Jackson’s eyes lock on mine as his thumbs trace figure eights around my navel, then fan outward, pressing hard enough that I feel each fingerprint branding me. His breath catches when my muscles jump beneath his touch, and the corner of his mouth lifts in something too feral to be called a smile.
When he moves behind me, I brace for impact. What I don’t expect is for the friction of his body against mine to spread the paint in ways our hands couldn’t. I can feel his cock pressed against my ass, hard and insistent, and it takes every ounce of self-control not to grind back against him.
“Drew,” he breathes against my neck. “I need?—”
“I know.” I turn in his arms, and suddenly we’re chest to chest. “I know, baby.”
The pet name slips out without permission, but Jackson doesn’t mind. He moans and pulls me closer, hands sliding down to my ass. I nearly come right there when he squeezes.
“Everyone’s watching,” he whispers.
“Let them.” I capture his mouth in a kiss that’s all teeth and desperation. “Let them see how much I fucking want you.”
The music swells as the chorus takes flight, and I spin Jackson around, pressing his back to my chest. My paint-covered hands slide down his arms, intertwining our fingers. Like this, we can both face the audience, though I can barely see them through the haze of want clouding my vision.
“Move with me,” I murmur in his ear, and start to sway.
We find the rhythm together, our bodies undulating in sync with the music. Every movement spreads the paint further, black and gold mixing into something new. Jackson’s ass grinds back against my cock, and my eyes roll back into my head.
“Drew,” Jackson gasps, his head falling back against my shoulder. “I can’t—I’m gonna?—”
“Not here.” I bite down on his neck, probably harder than I should, before moving to his ear to whisper. “They don’t get to see you come undone for me, Jacky. You only do that…for me.”
He whimpers, his whole body shaking with the effort of holding back. I know exactly how he feels. My cock is throbbing, precome soaking through the thong, and every brush of his ass against me pushes me closer to the edge.
“After,” I promise, still whispering. “After this is over, I’m going to take you apart. Going to find out what other pretty sounds you make. Going to mark you up properly, where everyone can see. I was stupid before. You’re not just my best friend, Jacky. You’re my everything.”
“Fuck, Drew. Do you really mean that?”
I close my eyes and place my lips against his ear. “With all my heart.”
We’re both panting, covered in paint and sweat and barely contained desire. Our bodies, our hands, and even our feet keep moving all over each other. There’s not an inch of his skin that I don’t end up covering in paint.
Jackson becomes daring and dips his finger between my cheeks. I pay him back by tracing the outline of his erection, which causes him to slide down the glass, one large hand leaving a smeared handprint like Rose inTitanic.
“Your place or mine?” he whispers, staring up at me from the ground. His eyes dart from mine to my cock and back again. And then he licks his lips, the damn bastard.
“Mine,” I growl, already calculating the fastest route to the Hockey House. “Definitely mine.”
We’re going to have to wait until this whole event is over, make nice with the crowd, and pretend we’re not about to combust. But it’ll be worth the wait.
Because this thing between Jackson and me? It’s not fake anymore. In fact, it never was.
33
DREW
Ipractically kick the front door of the Hockey House off its hinges while dragging Jackson inside by his paint-covered wrist. The living room is empty. Everyone’s still at the convention hall, nursing their own thong-induced erections. I catch a glimpse of us in the hallway mirror and almost laugh. We look as if we’ve been through a psychedelic car wash with the streaks of black and gold paint dried and cracking on our skin.
“Your room,” Jackson gasps, already pulling at the strings of his thong. “Now.”
I don’t need to be told twice. I grab his hand and take the stairs two at a time, my own thong chafing in places I didn’t know existed. The image of every other guy leaving the convention hall with their cocks tenting their thongs flashes through my mind. Oliver adjusting himself without shame, Kyle’s angry erection, Nathan’s mortified boner, and Gerard’s Viking-sized situation that had people gasping. But none of that matters now because Jackson’s here, with me, and the fake is finally becoming real.
As soon as my door slams shut, Jackson is on me, his mouth hot and desperate against mine. His hands tangle in my hair,pulling hard enough to make me groan. The dried paint flakes off as we grind together, leaving a trail of gold and black on my floor that I’ll worry about never.
“Off,” he demands between kisses, yanking at my thong. “Get it off.”
I help him pull the torture device down my legs, kicking it somewhere across the room. Jackson follows my move, and then we’re finally blessedly naked. My cock is rock hard and leaking, and I watch Jackson’s eyes go dark as he takes me in.
