Chapter 11 Henry #2
“Service kink. Getting turned on by someone serving you.”
That didn’t clear up a whole lot regarding the non sequitur. “Uh…no, I don’t think so?” I managed.
“Hmm.” He looked back down at his hands, then up at me again through his lashes. “Because you seem highly fascinated with what I’m doing and I’m fairly sure your dick is getting in on the action.”
“I, uh,” I coughed. “I was just watching…I don’t know how to…” Shit, this was embarrassing. I cleared my throat. “It’s interesting?” I managed weakly.
“Mmhm.” He sewed another stitch. The hole was almost closed, leaving behind a small seam. If I hadn’t been distracted by my embarrassment, I would probably have been impressed by his needlework. “So you don’t see anything you like?”
What was the right answer to that? I could deny it, but a) he’d know I was lying, and b) it would mean cutting off whatever was lurking between us. Or I could tell the truth and run the risk of making him uncomfortable and embarrassing myself further. How had I gotten myself into this position?
Oh, right, I’d let Jamison talk me into taking off my pants for him. Again. For a different reason this time.
“I’ll take that as a no,” he said quietly, startling me out of my spiraling thoughts.
“What?” I blurted. “No! I didn’t mean…” Shit.
“What I meant was…” Damn. I took a breath, held it for a second, and tried again.
“I always like what I see when I look at you. But you’re doing me a favor, not trying to hit on me, so I didn’t want to, you know…
” I circled my hand in the air as if that could convey a meaning I, myself, wasn’t even sure of.
He pulled gently on the loose thread and suddenly the rip in my jeans zipped together perfectly.
Jamison smiled in satisfaction at his work and tied off the thread.
“There.” He patted the jeans in his lap and reached for the tiny scissors that had come in the sewing kit, snipping off the end of the thread.
Then he turned the jeans right-side out and handed them to me.
“You can put these back on,” he said, and I started to stand before I realized that his intonation wasn’t that of the end of a sentence.
I paused, waiting for him to go on. “Or,” he said, drawing out the word, “you could leave them off and I could take mine off too.”
He was going to take his pants off? Yes, please! I tried not to look too eager. “You don’t have to…” I began, but he raised a hand to stop me.
“I have no idea where you were going with that,” he told me, “but nothing you’ve done or said has made me feel like I have to take my pants off. Want to, however…yeah. That.” He slipped the scissors and the needle back into the sewing kit and set it on the coffee table, then regarded me steadily.
He wanted to take his pants off for me? My eyes widened. He wanted to take his pants off for me! Oh shit, was this real? I gaped at him for a second before catching myself and snapping my mouth shut. “You can…” I gestured to his lower half. “Any time.”
“What’ll you give me if I do?” he asked teasingly, reaching down to toy with the button of his fly.
Give him? My brain was vapor-locked as I watched his fingers. I couldn’t think, and speaking was beyond me for the moment. Unable to stop myself, I watched my hand stretch out and join his on his fly. Oh my god, Hen, what are you doing? He didn’t say you could touch!
Jamison’s hand stopped moving and he twined his fingers through mine where mine lay on top of his. He gave me a reassuring squeeze. “You can say ‘stop’,” he reminded me. “Any time.”
And then he freed his hand and undid his button.
I watched, slack-jawed, as he drew his zipper down, revealing a hint of a pair of purple briefs and a half-hard cock.
Jamison paused for a moment, giving me a chance to protest - I said nothing - and then lifted his hips and slid down his pants, exposing the rest of himself to me.
He was gorgeous. Taut thighs with a sprinkling of brown hair on them, a shade darker than what was on his head. A bulge in his briefs that I knew all too well constituted a gorgeous, slim dick with a pink head.
I licked my lips, wanting to get my mouth on that dick the way I hadn’t during our one night together, but I held back, watching as he finished divesting himself of his pants and dropped them on the floor.
Curie, who had been regarding us haughtily from her pillow, promptly sauntered over and made herself a nest in the discarded garment.
Jamison and I looked at each other and burst out laughing. How could I be achingly hard and laughing my ass off at the same time? If you’d asked me before now, I’d have said that wasn’t physically possible. And yet…
“It’s like she was just waiting for me to make them available,” Jamison said through a giggle. “Maybe I should have stripped as soon as I walked into the house.”
“I wouldn’t have said no,” I agreed with a grin. “You’re welcome to strip any time you come over here, I guarantee it.”
His laughter died and he regarded me heatedly, then reached out to trail a finger over my lips. I flicked my tongue out to touch his fingertip, and he squeaked and yanked his hand back, then glared at me. “Rude.”
I just smirked. “You taste good.”
“I probably taste like a metal needle.”
I licked my lips theatrically and put on a thoughtful expression. “Nope,” I said finally. “You taste like you.”
“Hmm.” He looked down at himself where his shirt hung down, partially covering his lap. “If I’m going to give you a show, I suppose I should make it so you can actually see the goods.”
I lifted a hand to cup the side of his face, letting my fingers explore the planes of his cheek. “Whatever you want to do, Jamison.” I wasn’t going to order him to strip, but was I hoping? Oh, yeah.
He grinned cheekily at me. “I’ll take off mine if you take off yours.”
That was a deal I could live with. Eagerly, I stripped off my shirt and tossed it to the floor, sucking in my belly just slightly.
I wasn’t fat, but still, you wanted to make a good impression when you stripped for someone, and I couldn’t exactly impress him with a six-pack no matter how much I sucked in.
In response, Jamison drew his shirt off more slowly, then carefully folded it and set it beside him on the couch. I couldn’t tear my eyes away from his nipples, which were hard little buds begging for my attention. Of its own accord, my right hand stole out and flicked one of the little nubs.
Jamison gasped and his eyes flew to me, huge behind the lenses of his glasses.
The next thing I knew, he’d yanked the elastic off the end of my braid and his hands were sifting through my hair, unweaving it.
They tightened slightly, drawing my head toward him, and our eyes met.
Jamison paused the pressure long enough to let me pull away if I wanted, but I was well beyond that.
I gazed into his eyes and smiled slightly, then closed the gap between us and put my lips on his.
It was like coming home. Bits and pieces of memories of our first night together surfaced in my brain like popcorn, jumping up and making themselves known, then subsiding.
Our first kiss at the bar. Stumbling into his apartment joined at the mouth.
Taking off our clothes, his mouth on my cock, the sensation of sinking into his hot, tight body.
I whimpered into his mouth under the onslaught of images.
In response, his tongue slipped into my mouth and ran over my teeth, and I felt more than I heard his muffled groan.
A second later, his warm body blanketed me as he scrambled into my lap, straddling my legs. “So hot,” he mumbled into my mouth.
Jesus Christ. His dick brushed against mine through our underwear and I swear I would have gone off right then and there if I’d had a smidgen less self-control. I managed to hold back and instead lifted a hand to cup the back of his neck, holding him to me as we kissed.
We stayed like that for long minutes, grinding lightly together and kissing as if we didn’t need to breathe.
We weren’t even naked, our hands were still above the waist, and this was still nearly the hottest sexual experience of my life, second only to our night together.
I dropped my left hand and cupped his ass, drawing him closer to me and forcing our dicks together.
Obediently, he ground his hips down and we both gasped.
“Shiiit,” he moaned. “Why are you so fucking hot?”
I chuffed out a laugh into his mouth and pulled back far enough to say, “I think you’ve got us confused.”
He drew away from me, pressing his hands to my thighs behind himself and leaning back to give me elevator eyes.
“Nope,” he drawled. “Pretty sure I had it right the first time. Why are you so fucking hot, I demand to know.” Without waiting for an answer, he sank one hand back into my hair and yanked me forward, accidentally almost unseating himself as my weight threw him.
I quickly circled my free arm around his hips before he could hit the floor, which had the side effect of putting our dicks into full contact.
Jamison yelped, then turned it into a moan.
He shifted his weight forward again, pressing me into the back of the couch.
I went obediently. There was nothing about this moment that I wasn’t enjoying.
He began a rhythmic grind against me, writhing on my lap as we made out. My grip on his ass tightened until I was sure I was leaving marks, but I couldn’t bring myself to let go. He was just going to have to live with a bruise or two, because this was too good to stop.
I felt the telltale tingle rising in my balls, that electric sensation of warmth that presaged an orgasm.
Neither of us had even touched the other’s cock and I was going to come already?
That was just embarrassing. “Stop,” I whined, tightening my hand another notch to force his hips to slow down. “Gonna come if you don’t.”