6. One Hundred Percent Positive Reinforcement
ONE HUNDRED PERCENT POSITIVE REINFORCEMENT
Connor had surprised Jonathan, first by obeying, and again by breaking.
One surge, and he had Jonathan in the air like a partner lift. Instinct raised his hands to wrap around Connor’s shoulders and his legs to wrap around the other man’s waist.
His feet bumped the door as Connor’s corded forearms under his thighs jostled him into position, but then Connor spun and put the door at Jonathan’s back.
Connor plundered the breath from Jonathan’s lungs before his lips moved to Jonathan’s jaw, his neck, back to his lips, and then away again to follow the bone of Jonathan’s eye socket across his cheek and to his temple, as if tracing a blush.
He couldn’t help remembering Connor saying if they can’t imagine looking at glitter on their own skin.
He shuddered. This man was everywhere, enveloping him, surrounding him. He was big, so big, and he made Jonathan feel suspended at the top of a leap.
Connor thrust his cock through Jonathan’s crack, back and forth, trapping Jonathan’s balls in the exquisite heat between their bodies. His shaft felt like it was wrapped in Connor’s blond thatch, and each rub pressed his own aching head against Connor’s stomach.
Even Connor’s chest hair toyed with Jonathan, tickling him, caressing his nipples and sliding across his ribs like silken torture with each move Connor made.
Every time Connor pumped against Jonathan’s body, his waist flexed between Jonathan’s thighs and Jonathan’s spine skidded against the steel of the door.
“Won’t drop you.” He could both hear and feel Connor’s words against his skin.
Being handled by a much bigger guy was a wild turn-on. He was hard enough to shatter, and he wanted to empty all over the man who held him and be hollowed from it. Hallowed. Held. He wanted it all.
The slickness between their bodies increased. “Jack yourself,” Connor said.
The unexpected crudeness from a man who had been so obedient and almost sweet fired synapses inside Jonathan, and he shuddered, trapped between Connor’s chest and the door, fighting to last.
He let go of Connor’s shoulder with his right hand and pushed between their bodies to fist his own cock. His knuckles pressed into the solid heat of Connor’s stomach, where hair tickled the back of his hand.
“Yes. Fuck.” Connor leaked against Jonathan, the wetness helping Connor’s cock slide faster, but he never let Jonathan go. “Yes.”
He’d have fingerprints on the back of his thighs.
“Next time.” Connor’s hips picked up speed and his slippery cock pumped through Jonathan’s crack in rhythm with his words. “You’re gonna fuck me.”
Possibly he saw flashes of light at the edges of his mind from Connor’s words. The door was hard behind his back, Connor’s chest was hard against his, and his cock was hard in his own hand. So close.
“You’ll say roll over.” Connor’s voice was a fast rumble, tumbling words that filled Jonathan even as Connor’s hips sped their thrusts. “You’ll tell me to—to—”
He stuttered, then made an incoherent sound as he thrust harder between Jonathan’s ass cheeks. Harder and faster.
“What?” Jonathan moved his hand faster, too. “What will I tell you?”
Instead of answering, Connor gasped and grunted, out of words or lost chasing the pleasure waiting for them, but Jonathan’s mind created images of his cock disappearing between those round ass cheeks.
Those meaty thighs in his hands.
Loose blond curls in his fist.
That.
There was no fighting those images; his imagination ran off and his cock followed happily, switching the tight grip of his own fist into the tight heat of Connor’s body, and he broke.
His spine tightened, and his back bowed into the door.
The first spurt of cum let his hand glide easily, his skin sliding in his fist, the semen covering his hand and both of their stomachs, and more kept coming.
Then Connor’s mouth fastened hard on the dip at his collarbone, and he felt an echoing shudder as Connor groaned into Jonathan’s skin at the same time the warm burst of Connor’s orgasm spread across his hole, on his balls, dripping between his legs and all over his ass and thighs.
He was light and flying, and heavy and sinking, and this was pretty fucking wild, but Connor held him.
Held him in the air against a door.
A big jock, indeed.
They breathed loudly, and into each other’s hair.
Then Connor shifted his hold to use more of his chest and arms, and not as much thrusting thighs. Although he still felt the mess that remained, the thickness that had crowded his crack slipped away.
The next kisses were sweet, soft motions of Connor’s lips on the side of his neck that made his fluffy hair skim Jonathan’s cheek.
“S’good,” Connor murmured. Whether it was the kisses or the orgasm that slurred Connor’s speech didn’t matter as more words tumbled out of him, words that Jonathan could feel with each mutual exhale. “That was so good. Fuck, I needed that.”
He felt warm inside, pleased, because yes, that was an amazing feat of sex that deserved praise for and from both of them, and yet he suddenly felt an awkward discomfort at this odd intimacy.
Connor had him pressed into the door, not touching the floor, as if supporting another man like this was not an effort.
Jonathan needed to separate himself from the thing that they had just done before he screwed up the moment.
A flutter kicked at the spot in his chest where super-icy drinks gave him an ache, and he wanted to press on it with a hand that wasn’t covered in spunk. “Down, please.”
He slid the length of Connor’s body, the mess he’d left behind on their stomachs smearing and sticking to both of them. Honestly, Jonathan never liked that sensation. Porn and books and exes told him he was supposed to revel in it, but he didn’t, another thing he always got wrong.
For one moment, he set aside his need to get a wet towel, because his clean hand wrapped around Connor’s biceps and this really was not an everyday occurrence. He ought to pause and squeeze for a moment.
Connor’s tawny hazel eyes peeked out of the crinkles caused by a huge grin and even in the dim light Jonathan could see a dimple. He looked proud of himself, like a man who made absolutely no attempt to look jaded or downplay the intensity of what they’d done against the door.
Connor’s woodsy scent had blended onto his own skin now, and they had mixed so thoroughly that he was breathing Connor with each inhalation. Sex clung to both of them, not releasing Jonathan from its grasp like it always had in the aftermath of orgasm, and he didn’t understand why.
He didn’t like this. He was too sticky and this was too strange, too much.
He broke the eye contact and looked over Connor’s shoulder to the bathroom.
His need to clean the mess that had worked its way into too many places on his body must have shown, because Connor tilted his head toward the partially open door. “Race you.”
Of course, Connor had to address the pants tangled around his ankles, while Jonathan was both naked and nimble, so he beat Connor to the sink and found a washcloth from the handy stack of six, a number he’d never seen in a double hotel room, almost as if the proprietors knew they might be required for more than face-cleansing.
The water was warming before Connor stumbled into the space.
“Excuse me.” Even those simple words sounded smiley. Ugh.
It was difficult to concentrate on wringing out the washcloth and taking care of himself after a very naked Connor left the bathroom and crouched to clean the room door.
His big body balanced better than Jonathan had expected, going down smoothly and wiping circles on the faux wood door while he made some sort of small sounds. Humming? Was he humming?
Then Connor stood and turned back to face Jonathan. “I don’t think it would fool CSI, but at least it’s not disgusting.”
With the bathroom light fully illuminating his body through the open door, Jonathan understood that Connor was indeed covered in blond hair.
A wide mess of golden chest hair tapered and darkened as it grew denser down his stomach, and was maybe, possibly, groomed in the important places, then lightly covered his thighs and grew heavier again above his knees and down his calves.
“Like it?” Connor ran his hand between his pecs and down to his stomach, chasing the path Jonathan’s eyes had just followed. “It’s all me. I’m…a lot.”
Staring was probably rude, but he didn’t care. The sides of Connor’s waist, hips, and back had only light amounts of hair, but not none. His body was so different from Jonathan’s, or from anyone Jonathan had ever fucked.
“Enough of that.” Connor plucked the washcloth which Jonathan had not been using effectively out of his hand and tossed it next to the sink.
Then he scooped Jonathan into his arms, cradling him in the air with an arm behind his shoulders and the other under his knees, like Jonathan was some sort of trembling waif.
“What are you doing?” He sounded like an idiot, but if there was something clever to say, it was not available to either his brain or his mouth.
Connor laughed and maneuvered them sideways out the bathroom door. “You were taking too long.”
“You…you’re showing off!” They were crossing the room. He was a fully grown adult male, admittedly not a big one, but he didn’t think of himself as some sort of pocket gay, either, and yet he was in another man’s arms and that man was walking across a room.
“Mmm. Gotta use what you’ve got.” Connor looked down at Jonathan, and he resisted the urge to drop his hand to shield his cock. Which, he belatedly recognized, had not completely lost interest in new experiences. “Seems to be working for you.”