. I was his; he was mine; and we were laughing and hugging, and it was messy and awkward and perfect.
When I eased out, he was the one who padded to the bathroom and came back with a washcloth.
“That’s my job,” I murmured, even though exhaustion was stealing my thoughts.
“Next time,” he said as he wiped us down and followed each swipe with a kiss. “Let’s go into my room. Sleep with me? Watch over Charlie with me?”
We pulled on our sweats and held hands as we tiptoed into his room—both of us checking on Charlie—then we climbed into his bed, and he curled into my side, tucked under my arm.
I pressed my nose into his curls, the scent of baby andhimfilled my senses, and that was the very last step I needed to take as I held him close.
“I love you,” I whispered.
“I love you, too,” he murmured.
And then we slept.
