Chapter 19 Jason
I woke up that first morning with an armful of Joe. We’d gotten cold during the night, apparently, and had been drawn to one another. I could only assume that was what happened, anyway, as the glow of morning sun through the storm outside woke me and Joe was nestled with his back against my chest.
My face was pressed to his nape, lips skimming the fuzzy hair there.
He smelled delicious. Carrying notes of the apple soap I’d found in his shower.
Less like sunshine today, but still just as sweet.
The underlying hint of sleep-sweat felt private.
My body was more honest than would’ve been… appropriate.
Because my dick was throbbing where it pressed against the supple curve of his ass. Pushing at those meaty, thick cheeks. It knew exactly where it was meant to go.
For a single second, I let myself imagine it.
Let myself imagine we were together. That Joe had given me blanket permission to pull his sweats down till they settled beneath the swell of his ass.
That he was still loose and wet from the last time I’d fucked him.
That I could simply…press the crown of my dick against his messy hole and push inside.
God.
Yes.
What sound would he make? Waking up on my dick like that. A gasp, probably. He didn’t strike me as the kind of guy to moan. Too quiet for that. Would he push back? Shift those thick legs wide open. Use his body, not his words, to beg to be bred.
God, being in Joe’s bed was bad for my self-control.
I pulled back, releasing his waist and easing myself out of bed.
I regretted it immediately, because our cocoon had been warm.
Outside it, the world was icy. Cold. And Joe looked so…
sweet with pillow creases on his cheek, his hair a golden mess, body tucked as small as he could make it.
He twitched a little, and I held my breath, frightened he’d wake up to see my dick pointing right at him. His eyes didn’t open, though.
Thank god.
I dragged myself into the bathroom to rinse off and take care of my little…problem.
My dick was throbbing by the time I shut the door and climbed into the shower. One benefit of Joe’s place was that the water tended to run hot. Which was awesome, as the short trek through the house had been enough to turn me into a human popsicle.
Aside from my dick.
My dick that was…fuck.
Christ.
I yanked my clothes off as quickly as I could, hopping under the now hot stream of water and reaching for Joe’s conditioner immediately.
I squirted some onto my hand, the scent of apples permeating the air.
Reminding me of the nape of his neck, all velvety against my lips. Reminding me of that big ass.
Oh fuck.
The first stroke hurt. Tight, from root to tip, easing only a little of the ache pulsating between my legs.
“Fuck,” I gasped out, the second stroke harder than the last. I spread my legs a little, eyes drifting shut. Hot water pelted my back, but I barely felt it, lost in my head as I was.
I was back in bed.
Dick slipping inch by inch into Joe’s tight body. Wet and messy. Slick from my own cum. Letting me ease into him as slow, as deliberate as I liked. Slow enough his hole kept fluttering, kept clutching at me, trying to beg me to go faster.
But I wouldn’t.
I wouldn’t.
Enamored by the way his mouth stayed parted, these broken little pants escaping with every centimeter I fed inside him. Leaning over him, drunk on his face, his reactions, the hot squelch of his hole.
He’d be needy in bed.
A pillow princess, probably.
Prince?
Either way.
Joe would want me to take care of him.
And god…
My hand sped up as my fantasy evolved. Turned from teasing him. From easing into him. To snapping my hips. To the culmination of my teasing. To his meaty leg caught in the crook of my elbow as I pounded into him from behind just so I could feel his ass bounce.
Feel my balls bump his.
God.
I could only imagine what that would feel like. Intimate in a new way. I’d grind into him, just so they would rub together. Enjoy the way his little pants turned to whimpers when I moved faster, harder.
I could tip him over. I could push him onto his chest, yank his hips up. Could fuck him from behind fast and hard—then…right when he was on the edge. Right when he started shuffling his knees. Right when his toes curled. Right when he was—there. Ready.
I’d slow down.
Movements syrupy once more.
Pull back so excruciatingly slow I could feel his hole throb.
Maybe I could make him cry.
Let go, the way he had at the grocery store the day I’d held him. Not because everything was too much, too hard, too heavy. But because he felt good. Because I’d made him feel good.
When I came, I had to bite my knuckles not to moan.
My dick continued to throb for several long, excruciating seconds, cum spilling down the drain along with the apple-scented water.
My dick smelled like apples. The whole shower smelled like apples.
God, that was so fucking cute—that Joe owned an apple orchard and bought apple-scented hygiene products.
My skin was positively buzzing from my orgasm as I washed my hair—so it’d smell like Joe—just like the rest of me.
The guilt came after. Creeping up on me as I towel-dried myself—using Joe’s towel—and tried not to think about the fabric touching his cock, his balls, his ass.
Fuck. I wanted to wrap it around my dick and stroke, scratchy texture be damned.
“No.” God, where was my self-control?
This was a problem.
A problem that I apparently shared with Joe.
Because when I headed back to the bedroom I could hear him before I saw him.
Could hear his ragged breaths. Just like they’d been in my head.
I paused just outside the doorway, confused.
Through the crack I could see him, lying in the center of the mattress, his legs spread and up, the blanket a fort overtop them.
One of his hands flew up to his face, covering his mouth.
His eyes were pinched so tightly shut it looked like it hurt.
Or maybe that was the way his arm was moving, a slick schlick-schlick sound emitting so quietly from between his legs I wouldn’t have been able to hear if the world outside hadn’t been totally silent.
My cheeks went hot and I hurried away as quietly as I could to give him privacy.
In a daze, I threw together a pan of eggs on the stove, but my mind was elsewhere. Back in Joe’s room. Back on his face. How flushed it’d been. That big hand strangling his mouth to keep the noises quiet as he—
“You’re going to Hell,” I told myself for the second time in the last few weeks. “You’re going to Hell, Jason. Stop thinking about it. Stop—”
“Good morning,” Joe said from the doorway. I jerked so hard I nearly burned myself. Schooling my expression, I turned around to be greeted with the single most beautiful sight in the world. Sleepy, post-orgasmic Joe Milton.
He leaned against the doorway, blinking dopily, cheeks flushed. There was this sheen to his skin that made it positively glow. His hair stuck up in messy gold tufts, and the pillow creases on his cheeks were still there.
It took every ounce of self-control I had not to cross the room and shove my tongue down his throat.
Danger, danger.
Abort, abort, abort.
“Hiii,” my voice cracked maybe a little. Especially because his shirt was gone now. Like he’d taken it off. Because it’d gotten messy. And his pecs were just…ugh, fuck. Thick and bouncy, perky pink nipples poking straight out from the chill.
“I’m going to get the fire going,” Joe told me, though his tits were distracting me. God. I bet anything they were big enough I could fuck them. And wasn’t that a thought? Grabbing them, straddling his chest, and just…pushing my cock right between.
Hell, Jason.
Remember?
That’s where you’re going.
“I’m making eggs!” I announced like a total idiot. Joe, to his credit, didn’t look confused or surprised. He ducked his head, cheeks pink.
“Thanks,” he said sweetly, looking up at me through those pale, thick lashes like I’d just told him I was giving him my left kidney—not that I was scrambling embryos. Were eggs even embryos? I’d have to ask him to Google it.
“Uhhh no problem. Yep.” My cheeks were so hot it felt like my skin was boiling.
Joe left the kitchen, and because I was a very terrible, awful, bad man, I watched him go. Watched the dimples above his ass. And then his ass. Watched the way it flexed with each step and tried not to think about fucking him.
To no avail.
After we’d had breakfast we went right back to renovation. I was better today after Joe had taken the time to walk me through some of the basics. Nothing I did looked even remotely as good as what he did, but Joe never complained. He was very forgiving for a perfectionist.
All day we worked, squabbling, but in sync.
I made a lot of trips down into the basement. Mostly because the tools were down there—having been moved off the porch in preparation for the storm. My legs were on fire by the end of the day from all the crouching, and standing, and crouching, and stairs, and standing, and crouching.
So much so that I collapsed onto the air mattress after my shower without even thinking about my lust-haze from that morning.
Exhausted but pleased, because Joe had informed me that he thought we were pretty much done.
Aside from a few painting things—he’d said that more eloquently—and the baseboards.
I’d spent a good hour on his phone ordering even more furniture. An actual bed frame, for one thing. A real mattress. A dining table and chairs. A couch. Hell, I even ordered him a TV. Rugs, a bath mat—because yes, he did not in fact own one.
We’d gone from not-even-close to right-on-track with one very productive weekend.
I’d done my best not to think about my own feelings about returning to the real world.