I might very well hand it over willingly if he continues to kiss me like this.
Jared kissed me before, of course, the night of Halloween, and I’d thought he was amazing at kissing then. But now I realize that was Jared-lite, the reduced, low-carb version of Jared, and now I’m getting Jared unleashed.
It’s like comparing a match flame to a wildfire.
One of his hands tangles in my hair, tight enough to make my scalp tingle, while the other grips my hip, pulling me closer until I’m basically in his lap. I can feel how much he wants this in the way his fingers tighten when I make a small noise against his mouth.
My body feels like it’s been plugged into the mains, electricity shooting from where his lips meet mine all the way down to my toes, which are currently curling in my shoes like they’re trying to hold on to something solid while the rest of me dissolves.
Jared knows exactly who I am now. There’s no makeup, no darkness, just my scarred face in his living room with all the lights on.
I’m going to take it as a compliment that he’s kissing me so intently, like our bodies being separate is a fundamental design flaw of the universe.
I kiss him back with the same fierceness, pouring months of frustration and want into it, my hands finally getting to do what they’ve been itching to do and tangle in his hair, which is just as soft as I remember.
When my hand slides down to his neck, I feel his pulse racing under my palm.
His chest is heaving when he pulls back from me, his pupils blown out, his hair sticking up because apparently my hands decided to style it into interpretive art.
There’s a red mark on his neck where I must have gripped too hard, and his lips are swollen and shiny.
Holy fuck, Jared is looking at me like this. Jared, my Jared, is looking at me like he craves me the exact same way I crave him.
“Do you want this?” he pants out.
“God, yes.” My voice is almost a groan.
And we’re kissing again, and it’s just as incredible. Is he some kind of kissing guru? Did he take a masterclass? Is there a qualification for making someone forget their own name through strategic use of tongue?
If so, he’s going for extra credit as he moves his mouth from my lips, across my jaw, and down my neck, sucking lightly in a way that makes me wonder if it’s possible to die from arousal.
His hands are sliding under my fancy date shirt, and the feeling of his palms flat against my chest makes me realize just how touch-starved I’ve been. Like I’m a plant that’s been living in a closet, suddenly discovering sunlight exists.
I’m fully in his lap now, and I can feel his hard cock through his sweatpants.
I tug at Jared’s T-shirt with all the grace of someone trying to unwrap a present while wearing oven mitts. He lifts his arms to help, and when the T-shirt finally comes off, I have to take a moment because seeing Jared shirtless while knowing he actually wants me here is doing things to my emotional state that Annie would probably need three sessions to unpack. I put a hand on his chest, relishing the way his muscles tense under my palm when I drag my fingernails lightly down his warm skin.
His fingers work at my buttons with surprising steadiness, considering I can feel his hands trembling slightly, and when he presses his lips to the hollow of my throat, I realize I might actually cry. Not from sadness, but from the overwhelming relief of being wanted again.
Especially by this man.
I take a deep breath, sliding my hands down his flat stomach, but my journey south is thwarted by the drawcord on his trackpants, which seems to have been tied by someone training for competitive sailor knots.
“What is this? A chastity belt?” I complain.
“It’s a simple drawcord.” Jared reaches down to help me.
“It’s defective. We should sue the manufacturer for cock-blocking.”
“Or you could just—” He undoes it in one smooth motion.
“Show-off,” I mutter, but I’m distracted by the strip of skin revealed as his track pants slide lower.
Jared, of course, is coordinated enough to remove both his pants and boxers in one go, leaving me with a fantastic view of the good stuff.
“Oh, hello, my friend. I’ve missed you,” I say as I reach for his cock.
“You’ve missed my cock?” Jared’s voice turns from amused to hoarse in the space of a sentence as I wrap my hand around it.
