They kissed until Jace’s cock was hard again, still out of his pants and hot as fire against Callahan’s skin. Callahan was desperate to get him off again, overwhelmed by the memories of the pleasure Jace’s arousal had brought him just before.
“Please,” he whispered against Jace’s lips. “Please let me get you off again.”
“Later,” Jace said, the syllables sounding like a promise. “After the event, let me fuck you again.”
“Alright. Yes,” he agreed.
Jace’s tongue eased back into his mouth, the speed and intensity of the kiss changing. Jace stroked his hair away from his sweaty face, and Callahan knew he was fucked in more ways than one.
Pretend for the weekend.
He mentally scoffed.
For him, the line had blurred until it erased itself. He felt right like this. He felt real and true, and most of all, he felt like Jace saw him, really saw Callahan. Not the idea of him, or the pressures or the societal name and obligations. Like this, with their bodies pressed together and their breath mingled, Callahan hoped Jace saw who he really was…who he could be if given the chance.
That wasn’t what they’d discussed, though, and it surely wasn’t what they’d agreed on. It might be wrong to try and ask Jace for more, but with Jace’s cum still hot in the back of his throat, he’d felt more himself than he could ever remember. He needed to at least try to retain this, to nurture it, to make more of it.
After what seemed like an eternity, Jace ended the kiss, dropping his forehead against Callahan’s with a content little sigh.
“I need another shower,” he whispered, huffing out a quiet laugh.
“Can we do that together, this time?” Callahan asked, his voice thick with hope.
Jace licked his lips, his pupils still huge and dark.
“Yeah,” he answered. “We can do that.”
Chapter Eighteen
Jace is Proved Wrong
He wasn’t sure how it was possible, but Jace was fairly certain Callahan looked better in a suit than he did naked. Jace hadn’t thought he had a thing for well-dressed men before, but something about seeing Callahan in a charcoal three-piece that hugged every line of his body had him reconsidering.
“Why are you looking at me like that?” Callahan smoothed a hand down the small tortoise-shell buttons on his vest and glanced warily at Jace.
“Like what?”
Callahan gestured vaguely in his direction.
Jace carefully set his suit jacket onto the bed—not convinced the wrinkle-free fabric would make good on its word—and closed the space between them. He took Callahan’s hand in his, realizing his palms were sweaty, and he raised their hands to his mouth and kissed Callahan’s knuckles.
He didn’t mean to look at Callahan any way, but it was hard to not after what they’d done on the couch, and even harder after the attentive way Callahan had doted on him in the shower. He knew they’d agreed sex was fine, but he was finding it harder to not soften when he was around this quiet and tentative side of Callahan.
“Like what?” he asked again.
“You’re looking at me in a very real way,” Callahan rasped.
“Just practicing,” he lied.
“Is that all?”
“That’s what we agreed, right?”
“Yes,” he answered.
“You’re looking at me like you want to change the agreement,” Jace whispered.
In the moment, he didn’t know if he wanted the agreement changed or if he wanted things to remain as they were, but the memory of Callahan’s soapy fingers around his balls was something he’d not soon forget either way.
