“Sunshine.” River leaned his head against Jem’s shoulder for a bare second, but he took the condom from Jem’s trembling fingers. “Have some mercy. I don’t want to hurt you.”
“You’re not gonna—”
The words caught in Jem’s throat. All at once River had replaced his fingers with his cock and pushed in, too fast to be comfortable. The burn sent goose bumps pimpling up Jem’s arms and spine, and he hissed in satisfaction. A glob of pre oozed from the head of his cock and spattered onto the side of the dresser.
“Jem?”
Jem’s chest heaved. His body went bowstring taut. He curled his fingers tight around the tabletop, bracing himself. “Fuck me.”
Another animal sound, strangled and wounded. River pressed his face to the side of Jem’s neck, openmouthed. Theheat of his breath and the dampness of his lips and the scrape of his teeth on Jem’s skin sent shivers through him.
He curled his fingers into the flesh on Jem’s hips and—
Jem was the one who couldn’t control his mouth now. Every thrust of River’s dick inside him hit perfectly, igniting sparks that careened through his body. Soft, pathetic noises fell from his mouth, echoed by River’s heavy breathing.
“Jesus,” River said hoarsely. He pulled back on Jem’s hips, forcing him to lean over further to keep his balance. The change let him rail into Jem harder, deeper. “Christ, your ass is a miracle.”
Jem would’ve laughed, but he didn’t have the breath. He could only bite his lip as his hard cock slapped against his stomach with the power of each push. “Fuck, can you—?”
“I got you, sunshine.” River wrapped a hand around his dick, giving him a tight space to fuck into. He thumbed across the head, smearing the fluid. “Good?”
Jem shuddered. “You should’ve—” Another stroke. River was right. Twenty minutes had been optimistic. “You should’ve done this in the bathroom at the party—”
River sank his teeth into the side of Jem’s neck, just this side of mean. “Wanted to. Was afraid I’d never get a second chance if I did.”
He pulled Jem back onto him again, nailing his prostate. The vanity rattled with every stroke. Tightness built in Jem’s stomach. “More likely—to not—let you stop,fuck, River—”
“Not stopping,” River promised breathlessly. His hand slid quicker on Jem’s dick, tighter, inescapable. The sound of slapping skin filled the room.
God. He was so close. He needed—just a little more—“River, I’m gonna—I’m gonna come, fuck, fuck,uh.”
He didn’t mean to look up when it happened. But he did, caught his own flushed gaze in the mirror, just like he had at the party, watched River wring every drop of come out of his cock, watched River watch him fall apart.
Only this time he got to watch River come too, pulling Jem flush against his chest and curling against him, eyes closed. This time he got to feel River twitching against him, hear the bitten-off sound he muffled against Jem’s shoulder.
It took a minute for the world to coalesce around him. The solid thud of his own heartbeat in his ears was all he could hear for a few seconds. He had a cramp in his right calf. The dresser and Jem’s shirt were both… compromised.
“Gnnh,” River said.
“Uh-huh,” Jem agreed when he could feel his lips again. “Okay, you gotta—”
“Yeah, yeah, I got it.” River released his hip and his spent cock and slowly pulled back. The sudden rush of blood to the skin where River’s fingers had been let Jem know he’d be sporting fingertip bruises for the foreseeable future. “All good?”
Were his legs going to hold him? Seemed possible. “Fishing for compliments?”
River turned him around and pulled him into a languid kiss, all lip with just a tease of tongue. “Already got the best compliment, sunshine.”
Jem grinned against his mouth. “Flatterer.” But then his phone, which he’d left faceup on the vanity, lit up with a notification from Tori, and he noted the time.
And the condition of his shirt. “Hey. You got any Flat Tires merch back here?”
Chapter Thirteen
Teenage Dirtbag
River onlyhad a few moments to lament that Jem wasn’t wearing the shirt anymore—partly because stealing one of his own band’s T-shirts from the merch boxes and throwing it at himalsotickled the possessive streak in his id and partly because he was busy letting Jem, via Nat, drag him down the hallway to the green room.
Nat left them there for a few moments to endure a series of catcalls from the band—Lara put in, “Told you he liked that shirt,” and Jem flushed delightfully—and then returned with a sharp knock.
