His tone was playful when he spoke again. “Was it the best blow job you’ve ever had?”
I laughed again. “You have no idea.”
“Good. Then mission accomplished.” He shifted until he was sitting on the couch next to me, an obvious erection in his jeans.
I wanted to reach out and touch him, to make him feel as good as he’d made me feel, but I was afraid to do something wrong. After a moment, I swallowed my nerves and did exactly what I was aching to do, which was run my palm along the scorching length of him.
Max groaned softly. “Are you sure? I don’t want you to feel rushed or pressured or anything.”
“I don’t,” I whispered, moving my fingers to unbutton and unzip his fly.
Max nodded and reached down to adjust himself, pulling his cock out. I tentatively stroked him, not wanting to do anything the wrong way.
“You’re not going to break it,” Max murmured with a soft chuckle.
“Yeah. Fuck, sorry.”
He put a hand on my cheek. “It’s okay. You don’t have to do this tonight.”
“I want to.”
“Okay. Then let me show you.” Max put his hand on mine and guided me to stroke his cock, showing me how firm he liked it, and how much he enjoyed my stroking the underside of the crown with my thumb as I worked him over. He withdrew his hand and sighed, nodding. “Yeah, just like that.”
I watched my hand on his leaking erection as precum slicked the way, sliding down his length. I was mesmerized, watching myself touch him. I could hardly believe I was holding another guy’s cock. It felt right, even if it was a little awkward. It was thick, thicker than my own, about the same length, the crown dark with arousal. As I built my confidence, he began to rock his hips up to meet my fist, fucking into it. I watched his face as he closed his eyes and began to unravel. He gripped the couch with one hand, hiking his shirt up with the other, putting his lean, firm abs and chest on display. I wanted to touch him there, but I was a little preoccupied. My free hand was—once again—buried in the hair at the back of his head, gripping firmly and tugging gently.
His breathing quickened, tightening as I kept stroking his cock, until he was letting out little moans with each exhale. “Getting close,” he murmured.
“I want to see it. Want to watch you come.”
“Shit,” he hissed as his cock began to pulse thick strands of cum from the slit. It ran down his shaft and coated my fingers,making a slick mess. I continued working him through his orgasm, the way he’d done for me, until he was shuddering, and he put his hand on top of mine.
When we were both still, I looked at him again. His bottom lip was red from biting it, and his cheeks were still pink from my stubble. His hair was a fucking mess. He no longer looked like the perfect producer from New York or Hollywood or wherever. He looked much, much better.
After a little while, we cleaned up and I made a frozen pizza. While we ate, we put a cooking TV show on and chatted a little, keeping things light and easy. When the pizza dwindled to just a couple of leftover crusts, my chest tightened, knowing he was about to leave. I didn’t want that. A few minutes later, he yawned and stretched his arms wide. It was nearly time to say goodbye.
“Stay the night with me,” I blurted.
Max’s eyebrows shot up. “You really want that?”
I nodded. “If you want to, I mean.”
He gave me a soft smile. “I’d really like that.”
“Then it’s settled.”
“I guess it is.”
A few minutes later, I had Max wrapped in my arms in my bed. I didn’t know what the hell was going to happen next, but at least for the moment, I was going to allow myself to be happy.
Chapter Twelve
Max
Spending the night with Jake had been… incredible was the only way to put it. We spent half the night making out. I let him take his time exploring my body and letting me explore his, and we kissed until we were both too tired to move. I fell asleep against his body, larger than mine, warm and secure. I honestly couldn’t believe what was happening.
The next morning, after saying our goodbyes, I’d hurried back to the house I was sharing with Sterling, who was getting ready for work when I came in.
“Max? Is that you?” His voice rang out from the kitchen when I closed the front door.
