Chapter 7
Despite my best efforts, I find it hard to concentrate the next day on the correct way to express a cocker spaniel’s anal glands without getting sprayed in the face.
Instead, my mind continues to drift to what happened last night with Jared.
Honestly, I don’t think a hot frotting session has ever been obsessed over quite as much as I currently am.
It wasn’t just that I finally had Jared touching me again after such a dry spell. It was the way he looked at me. There was this hunger in his eyes that made my chest tight. And he touched me like I was something precious.
My phone buzzes while I’m cleaning up after dealing with a particularly vindictive cockatiel who seemed to think my hair was nesting material.
Getting the Goons season finale is out. Want to watch it tonight?
My heart does that stupid flutter thing it always seems to do when I get a message from Jared. I try to type back casually, but autocorrect keeps changing sure to sire, which feels weirdly medieval for the situation. I finally get my phone to behave to send a normal reply.
Sounds great. Your place?
Yeah, I’ll order Thai.
My favorite. And I love the fact that I don’t even have to tell Jared what to order because he already has my favorite dishes saved on his app.
Three hours later, I’m standing outside his door, wondering if I should have worn something nicer than just a T-shirt and shorts if I want him to fool around with me again.
I mean, was the fact that I was dressed up nicely yesterday why he suddenly decided to upgrade our friendship package to include orgasms?
Maybe I need to maintain that fashion standard to get access to his cock.
But then Jared opens the door in his gray sweatpants and a fitted black tee, and suddenly, my clothing choices are the least of my problems.
“Hey,” he says. “Come in.” His hand goes to his hair, messing it up like he does when he’s anxious.
“Hey,” is my stunningly original response.
“Food’s not due for another hour. You want a cider?”
“Sure.”
He grabs a cider for me and a beer for himself from the fridge, and I follow him to the couch, trying not to stare at the way his sweatpants sit low on his hips.
He plops down in his usual spot, grabbing the remote like everything is normal.
Like my brain hasn’t just launched into the best memory replay known to man just from seeing him.
I sit next to him, close enough that our thighs almost touch but not quite. I can smell his shampoo, something citrus and clean that makes me want to bury my face in his neck.
The episode starts, but I’m not paying close attention to it.
I’m too busy focusing on the way the light from the TV catches the stubble on his jaw.
The way his throat moves when he takes a sip of beer.
How his hand rests on his thigh, fingers splayed, and all I can think about is those fingers on me.
It feels stupid to suffer here in silence. We already agreed to friends with benefits.
But what if he’s changed his mind? What if having a day to reflect on it has made him realize I’m not worth the complication?
I take a large gulp of my cider before setting it down.
I nudge his foot with mine. “So, um…”
Jared raises an eyebrow. “So?”
“You want to?”
“Do I want to what?”
I clear my throat so I can push words past the lump. “You know. Fool around.”
A smile comes over his face. “Is that your best seductive technique?” he asks, but his hand moves to my knee, his thumb stroking a line across it.
“I can do better,” I say, and whip off my shirt in what I hope is a sexy way but probably looks more like I’m fighting fabric. “How’s this?”
He eyes up my chest. “Definitely getting better.” His voice is husky.
“Wait until you see my next move.” I strip off my shorts and wave them around my head.
He starts to laugh, so maybe it doesn’t have quite the desired effect I’m hoping for.
But then he’s pulling me to him and kissing me, his laughter transforming into something else entirely.
His mouth is hot and insistent against mine, and I realize my shorts are still dangling ridiculously from my hand.
I drop them so I can tangle my hands in his hair and pull him even closer to me.
When I pull back from the kiss, I’m puffing slightly. “It appears my shorts move had the desired effect. Which is good, as I’ve been practicing it in the mirror.”
Jared’s eyes crinkle in the corners. “Please tell me that’s not true.”
“Patches was very impressed. She gave me a solid seven out of ten.”
“Only seven?” His fingers trail down my chest, making me shiver. “She’s a harsh critic.”
“She deducted points because I knocked over her water bowl during the finale.” I’m trying to maintain the banter, but his hands are making it increasingly difficult to form coherent thoughts. “Very unprofessional of me.”
He removes his hand from my skin to pull off his own T-shirt in one smooth motion. “See, this is how normal people remove clothing.”
I eye his sweatpants. “You may have to continue to demonstrate for me.”
“You’re just scared of my sweatpants drawcord, aren’t you?”
“Well, once bitten…” I say, and Jared gives his rumbly laugh as he removes his sweatpants to expose his ridiculous muscles from whatever superhero training regimen paramedics apparently do.
I glance down at his boxers, which are tented in a way that makes my mouth water.
“Don’t stop now. I was promised a masterclass in normal clothing removal, remember?”
I’m feeling relaxed, sexy, and confident because this is Jared. He knows me. I can be completely myself around him. I don’t have to hide any parts of myself.
And after he’s whipped off his underwear, he’s definitely not hiding any parts of himself either.
God, he’s unfairly gorgeous. All muscle and golden skin, like someone designed him specifically to make me forget how to form sentences. His chest has just the right amount of hair, and there’s this little trail that leads down to… Okay, I need to stop staring before I start drooling.
He’s eyeing my naked chest in return, then his gaze lingers on my boxers.
“Your turn,” he says.
I stand and strike what I think is a seductive pose. “Watch and learn.”
I attempt to remove my underwear in one fluid motion, except I forget about physics and momentum and end up stumbling backward into his coffee table.
“Smooth,” Jared says as he tries not to laugh.
“That was intentional. It’s called building suspense.”
“Most people just step out of their clothes. They don’t turn it into an assault on innocent furniture.”
To save further critiques of my clothing removal techniques, I practically launch myself back at him, straddling his lap.
His hands immediately find my waist, steadying me as I lean down to kiss him.
We’re both still laughing as we kiss, which means it’s more teeth than technique at first, but then his hand slides up to cup the back of my neck and the kiss turns into something that makes my whole body feel like it’s been liquefied.
His hands move down to cup my ass, and I shift closer, trying to eliminate any space between us. Our cocks rub against each other, making us both groan.
“We should probably relocate before your couch writes a tell-all memoir about the traumatic events it’s witnessed,” I say against his mouth.
“I don’t think my couch actually has feelings.”
“It definitely does. It’s judging us right now. I can feel it.” I gesture vaguely at the cushions. “It signed up to support Netflix binges, not…being part of…advanced friendship maneuvers.”
“Advanced friendship maneuvers? Is that what we’re calling it now?” He pulls back slightly, one eyebrow raised.
“We could go for friendship with cardio,” I supply helpfully. “Friendship plus.”
He laughs. “I’m definitely open to the possibility of taking this to my bed.”
I grab his hand and pull him up from the couch. “Come on then, before your furniture starts a support group.”
He lets me tug him down the hallway by the hand, which shouldn’t feel like a big deal except we’re naked and holding hands and my brain is having some kind of crisis about it. Like, is hand-holding more intimate than having someone’s dick in your mouth? According to my racing heart? Yes.
We make it approximately ten steps—I know because I’m counting to distract myself—before Jared’s pressing me against the wall and kissing me like the bedroom is actually three miles away instead of three meters. Not that I’m complaining. The wall is good. The wall is great. I love this wall.
“I thought we were relocating,” I gasp when he starts kissing down my neck.
“We are. This is just a rest stop.” His teeth graze my collarbone, and my knees go weak.
“Very thorough of you.” My hands are in his hair, holding him against me as he finds the spot where my neck meets my shoulder that makes me see stars.
He pulls back just enough to look at me, his eyes dark, and for a second, we’re just breathing each other’s air.
Then he’s kissing me again, deeper this time, pressing me into the wall with his whole body.
I can feel him hard against my hip, and it takes every ounce of willpower not to just give up on the bed idea entirely and sink to my knees right now.
“Bed,” I manage to say. “We agreed on bed.”
“I definitely want you in a bed.” But he kisses me again anyway, like he can’t help himself, and honestly, I’m not complaining.
He finally pulls back, and we stumble the rest of the way to his bedroom, unable to stop touching each other, hands everywhere as we collapse onto his bed in a tangle of limbs.
Even before my accident, I was conscious about the way I looked during sex.
I was the sexy, beautiful twink, after all.
Guys weren’t going to bed with me for my personality.
They were going because they wanted the fantasy of fucking a guy who looked like a life-size Ken doll dressed in designer clothes and taught to be slutty.
But with Jared, it’s more…relaxed.
I’m no longer subbing in for some guy’s favorite porn star.