Chapter 3 Luke
Luke
Can’t read. Tried, but I can’t focus. Can’t sleep either because it’s still so early. I’m in bed so I don’t disturb Jessie. I’ve been super quiet, so I’m sure he’s dead asleep by now. He looked beat earlier. Poor guy. His eyes were red, and I could tell he could hardly stay on his feet.
Maybe it wasn’t the best time to talk about what happened at the wedding, but I felt like we needed to clear the air.
I must have misread the situation because I thought there was some tension between us.
But then I’ve thought about what happened that night so much over the years, I’ve probably made it into something much bigger than I needed to.
I thought I’d played out every possible scenario for how the conversation was going to go down.
I’ve thought of good outcomes, bad outcomes, things being awkward as heck.
You name it, I’ve thought about it. Still, in all that time, it never once occurred to me that he might not remember the whole thing.
Never once. I was shocked. I didn’t know what to do with my face.
Luckily I managed to cover it up so I’m sure he didn’t notice.
I roll over onto my side, trying to find my comfortable spot.
I can’t. I’m too wired. I pick up my phone and scroll mindlessly for a bit, then I google nipple piercings and read up on that for a while.
I was surprised when I saw them on him. I literally could not stop looking at them.
I wonder why he got them. I read a bunch of forums and articles on the matter.
Seems like it’s super painful to get them done.
Seems like it takes three or four months to heal.
Jeez. I scroll through a bunch of images of close-ups of pierced nipples.
Some look swollen or crooked. Some look good.
None of them look as good as Jessie’s do. None of them come close.
His nipples are dark, darker than you’d think they’d be, if you were the type of person who sat around thinking about Jessie’s nipples.
The barbells look bright and shiny against his flesh.
It looked like his nipples were hard out by the pool.
They were hard the whole time he had his shirt off.
I’m not sure if they were hard, hard, or if that’s just how they look because of the piercings.
I read up some more. A few guys on the forum I’m checking out say their nipples became erotically charged after they had them pierced.
Ooof.
I think of Jessie in a tattoo parlor, or the kind of place that would do that type of piercing.
I imagine him walking in and lying back on the table without a shirt on.
He must have been scared, but I bet he didn’t show it.
I bet he had that cool, menacing look on his face.
The one where his top lip creeps up slightly to one side, just enough to show a hint of teeth, and his eyes look so stormy you can’t tell if they’re blue or they’re green.
I wonder if they gave him something to hold onto.
I wonder if his body tensed or if he clenched his teeth.
I wonder if he cried out as the metal slid in.
My dick hardens at the thought of it, tingling and swelling so rapidly, I feel the familiar warmth as skin stretches tight.
Weird.
Not the type of thing that usually turns me on, but it’s been a weird day, I guess.
I can tell right away it’s not the kind of boner that’s going to go away on its own, so I set my iPad down and reach into my drawer and pull out my lube.
Thank goodness Jessie is sound asleep. I’d feel funny about doing this if he was awake.
Just to be on the safe side, I’m extra quiet.
I reach down, curl my fingers around myself and stroke long and slow.
I buck into my fist when the tension builds but my breathing gets erratic and loud.
So loud I can’t let go because I’m worried about waking Jessie.
I back up and try to calm down. I try not to think about what happened at the wedding or about the fact he can’t remember it. It takes so much effort not to think about that, that my mind lands on something else; the second Jessie walked into our house yesterday.
Greg looked so happy, I could tell he was trying not to cry.
My mom was happy too. I could feel the joy radiating off her.
Jessie looked tired. He looked tired in his bones.
He looked tired beyond his years. I guess it’s to be expected after everything he’s been through.
He was wearing a faded ACDC T-shirt, ripped black jeans and combat boots.
He’d rolled the sleeves of his T-shirt up a couple of times, and holy heck, did that ever make his biceps look cut.
He was wearing his usual sneer, that slight twist of his mouth that twists something inside me.
His hair was a mess. It’s dark, black in most lights.
The back is short, but the front pieces are long.
They fall down past his cheekbones in a middle parting.
Every now and then he runs his fingers through it and gives it this little scrub.
He must have done it a lot on the plane or on the car trip because it was tussled by the time he got home.
My hand starts moving again. Faster, but I’m still being careful.
I keep the pressure even and trace my thumb lightly around my crown when I need to slow down.
I try my best to keep my breathing even.
I stroke and stroke until I start losing the breathing battle.
I force myself to stop so I can get myself back in, well, not hand, but you know what I mean.
I close my eyes and think of the look in his eyes when he saw me. He looked stunned. Grumpy and shellshocked, but his eyes widened. A little, not a lot, but I saw it. I know I did.
How can he not remember?
My eyes sting and I feel a weight on my chest. I distract myself by thinking of his chest again.
I run my free hand up my belly to my pecs.
I put my thumb in my mouth and when it’s wet, I squeeze my nipple.
I do it harder than I usually do. I press it down when the sting makes me suck my breath in through my teeth.
I roll it between my forefinger and thumb, gently now.
Light as a feather. My other hand moves too.
Pleasure radiates out from my groin, up my spine and my cock, down my legs.
My hips buck and stutter, I try to back up but it’s too late.
I turn my head and shove my face into my shoulder.
It muffles most of the sound, but not all of it.
I don’t move for a long time.
I don’t think, either.
I float.
Everything’s peaceful.
Quiet and good.