“We are. This is just a rest stop.” His teeth graze my collarbone, and my knees go weak.
“Very thorough of you.” My hands are in his hair, holding him against me as he finds the spot where my neck meets my shoulder that makes me see stars.
He pulls back just enough to look at me, his eyes dark, and for a second, we’re just breathing each other’s air. Then he’s kissing me again, deeper this time, pressing me into the wall with his whole body. I can feel him hard against my hip, and it takes every ounce of willpower not to just give up on the bed idea entirely and sink to my knees right now.
“Bed,” I manage to say. “We agreed on bed.”
“I definitely want you in a bed.” But he kisses me again anyway, like he can’t help himself, and honestly, I’m not complaining.
He finally pulls back, and we stumble the rest of the way to his bedroom, unable to stop touching each other, hands everywhere as we collapse onto his bed in a tangle of limbs.
Even before my accident, I was conscious about the way I looked during sex. I was the sexy, beautiful twink, after all. Guys weren’t going to bed with me for my personality. They were going because they wanted the fantasy of fucking a guy who looked like a life-size Ken doll dressed in designer clothes and taught to be slutty.
But with Jared, it’s more…relaxed.
I’m no longer subbing in for some guy’s favorite porn star.
And Jared is totally focused on what makes me feel good.
I’d always felt like my job in bed was to help the guy I was with fulfill their fantasies, and I’d never stopped to question it.
But Jared is the first guy who really seems interested in observing all of my responses to everything he does, like he’s filing away what makes me moan versus what makes me beg.
His mouth travels down my chest slowly enough that I want to ask if he’s getting paid by the hour. But then he reaches my nipple and conducts the world’s most thorough investigation into what makes me lose my mind. Teeth first—gentle but enough to make me practically levitate off the bed. Then, because he’s clearly evil, he blows cool air across it, and myentire body breaks out in goose bumps. When he finally—finally—uses his tongue, hot and wet, I grab his hair like it’s a lifeline. I’m definitely pulling too hard, but my motor control is shot to hell.
“Good?” he asks, and oh my god, he’s looking up at me through his lashes with those dark-brown eyes, like he genuinely needs to know, like my opinion matters, like he’s cataloging what I like for future reference.
Future reference.
Like there’s going to be a future where he keeps touching me like this. The thought makes my chest seize with something that feels dangerously close to hope.
“Very good,” I manage, though the words come out embarrassingly breathy.
“Well, you did say your nipples weren’t entirely useless.”
“They’re definitely not useless when you’re doing that to them.”
He continues to explore my body like he’s aiming for a PhD in Felix Studies and this is his dissertation research.
Every touch feels deliberate, like he genuinely wants to know what happens when he drags his nails lightly down my sides—I shiver and press closer—or when he bites gently at the junction of my neck and shoulder—I make a sound that might be his name or might be gibberish.
“Tell me what you want,” he says, and that’s new too. Usually, guys tell me what they want, and I go along with it because that’s what pretty boys do, right? But Jared actually seems to want an honest answer out of me.
“Just…keep touching me,” I say, which feels too honest, too vulnerable, but he smiles like I’ve given him exactly what he wanted to hear.
And he does. He finds a spot just inside my hip bone that makes me squirm when he presses his thumb there. The tenderskin behind my knee that I didn’t even know was sensitive until his fingers ghost over it. The place where my thigh meets my groin, which produces a sound from me I’ll definitely deny later.
It’s like every cell in my body is waking up from a long hibernation, stretching and remembering what it feels like to be alive, truly alive, not just existing but burning bright.
When he finally starts opening me up, I’m already breathless, almost in a dream-like state.
Jared takes his time, watching my face, adjusting his angle when my breath hitches, going slower when I tense, deeper when I relax into it. He finds my prostate and teases me to the point where I’m a babbling, squirming mess.
It’s almost overwhelming being the sole focus of someone’s attention like this, having someone care more about what I’m feeling than about getting to the main event.
“I need you now,” I pant desperately, and Jared’s eyes darken.
I’m expecting it to be like our first night together, when he did that incredible flipping me onto my stomach move.
