“I’ve had many detailed thoughts about your cock. It’s very notable. Architecturally significant, even.”
“Architecturally significant. Should I call it heritage listed?” he rasps.
“It should be a protected landmark,” I agree. “No unauthorized touching.”
“Lucky you have VIP access then, isn’t it?”
“I’m very lucky,” I agree as I stretch to kiss him again, keeping my hand on his cock and starting to stroke him. He groans into my mouth, and then suddenly, he’s fumbling with my belt with the kind of desperation that makes my chest tight.
Jared yanks my pants down. I’m naked on his lap, and we’re grinding against each other, and he wraps a large hand around our cocks and starts a rhythm that’s absolutely going to undo me.
And it’s just us, Jared kissing me tenderly as he strokes us together.
My vision goes blurry, and I realize it’s because my eyes have finally betrayed me and are wet, which is mortifying, except Jared just cups my face with his free hand and uses his thumb to wipe my tears away.
“I’ve wanted this for so long,” he whispers.
And suddenly, I’m not embarrassed anymore. I’m just overwhelmed that this amazing man wants me, and I’m lucky enough to be here on this couch with him as he touches and kisses me.
I feel like I’m dissolving and reforming with every touch, like all the broken parts of me are being put back together in a new configuration that actually makes sense.
The world narrows to just this, just us, just the sound of our breathing and the softness of being known.
Although, technically, there is nothing soft about one part of Jared now.
His skin is flushed, a gorgeous pink spreading from his chest up to his neck. His eyes are so dark they’re almost black, focused on me with an intensity that makes me feel like I’m the center of the universe.
I have to close my eyes because it’s too much, he’s too beautiful, and I still can’t quite believe this is real.
My body feels like a tuning fork that’s been struck, vibrating at a frequency that threatens to shatter me into pieces.
“Look at me,” Jared whispers, and when I force my eyes open, the expression on his face is what undoes me completely. He’s looking at me like I’m precious, like I’m perfect, scars and all.
“Felix,” he breathes, just my name, but he says it like a prayer, like a promise, like it’s the only word that matters.
My orgasm hits me with the force of a revelation. I’m shaking through it, and Jared never looks away, just holds me steady andwatches me come apart like it’s the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen.
The intensity in his eyes, the way his hands grip me like I might disappear, the soft, broken sounds he’s making…they all combine to stretch out my orgasm until I’m oversensitive and whimpering.
His hand has stopped moving, just holding us both like he’s forgotten everything except looking at me. I ease his fingers away and take over, wanting to be the one to take him apart the way he just destroyed me.
“Felix,” he breathes. “Fuck, Felix.”
And his hips stutter, losing rhythm. I tighten my grip, twisting my wrist the way I remember he likes, and watch his face contort with pleasure.
Jared joins me seconds later, his breath coming in a large gush.
He slumps forward, his forehead resting on mine as he pants out words that might be my name or might be nonsense. I can’t tell because my brain has temporarily relocated to another dimension where coherent thought doesn’t exist.
We stay like that for a while, breathing each other’s air, his hands still gentle on my skin like he can’t quite bring himself to stop touching me. There’s something so tender about this moment, both of us sticky and disheveled but neither of us moving to clean up. It’s like we’re trying to live in this bubble where the real world with all its complications can’t reach us. I trace lazy patterns on his shoulder with my finger, feeling the way his breathing gradually slows to match mine.
The feelings welling up in me are scary in their intensity. My chest feels too full, like I’ve swallowed something enormous that’s expanding inside me. The urge to tell Jared everything—how I’ve been half in love with him since he saved my life, how his voice still echoes in my dreams—is so strong.
But what if he doesn’t feel the same? What if this was just scratching an itch for him?
It’s better to keep it light. Better to be the fun, uncomplicated hookup than the scarred guy with too many feelings.
“So, is this part of your friendship auditioning process? Are you aiming for the friends-with-benefits category?” I ask.
