Chapter 9 #3
I guess I should have anticipated how much of an aphrodisiac effect my purple suit would have on Jared. After all, just seeing me trying it on the other night had led to spectacular sex.
Now, he’s spent the whole evening with me in this ridiculous masterpiece, his hand constantly finding excuses to touch the velvet. I can practically feel the tension radiating off him in the Uber as we head home.
And we’re barely in the door of my apartment before he’s on me, pressing me back against the wall.
He kisses me ferociously, and I kiss him back the same way.
His hand finds my jacket as he removes it from me. Then he’s ripping his mouth away from mine so he can walk the few steps to place my jacket over the back of one of the breakfast bar stools.
“Is this a good enough temporary location for your jacket?”
“It’s perfect. You’re perfect. Now get back here before I combust.”
He laughs and comes back over to where I’m stripping off my suit pants, removing some goodies from the pockets that I hold up triumphantly.
“Look what I’ve got.”
His eyes widen. “You had lube and condoms in your pocket?”
“I had an idea of tempting you to the restroom for a quickie, but I didn’t factor in how many of your colleagues wanted to buy you congratulatory drinks.”
“Damn, you’re telling me I spent the whole night trying to resist you in that suit, and that was actually an option?”
“You get to have me now,” I say simply.
His eyes burn hot enough to set off the smoke alarm.
He kisses me again, and there’s absolutely no teasing in it like there sometimes is. This is just pure want.
It’s passionate and intense and turns my brain into static.
And then we shed the rest of our clothes like we’re allergic to fabric.
Jared’s touching me all over, his fingers trailing down my sides with reverence while his mouth presses hot kisses to my collarbone.
My own hands are roaming over his pecs, down to his waist, following the trail of hair I’m slightly obsessed with. I feel him shiver under my touch.
I force myself to stop touching him so I can reach for the lube.
“Here?” Jared asks.
“Why not? About time we added kitchen sex to our repertoire,” I say as I turn around, lean against the counter, and offer my ass in what I’m hoping is an enticing display.
I’m not quite prepared for the ferocity with which Jared rips down my boxers then drops to his knees to worship my ass.
Oh my god. The sensation of his tongue flickering at my entrance is more than I can handle. My legs are already shaking, threatening to give out entirely as he works me open with his tongue, alternating between broad strokes that make me gasp and pointed precision.
The scratch of his stubble against sensitive skin, the wet heat of his mouth, the way he moans against me like this is getting him off too—it’s all too much
I slump forward, just focusing on the pure bliss as Jared makes me forget everything except the overwhelming feeling of being wanted, worshipped, his.
My hands grip the counter as waves of sensation wash over me, and all I can think is how did I get this lucky, how did I get him, how is this my actual life now?
But the noise of the ripping of a condom packet cuts through my haze of pleasure.
I turn my head to look at Jared, who’s flushed and breathing hard. His dark hair falls across his forehead in that way that makes him look younger and softer.
“Do you…? I mean, we don’t really need to use a condom, do we?” My voice sounds breathless and hopeful and more vulnerable than I want.
My heart thuds in my ears as I wait for his reaction.
Jared and I both got tested when we started hooking up, and we’re both on PrEP.
We’ve never talked about exclusivity, though, because that’s not a friends-with-benefits thing.
But I’m almost certain he’s not been hooking up with anyone else.
He spends nearly every moment he’s not working either with Emmy and Sophie or me.
He just stares at me for a few seconds, and I’m about to take it back, make a joke about safety first, when he finally speaks.
“No, we don’t need to use a condom.”
I’ve never been in an actual relationship where I trusted someone enough to skip the latex layer, and I’ve definitely never had a friends-with-benefits situation where I would contemplate suggesting it.
But I trust Jared implicitly.
He drops the condom on the bench, and then he’s suddenly turning me around for messy kisses that are all teeth and tongues and the kind of hunger that makes my knees weak.
I wrench my mouth away from his.
“I need you,” I pant.
“You’ve got me,” he says.
And I’ve never believed it more as he spins me around, pressing me against the counter with his whole body, like he needs every possible point of contact between us.
His body brackets mine as he pushes inside me, slowly, and I have to grip the counter because feeling him like this—nothing between us, just skin and heat and trust—is almost too real.
“Oh my god, that feels…” His forehead rests on my back, and he doesn’t finish the sentence, but he doesn’t need to. I can feel him trembling, trying to stay still, to give me time to adjust, even though I can tell it’s killing him.
“Yeah,” I moan because single-syllable words are probably the extent of my vocabulary right now.
I push back against him, letting him know that I need him to move before I lose my mind.
There’s nothing else in the world that feels like this. Nothing like feeling Jared’s body blanketing me, inside me, with nothing between us.
The physical sensations don’t feel that much different to me than with a condom, but the intimacy of it makes my chest so tight I can barely breathe.
From Jared’s groaning —a deep, guttural thing that rumbles through his chest and into my back—I can tell he’s barely holding it together.
And that turns me on more than anything.
But he’s still focused on me, still the person who has taken the time to learn my body completely, to learn that hitting my prostate at the right angle while his hand is wrapped around my cock will turn me into a trembling mess.
Who knows me well enough to know that when I tilt my hips and push back like that, I want it rougher and harder and faster.
Who knows that when my breath hitches and I make a particular whimpering sound, bringing a hand up to tweak my nipple is what will send me over the edge.
My orgasm crashes over me in waves, each one pulling me deeper until I’m drowning in sensation.
Jared gives another few thrusts, and then I feel his body tense as he spills inside me.
His chest is heaving against my back, his arms wrapped around me.
I can feel him everywhere, inside me, around me, his breath warm against my neck, his heartbeat thundering against my spine. It’s like I’ve been claimed in the best way possible.
“You are the most beautiful man I’ve ever met,” he whispers in my ear.
And he says it with such tenderness and sincerity that I almost believe it’s not just the endorphins talking, that he truly sees me as beautiful despite my scars.
There’s too much emotion swirling inside me as he gently withdraws.
I have to close my eyes, clutching the countertop, trying to catch all these feelings before they overflow.
“Are you okay?” He turns me around slowly, his hands on my shoulders. I force my eyes open to find his dark gaze searching my face.
“How can I not be okay after that?” I make my voice light. I glance away from his concerned gaze to survey the kitchen. “Sex without a condom is a bit messier, but hey, my kitchen needed a deep clean anyway.”
He laughs, but that almost makes it worse because I’m reminded of how Jared’s laugh is my favorite sound in the world.
He pulls away from me and heads round to the other side of the counter to grab me stuff to clean up.
I try to be funny and light while we clean up, but my chest is so full of feelings that I might explode like an emotional pinata.
Because that sex just showed me exactly how far from friends with benefits we’ve drifted. For me, it’s not just in standard relationship territory. It’s now so far into relationship territory that I need a new passport and possibly a translator.
I’ve never felt like this about anyone else. Ever.
Jared’s leaning against the counter, still shirtless. He’s staring at the unused condom on the counter with an unreadable expression.
It feels like we’re playing the world’s most obvious game of pretend.
The question is whether we’re both pretending the same thing.