I snort and drop a kiss to his neck. “You make an excellent point. I guess it’s the weekend then” I pose. “Sponge bath and breakfast.”
He nods. “Mmm. Yeah. Sponge bath and breakfast.”
I finish up with the conditioner and lather up my hands with the shower gel again.
Jackson hums in satisfaction as I return my soapy hands to his chest. “Make sure you’re thorough. I want to be squeaky clean.”
I let out a soft laugh. “Noted.”
I duck my head and place kisses along the back of his neck as my hands glide down his chest, across his abs, over his hips. I hesitate for a moment when I get to his ass, but then I continue—he told me the other night he didn’t want me holding back and I’m going to trust that.
“You missed a spot,” Jackson informs me.
“Where?”
He reaches back to take hold of my hand, guiding my fingers to his crease. “There.”
“Jackson…”
“I just want you to be thorough,” he reminds me, shrugging casually.
I give a wry shake of my head and start gliding my soapy fingers over his crease, slipping between his cheeks. If he’s telling me he’s comfortable with this, then I guess I should trust it.
“Mmm, that feels good,” he murmurs, wiggling his ass around and causing my fingers to slip farther inside his crease.
Fucking hell.
“It…does?”
“Yeah,” he says with one of those familiar hums of pleasure. “It’s…I don’t know. Just…nice. It’s not arousing, but it’s good. Kind of like a massage, I guess.”
The corner of my mouth turns up and I bend my head to kiss him on the cheek. I guess it shouldn’t be surprising that this would feel somewhat pleasurable to Jackson, considering his heightened response to all kinds of touch. I already knew before we started all this that the main reason he shaves his head is because it feels so good when my fingers run over his bare scalp. I couldn’t tell you how many sensitive nerve endings there are on someone’s head, but I know first-hand there are a hell of a lot around the crease and anus. “I’ll make sure to give it a really good clean, then,” I tell him. “But, Jax—you don’t have to keep reminding me you don’t find my touch arousing.”
“Sorry, I—”
“Don’t apologize,” I cut him off gently, pressing another kiss to his cheek. “If it makes you feel better to clarify, then by all means, go ahead. I just want to make sure you know you don’tneedto. This isn’t sex. This is me giving my beautiful boyfriend a sponge bath, and I don’t expect you to be turned on by it. But I’m glad you’re getting pleasure from it,” I add.
He nods and then tips his head back to rest against my shoulder. “Mmm…yeah…pleasure. That feels so nice…”
I continue to slowly circle his rim with my finger, smiling wryly at his reaction. This is the kind of teasing that would usually result in desperate begging, and impatient demands, and insistent body movements; but Jackson is completely relaxed, humming and sighing, and letting out some of those soft little groans, as though he could just stand here under this heated waterfall with my finger “massaging” his hole forever. And I love that. Because I feel like I could do this forever too.
But I know that’s not a realistic possibility—not today, at least, when we have places to be even if we can afford to move a little slower than usual weekday mornings—so I reluctantly withdraw my fingers from Jackson’s crease and add yet more soap to my hands. We’ll need to stock up on shower gel if we plan to do this every weekend.
I crouch down so I can lather up Jackson’s legs, rising gradually as my hands move higher. Once I’m standing again, I slowly glide my hands over his hips, pausing before I reach his groin. “What about here?” I ask softly.
“I told you to be thorough,” he says.
“I just want to make sure,” I say, still hesitating.
“You’ve touched my dick before, Sky. I’ve never had a problem with it.”
True. But we didn’t know we were in love with each other then. And I didn’t know about my attraction to him. And Jax didn’t know about his asexuality. Which, of course, is the main reason for my hesitation.
He’s told me several times that he doesn’t want me hesitating or stepping back, and that he’s always been ace even if he wasn’t aware of it so there’s no reason for me to assume his comfort level has changed. I just can’t seem to help it, though. I’m sure once we’ve been together for a while the constant need to reassure each other will disappear, but right now everything is still so new. And I’d much rather Jackson be frustrated with me for hesitating and checking in than simply plowing ahead and finding out too late that he’s not comfortable.
“Okay. So…a quick scrub like the morning after that time you got blackout drunk and threw up all over yourself?” Definitely not one for the highlight reel. The four of us—Jackson, Deacon, Drew, and I—went to Atlantic City for some show one Saturday night a few years ago and somehow I ended up as the designated driver. I have no idea what Jax was drinking, but I’ve never seen him that wasted; he threw up about three times in the rental car on the way back to Brooklyn, and then again once Deacon and I had managed to get him into bed. I had to sit and watch him all night because I was terrified he was going to choke on his own vomit or something.
“Why does it sound like you’re scared to touch my dick?” Jackson asks wryly, snapping me back to the present.
