“So bossy, Mr. van der Meer.”
He looked at my mouth, bold as brass, not even trying to hide it. “I like it when you say my name.”
I stood there for a second, aware that we were flirting. Aware that I wanted to keep going until I’d wrung every last drop out of the night. I wanted to make myself sick on it. On us.
“Jesse,” I said softly.
He looked at me for a long moment. Then, just as softly, he said, “Hi, Caleb.”
And that—that—was perfect. Simple and devastating, like we’d just met, me and this proper, serious man who’d captured my heart and broken it and worked to win it again.
“Hi, Jesse,” I said.
His breath caught. Then he held out his arms.
I went, stripping off my T-shirt and pajama pants like they were on fire. He’d already ditched his shorts by the time I reached the bed.
When I climbed in beside him, he pulled me against his chest and buried his nose in my hair.
“Are you sure?” he asked quietly.
“Yes.” I lifted my head. “Don’t lie to me again.”
His eyes lightened to gold. The moisture sheening them made them even brighter. “I won’t,” he rasped, his expression solemn.
“I know,” I said.
He kissed me, and it was nothing like the first time or the shower or any of the other ways I’d cataloged his mouth.
This was slow and deliberate, like he had no interest in going anywhere else and wanted me to know it. He slid a hand through my hair, the other down my back to my ass. He kissed me like he was memorizing me. Like maybe it was the last time, and he’d do anything to hold onto it.
After a minute, he rolled me under him and slid down my body, taking the blankets with him. His erection brushed my thigh, the foreskin pulled back, tip dark and swollen with arousal.
“Yeah,” I rasped, then moaned when he dragged his lips across my stomach, his stubble scratching my skin. He settled between my legs and looked up at me with his big brown eyes fringed with thick lashes.
“You’re sure?” he asked again.
“If you don’t suck my dick right now, I’m going to die.”
He smiled, slow and wicked, before lowering his head.
The first wet lash of his tongue sent my hips surging off the bed. “Fuck!”
He wrapped a hand around my shaft and gave me teasing little licks, tracing the veins with his tongue before sucking at my tip.
“More,” I said. “Spit on it.”
Something wicked danced in his eyes. “You seem like you’re in a hurry.”
“I’ve been spending a lot of time with my hand.”
He looked up at me, fighting laughter. “Is that so.”
“Just saying, I’ve probably chipped the tile on your shower floor.”
He lost the battle and laughed, dropping his forehead to my thigh. “The mouth on you.”
I threaded my fingers through his hair and pulled his head up. “I’d rather have your mouth on me.”
