Chapter Eighteen Boom! Trans People Are Banned from Flying Because of Us #3
Owen shakes his head silently, closing the distance between them to kiss Jacob. Because he knows what he wants. And he wants
this.
So does Jacob, if his reaction is any indication. His hands gently glide further down Owen’s waist, the touch so light that
it sends a shiver down Owen’s spine.
“Sorry,” Jacob says through their kissing.
“Don’t be,” Owen murmurs, pressing another open-mouthed kiss to Jacob’s lips. He tastes like he always does. Through the toothpaste
and the hints of dinner. He tastes like honey, like warmth and understanding.
Like home.
“Jacob?” Owen whispers.
“Owen.”
Jacob’s hands dip below the sheets, slowly slipping past the waistband of his pajama pants, and Owen’s all too happy to let
him, nuzzling himself further against Jacob’s hairy chest. The feeling is electric; there’s something about it. He just loves
Jacob’s body so much. Through all of Jacob’s anxieties about his stretch marks, his weight, his thighs, his surgery scars,
Owen’s only ever found the man absolutely, breathtakingly gorgeous.
And he loves to make sure Jacob knows it.
Owen presses his hands against Jacob’s pecs, massaging them as his thumbs flick against Jacob’s nipples.
Jacob lets out a soft whimper, breaking their kiss. Owen feels himself being pushed up as Jacob’s strong hands come to finally cup his ass. Taking the chance for himself, Owen latches on to Jacob’s neck, running his tongue along his soft skin before he kisses, biting down gently.
“Oohh . . .” Jacob whines, reaching up to cover his mouth.
Owen laughs, loving how worked up he seems to be. “Been a long time?”
“Depends; do you remember the last time we had sex?”
Owen remembers. It was Jacob’s final visit back from Duke, before he moved to Dover, before the breakup.
“You haven’t . . . been with anyone sense?” Owen asks, hating how badly he wants to know the answer.
Jacob shakes his head. “You?”
Owen’s reply is the same.
“Wow . . . we really are bad at being exes, huh?” Jacob laughs, letting his head fall back even further against the pillow.
“Yeah . . .” Owen says, running his hand through Jacob’s chest hair.
“Do you want to go any further?” he asks.
“I’d like to. So long as you want to.”
“I really want to. God, I’m horny.” Jacob nods. “We just need to be quiet.”
Owen smiles, leaning down to kiss Jacob again. “You were always the one with that problem,” he teases, flicking Jacob’s nipples
again, drinking in the sound that slips out.
“Not funny,” Jacob says, smiling despite himself. Then he reaches up to Owen’s nipples, flicking the barbells.
“Whoooa . . .” Owen shudders, back arching.
Jacob stares in awe.
“Jesus . . .” Owen feels a little out of breath.
“You’ve never played with these before?” Jacob asks.
“I have,” Owen assures him. Plenty of times, but never with another person. Never with Jacob. “I like it.”
“I do too,” Jacob says to him, sliding his hands back up to cup underneath Owen’s armpits, and then—in one fluid movement—Jacob
flips the both of them, Owen letting out a soft sound as he sinks against the pillow. With his hands still where they are,
Jacob reaches with his thumbs, continuing to tease at Owen’s nipples. “I love your body,” he says.
Owen buries the impulse to hide himself. Because he knows that Jacob is telling the truth.
Gasping as Jacob continues to tease his piercings, Owen is unable to stop himself from humping into the air until he feels
Jacob’s thigh sink in even closer. Then Jacob leans in, taking one of Owen’s nipples into his mouth.
Owen presses a hand to his mouth to hold back the high-pitched squeal that wants to slip out.
“Fuck . . .” he whispers as Jacob’s body continues to press against his, the weight such a comfort. Owen’s skin feels electric
as Jacob’s chest hair scratches his sensitive skin, his teeth nibbling against Owen’s piercing as his hands continue to move
lower, lower, lower. “Jacob . . .”
Jacob looks up, meeting Owen’s needy gaze, studying the beautiful way that Owen’s skin has become so flushed.
“What do you want, baby?” Jacob asks.
“Please, just . . . more . . .” Owen pleads. He doesn’t know what he wants more of, he just needs it from Jacob.
Jacob climbs further up the bed, closing the distance between them. Just when Owen expects another hungry kiss, Jacob instead presses his lips right against Owen’s ear. And he whispers a single question.
“Can I eat you out?”
“Yes.” Owen swallows, knowing that he sounds desperate for it.
God, what that beard would feel like against his raw, sensitive skin.
With his hands still hooked in the waistband of Owen’s sweatpants, Jacob pulls them further down, then off as he scoots closer
to the foot of the bed. Owen keeps his legs spread, face flushing even more as Jacob comes to the realization that Owen didn’t
put his underwear back on after his shower earlier.
Wordlessly, Jacob kneels back, putting his hand around Owen’s ankle, lifting it so that he can press a kiss to Owen’s tender
skin. It’s a little inflamed, his joints tired, but Owen can’t find the energy to feel self-conscious, not with the way that
Jacob is looking at him.
So hungry and wanting.
Slowly, torturously, Jacob continues to press kisses to Owen’s leg, making his way up the back of Owen’s calf. He takes his
time, sometimes using his teeth, making sure that every inch of Owen’s skin that he can reach is being touched, appreciated.
Every now and then, Jacob will scratch at the inside of Owen’s thighs with his short fingernails, pulling a gasp out of Owen
as his back arches involuntarily. He can’t stop his fingers from finding his clit, teasing himself, desperate for some sort
of release.
“Ah-ah,” Jacob says, reaching to pull Owen’s hand away.
“Then you need to do something,” Owen argues, growing more and more impatient with each passing second. He hadn’t realized how badly he needs some sort of relief.
“I want to take my time,” Jacob says, pressing one more kiss to the inside of Owen’s leg. Owen bites his lip when Jacob’s
hands come down again, his touch barely ghosting against Owen’s cunt. “Appreciate you.”
“This isn’t fair.” Owen pouts through the need, his hips lifting involuntarily. “Only one of us is naked.”
Jacob smirks, climbing off the bed. “We can fix that.”
Owen almost questions why he goes through all of the effort just to take off his shirt and boxers. But then he moves to the
end of the bed. With no footboard, it’s easy for Jacob to crawl back onto the mattress. This time, he takes both of Owen’s
legs, resting them on his biceps as his hands come to hook around Owen’s thighs, pulling him further down the bed, keeping
him spread open.
“Perfect,” he feels Jacob whisper against his clit.
Owen shivers when he feels Jacob’s hot breath. It takes everything in him not to put his hand to the back of Jacob’s head,
knot his fingers in Jacob’s hair, get his tongue inside of him.
No, the man has to take his fucking time. Owen’s skin itches with the need for release, inching closer and closer toward an orgasm that he didn’t have to conjure
up himself. Jacob’s breath against his clit only drives him wilder, until he’s near tears.
“Jacob,” Owen cries softly. “Please, just—”
Jacob cuts him off, his mouth closing around Owen’s cunt, his beard scratching at all of Owen’s most sensitive nerves.
“Oh, goddamn . . .” Owen moans, clenching his hands in the sheets as he humps into Jacob’s mouth, already so desperate for more.
As badly as he wanted to take his time, even Jacob has his limits, it seems; his hold on Owen becomes harder as he pulls Owen closer and closer, slipping his tongue inside as he begins to devour Owen like a man starved, like Owen is the last meal he’ll ever have.
“Fuck, fuck, fuck.” Owen winces, his breath escaping in sharp huffs, tears stinging the corners of his eyes. His orgasm is
already fast approaching, the consequences of a year and a half of being responsible for his own release. “Jacob, Jacob . . .”
Owen double-taps Jacob’s arm, their signal from years ago.
“Are you okay?” Jacob asks, immediately stopping. “Was that too hard?”