Chapter 15 #2
He was vaguely aware of Jax moving them, walking him backward through the apartment, but Tom couldn’t focus on anything except how to get more. More touch, more heat, more of Jax’s tongue, teasingly dipping in and out of his mouth. When the backs of his legs hit the couch, he nearly fell.
Jax caught him around the waist and held him steady. “I want to make you feel good,” he said.
“You always do.”
Jax groaned as if he was the one who had revealed something embarrassing. He pulled away to look at Tom. “I love you this way.”
“What way?”
“All…soft.” He tugged at Tom’s T-shirt. “I know you’re probably not…into that, but I want to wrap you up in cashmere and silk and make you feel so…fucking…good.” He punctuated each word with a kiss.
Tom had never owned anything made of either material, but the thought of it, of Jax picking out nice fabrics for him to wear, pretty things, made Tom flush with agitated desire.
He wanted intensely at the mere thought, but he knew he couldn’t have.
He wasn’t the kind of guy who got to have pretty or gentle or soft.
Jax had seen the embarrassing core of him that wanted to be held and touched as though he were precious.
When whatever they were doing ended, Tom would need to live with having been known for every pathetic part of himself and then losing that unbearable intimacy.
If Jax left a physical reminder—some pretty clothing he’d chosen with Tom in mind—Tom wouldn’t be able to handle it.
“Just…fuck me,” he said, lightyears from what he wanted and yet as close as he would get.
“In a minute. First, I wanna try something.”
Jax pushed Tom’s sweatpants off his hips and spun him around until he leaned over the couch in only his T-shirt. “Tell me if you hate this.”
Tom had enough time to wonder about the location of Jax’s voice, coming not from right behind Tom’s head where he’d expected to hear it but farther away. And then Jax licked into him.
“Oh!” Tom cried out, hips bucking away on instinct.
They had nowhere to go, though, except deeper into the plush cushions of the couch.
Jax followed him down, his hands firm on either side of Tom’s ass.
He held Tom open so he could reach with his tongue, the sensation odd, warm, and wet where Tom expected neither of those things.
Beyond the shock of it, at first it didn’t feel of much.
But the longer Jax kept at it, licking over and over that patch of skin, the more sensitive it became.
Jax had a little stubble, and Tom could already tell he’d be sensitized, itchy, raw, and squirming in his seat tomorrow—a heady, sensual thought.
Jax pulled away. “Your ass is the most perfect thing in the world, I swear to God.” He dove back in immediately.
Tom reached behind to grab onto Jax’s hair, and Jax groaned into his skin, the sound making goosebumps break out all over Tom’s body.
Eventually, Jax moved on to stabbing right into Tom’s hole with his tongue.
It felt good, though still nowhere near as good as Jax’s fingers or his cock.
But when Jax pulled away and rose to his feet, he said, “Tom, I need to be inside you now, or I’m gonna die.
” He accompanied this by pressing the entire length of his body against Tom’s, and oh, he was so hard, a hot line against the curve of Tom’s ass, practically shaking with how badly he needed to get inside.
If rimming did this to Jax, Tom would take it.
Neither of them had thought to leave lube or condoms by the couch before Jax crash-landed them there, making an interruption necessary.
“Stay here,” Jax said, with a firm pat to Tom’s tailbone. He returned so quickly Tom didn’t so much as get cold. Somewhere en route, Jax had lost his shirt and his pants, and he plastered himself to Tom’s back, all hot, naked skin and slippery fingers.
Prep went faster this time. The rim job had relaxed Tom, and it had only been a day since they’d last had sex.
Eagerness made Jax sloppy. He kept a running commentary on how hot he found Tom, how turned on he was, and how badly he needed it as he raced through slicking up Tom’s hole.
That more than anything else made Tom squirm against the cushions.
The soft fabric dragged against his cock, and with Jax behind him, surrounding him on all sides, heat and desire cocooned him.
“Please,” he said, wondering if there’d ever be a time when Jax touching him didn’t make him beg for more.
This time, Jax was right there with him, needy and wanting. He lined up and drove home, chin hooking over Tom’s shoulder. “God, Tom, you don’t even know. The things I’d do to you. You’re—”
“Do them,” Tom gasped, and then Jax gripped his hips so tight Tom knew it would leave bruises.
Jax fucked him then, nothing like last night, not as slow and gentle and exploratory.
He didn’t slow down to make it good for Tom; Jax took what he needed, and Tom discovered he loved being what Jax needed.
“Come on,” he said. “Come on, more.”
Jax made a nearly inhuman sound. He fucked into Tom harder at just the right angle, and Tom cried out into the cushions.
The pace drove him against the couch harder and harder, the friction of the velour softer than he needed, a teasing pressure which gave under his hips when he wanted to rub up against it.
“I need you to come,” Jax said.
Tom felt every word on his skin. “For you,” he said nonsensically. “I wanna come for you.”
“You’re so perfect.” Jax bit into the side of Tom’s neck, ground into his prostate exactly right, and Tom came all over the couch cushions, too much and not enough and hot and wet and good.
After, every inch of his skin went oversensitive. It made him sob when Jax kept moving. He would have taken it anyway, wanted it, even, but Jax pulled out before he could say anything.
“I’m gonna,” Jax said, followed by the slap of skin on skin, and then only a few seconds later, Jax’s come hit the back of his thighs and his ass.
It was warm, and when it dripped down between his thighs, it tickled. Tom squirmed on the couch.
“Shit,” Jax panted. He sounded more winded than a practice with Trout had ever gotten him. “Shit, sorry. I’ll get you cleaned up.”
He stumbled off toward the bathroom. Tom let his head rest on the cushions as he drifted.
Jax returned with a warm, wet towel and carefully dabbed across Tom’s ass and thighs, spreading his legs to get the drops that had slid down between them. “You okay to move, baby?”
Didn’t sound appealing, but Tom figured he had to at some point. He got to his feet slowly and examined himself. His come stained the bottom of his shirt as well as the couch cushions where he’d been lying.
“You should always dress this way,” Jax said, sounding oddly sincere.
“I look like Winnie the Pooh.”
“You look like you got fucked within an inch of your life.”
Tom considered. “Two things can be true.” He hitched his discarded sweatpants up and sat on the clean side of the couch while Jax dabbed ineffectually at the cushions with his towel. “It’s fine,” Tom said. “I’ll turn them over or something.”
“It will just happen again on the other side.”
Would it? Good to know.
Jax came around the couch and collapsed next to Tom. “Was that, um…was that okay for you?”
“What do you mean?”
“I kind of went for it. I was…so into it. So into you.”
Tom gave it a moment’s consideration. “I really liked how much you liked it. The rimming, I mean. Sensation-wise, it felt fine, I guess, but I mostly enjoyed the part where you were desperate to have me.”
Jax let his head fall back with a groan. “You can’t say sexy things for at least an hour. Forty minutes, maybe.”
“You staying for dinner, then?”
A troubled expression stole across Jax’s face, but it cleared away so fast Tom didn’t have a chance to react. “If there’s a round two after, sure.”
Good. A clear objective would keep Tom’s mind from romantic daydreams.
They ate Vietnamese takeout on the couch with some dumb home improvement show on in the background. Tom’s mom texted about the game, and he tapped out a thank-you without reading what she’d written. He didn’t want to waste his time with Jax thinking about her.
Jax told Tom about the shelter, the kids he’d met, the coordinator who had scared the crap out of him.
Tom forced his shoulders to relax and his expression to reveal nothing as Jax spoke.
He pushed through the discomfort the way he’d work out a sore muscle.
The more Tom focused on the end date, the more he’d be ready for the hurt.
He couldn’t make Jax smile the way talking about the shelter did, excited and wistful all at once.
He couldn’t fill Jax’s life with purpose.
All Tom had to offer were thoughts on the penalty kill, and as much as Jax appreciated those, Tom knew he needed more.
After dinner, they were both tired and lethargic.
They’d agreed to something, to give Jax a reason to stay, but the best Tom could offer was lazy hand jobs on the couch.
They left the TV on, and it took a while for Jax to get off because he kept getting distracted by the baffling choices on House Hunters.
He had thoughts about sconces, apparently.
By the time they finally finished, it had gotten so late it only made sense for Jax to stay over.
In the morning, Tom woke to Jax easing away carefully and picking his clothes up off the floor. Tom kept his breathing even and his eyes closed, but he couldn’t help the sharp intake of breath when Jax kissed his cheek.
“I have to go home and pack,” Jax whispered. “Get some more rest, baby.”
After he left, Tom stared at the ceiling for twenty minutes before giving up on sleep and getting up.
He was in such deep shit.