Jason doesn’t say anything; he just reaches out his hand and places it over mine. He makes it so easy to open up. “When I was in high school, a sophomore, that’s when I started exploring my sexuality more. I followed several gay influencers. I left my phone on the coffee table, and my dad saw what I was watching. We had words.” I don’t want to relive what he said. “He kicked me out for being gay.”
“Oh, Ben. I hate hearing that.” He squeezes my hand. “But everything you have endured allows you to create incredible pieces that reflect not only your mother’s memory, but your strength as well,” he says softly, gesturing toward the arrangement I gave him yesterday for Valentine’s Day that sits on his kitchen island. “It’s like each piece you create tells a story.”
“I just want to bring back the color, the vibrancy she represented. To honor her by not letting the shadows of the bad stuff win. When Dad kicked me out, I never really had the chance to say goodbye to Ms. Tibball or get closure with Mom. Ihaven’t heard from him in years. He built this fortress of silence around himself. After the first few texts went unanswered, I stopped trying to contact him. I don’t even know if he still lives in my childhood home.” I blink away the wetness forming in my stinging eyes.
Jason pulls on my hand, and I follow his lead. I push my chair back and walk around the table, where he pulls me down onto his lap. He cradles the back of my head until I am leaning on him, my head resting on his chest. I let a few tears fall.
“I believe in you, Ben. I believe in the power of your creations, and I believe in the strength of your hope. It’s a beautiful thing you’re building, a testament to love that transcends even the most challenging circumstances. And who knows,” he adds with a playful wink, “maybe one day you’ll open that flower stand you never had the chance to open when you were a kid. It might just look a little different now.”
“You think so?” I ask. Unsure.
“I really do.”
As Jason and I navigate the soapy abyss of the kitchen sink, the heaviness from earlier has eased with Jason’s antics of blowing suds at me. Now, there is a different kind of energy buzzing between us, electric and bright. The air is thick with the scent of lemon dish soap that carries something deeper, something that makes my toes tingle.
“You know,” Jason’s voice is a low thrum against my ear, “I think this dish soap might be infused with starlight.” He offers a playful wink, and the reflection in the sudsy water seems to catch a flicker of the candles from the table.
I laugh, a sound that feels lighter than usual. “Starlight, huh? And here I thought it was just the lingering magic of your cooking.”
He pauses, his hand slick with soap, reaches out to gently brush a stray curl from my forehead. The touch sends a joltthrough me, a sudden, undeniable warmth blooming in my chest. In the dim kitchen light, I witness the subtle heat in Jason’s eyes, like embers. My body responds instinctively. Desire hums beneath my skin.
“Maybe it was my cooking,” he murmurs, his voice dropping even lower, the words weaving through the steam rising from the sink. He pulls me closer, the damp fabric of his shirt pressing against mine, and before my mind can even catch up, his lips meet mine. His tongue traces the seam of my lips, and when I allow him entrance, it’s a kiss that tastes of the unexpected, a delightful collision of flavors from our dinner and also something that is only him.
“Wow,” I breathe, pulling back just enough to see his eyes, which still hold that captivating glow. “That was… an explosion of deliciousness.”
Jason chuckles, his arms tightening around me in a brief hug. When he pulls back slightly, his gaze locks with mine, and I see not just desire, but a shared belief to embrace the unexpected. “I have a feeling you’re the person I’ve been waiting for. I don’t want to rush you, but I think you’re truly wonderful, Ben. Let’s savor the journey, the unexpected flavors, and the potential for magic.” He kisses me again, and the taste of clove, garlic, and wine now holds the potential for breathtaking wonder.
Jason guides me out of the kitchen and down the hallway. “If you want to take things slower, let me know now.” I can hear the heat and desire in his words.
My body feels electric. “Never,” I tell him. My single word comes out breathy and with as much desire as his.
“Safeword if I go too far or you're uncomfortable.”
“Yes. Traffic lights,” I remind him.
That’s all the conversation we have time for before we are in his bedroom. He kicks the door closed behind me as my back hits the wood, and his mouth is once again on mine.
Chapter Seventeen
__________
Jason
Walking into my bedroom, I kick the door shut behind us before slamming Ben against it. My hand cradles the back of his head so he doesn’t get injured.
My mouth finds his instantly in the lamp-filled room, and the taste of innocence is nowhere to be found in this sweet boy. My hands roam down his back as I turn us so my back is now against the door, fingers playing with the hem of his shirt. With one quick move, I have his shirt over his head and tossed onto the floor before my hands are running down his smooth skin. My hands rest on his ass while his tongue assaults my mouth.
I step away from the wall and lift him up. His legs wrap around my waist, and I carry him to the bed. I love that he’s so much smaller than I am. His kiss deepens–if that’s even possible–ripping the soul from my body. He can gladly take it. I lay him on the bed and crawl between his spread legs, moving my mouth away from his and down his neck, leaving my mark as I go. I can’t help it. I want the world to know that this boy is mine.
His soft moans encourage me to continue. I trace my tongue and lips down his collarbone before leaving another mark. His small hand came up to the back of my head, weaving his fingers in my hair and pressing my head against his chest in encouragement. My tongue flicks his nipple, and he practically bucks off the mattress. I pull the pebbled nub into my mouth andsuck before pulling it between my teeth. Another mark sits above it.
“Fuck, Jason.” He calls out in another moan. “I can’t wait to wear your marks.” His breathing is labored, and with a flick of my finger, his pants open. I sit back on my heels, grab the legs of his jeans, and tug, pulling them down his thin, toned legs. Tossing them aside, I run my hands up his smooth, shaved legs and slide my hands under the leg openings of his underwear, squeezing the globes of his ass.
I lean forward, kissing his stomach before pulling the waistband of his black briefs in between my teeth and pulling them all the way down his legs. I grab them with my hand and lift them to my nose. Taking in a deep breath. “Fuck, Ben, you smell good.” He wiggles under my gaze. I drop his underwear on top of his jeans on the floor.
Lifting his foot, I press a kiss to his ankle. “Is this okay?” I ask with a smirk.
“Yes.” His response is a breathy whisper.
