Chapter 11 Henry #3
Jamison groaned deep in his throat, but let me stop his movement.
He pulled back just far enough to meet my eyes.
“And what’s wrong with that?” he demanded.
“I want you to come. You’re hot when you come.
” He surged forward and pressed a deep kiss to my lips.
“I will if you will,” he gasped, his hips jerking involuntarily.
The renewed pressure on my cock was just this side of too much, my skin exquisitely sensitive in this moment. “Let me at least…” I gasped, forcing a hand between us. I pulled down the front of my boxer briefs and then the front of his underwear and grasped our cocks together in my fist.
“Oh shit,” he moaned. “Yessss.”
It was dry and stung a little as I began to move my fist, but I was too far gone to care, and it seemed like he was in the same position, because he didn’t protest beyond another whine in his throat.
I jerked us together and pressed my lips hard to his, thrusting my tongue into his mouth in the same rhythm.
My other hand I slipped into the back of his briefs, one finger brushing lightly over his crease.
His hips jerked out of rhythm in response to that, and I did it again, pressing slightly deeper this time until I felt the skin of his hole.
Without any lube, that was as far as I could go, but I took advantage of the position and began to put pressure on his pucker every time his humping threw his weight back against my hand.
He was moaning continuously now, and I swallowed each sound eagerly.
The tingle returned to my balls and I lifted my hips to press harder against him.
His hand, which had been braced against the back of the couch next to my head, drifted around to my chest and he tweaked my left nipple, and that was it.
My hips locked, my head flew back, and I groaned out my orgasm as I spurted against him.
It seemed to last forever, and I was only peripherally aware of Jamison’s gasp and his tensing against me as he released over my hand and stomach.
He sagged against me as I came back to myself, smearing our combined cum between our stomachs, but I couldn’t find it in me to complain.
I was too relaxed, my heart pounding but my muscles loose.
Jamison giggled faintly into my neck. “Holy shit.”
I exhaled slowly and pulled my cleaner hand out of his briefs to run it soothingly up his back. “‘Holy shit’ is right. Damn.”
“I knew that first time wasn’t a fluke. Not with you as hot and sweet as you are.”
“You make me sound like a latte,” I joked, carefully prying my hand away from our dicks and hiding my wince at the oversensitivity I was feeling post-orgasm.
He snuggled against me, smearing our cooling cum a little more. Was it pleasant? No. Was I going to object? Also no. “I’d drink you,” he told me, his words muffled by my skin where his mouth was pressed against it.
I groaned dramatically. “Give a guy some recovery time.”
Snorting a laugh, he wiggled his hips playfully. “You mean I didn’t earn the instant-hard-on followup option? After that performance? I was robbed!”
“It was quite a performance,” I agreed, putting on a grave intonation. “A++, ten out of ten. Would frot again.”
“Five stars, definitely.” With a reluctant whine, he pulled back just enough to let his underwear snap back into place. “Ew, cum is a lot less pleasant when it’s smeared in my briefs.”
That snapped me to attention. What kind of host - lover? - was I? You were supposed to clean up your lover after you came all over them! “I can…” I began, straightening up from where I had been slouched against the back of the couch. “Let me get something to wipe us up.”
“Hmm.” He allowed himself to be manhandled off my lap and set down on the couch next to me. As I stood, he slumped sensually into the cushions and waved a lordly hand at me. “Off you go, then.”
Hiding my eyeroll by turning away, I went into the bathroom and retrieved a washcloth, which I ran under warm water for a few seconds.
When I returned to the living room with the damp cloth in hand, I found Jamison petting Curie with his eyes closed.
It made a picture that was somehow both hot - cum-covered man in a post-orgasm haze - and adorable - man cooing over a furry cat - at the same time.
I wasn’t sure how to feel about that, so I said nothing and focused on leaning down to wipe off his stomach.
I thought for a moment about cleaning his groin as well, but decided that might be a little invasive, and instead I handed the cloth to him so he could do it.
He gave his junk a few swipes and then handed the washcloth back to me and watched avidly as I cleaned myself off. I met his eyes with a raised eyebrow and he shrugged helplessly. “What, you’re hot!”
I darted back into the bathroom to dump the washcloth into the hamper and then returned to the living room, settling onto the couch next to him. His hand came over and settled companionably on my thigh and I caught my breath. “I’m hot when covered with smeared cum and sweat?” I queried skeptically.
He nodded vigorously. “Absolutely. Especially when it’s my cum.” He wiggled his eyebrows and made a caveman-style clubbing motion with his fist. “Mine.”
“You’re weird, anyone ever tell you that?”
“All the time, sweetheart.” He grinned. “It’s part of my charm. So.” The hand on my thigh tightened slightly and then relaxed again and his expression grew more serious. “So that happened. Sorry not sorry for attacking you.”
I couldn’t hold in my snort. “Dude, attack me like that any time. Any time. Damn.”
That got a smile out of him. “I swear I didn’t come over here intending to jump you, though. Just wanted to say that. I genuinely like hanging out with you. The sex was just a bonus.”
That had been a hell of a bonus. I was still shaky from that orgasm, and I felt like my brain wasn’t all accounted for.
I knew in the back of my mind that I ought to be freaking out a little more than I was, but it was like the anxiety-focused brain cells just couldn’t activate under the rush of post-orgasm endorphins.
Huh, maybe I needed to jerk off more often. But then, jerking off had never left me feeling this languid.
“Hen?” Jamison promoted, squeezing my leg again. “You ok?”
“Huh?” I managed. “Oh, uh, yeah. Was just thinking.”
He narrowed his eyes at me thoughtfully. “Thinking, or overthinking? I know enough about you to suspect it was the latter.”
I shrugged. “Weirdly, it was a little of both. I was thinking about how odd it was that I wasn’t overthinking. At least yet.”
Without warning, Jamison picked his hand up off my thigh and replaced it with his whole body, clambering onto my lap without a by-your-leave.
He rested his forearms against the back of the couch and laid his head on my shoulder.
“Don’t overthink. This was fun. It doesn’t need to mean anything more than that. ”
My stomach plunged sharply. I knew, logically, that he probably didn’t mean anything negative by it, that he was probably just trying to leave us an out so things didn’t get weird.
But that didn’t help the sharp pain of hearing someone I was coming to like, a lot, basically tell me that our sex had meant nothing.
I swallowed. “I know,” I managed to say, only slightly hoarsely. “Just some fun.” Wow, that hurt to say.
Jamison stilled against me, tensing, and then relaxed. “Sure, like I said. Fun.” Was there a hint of weakness in his voice, or was that just my wishful thinking? Before I could decide, he sat up straight and pulled his head off my shoulder so he could meet my eyes. “I should probably, uh…”
I didn’t manage to get any words out before he was scrambling off my lap and standing up beside the couch to reach for his jeans. Curie, as startled as me by the sudden flurry of movement, puffed her tail out and hissed.
Same, sister. Same.
Jamison wiggled into his jeans - an act that looked extremely uncomfortable given how tight those things were - and buttoned them without looking at me. “So I, uh…” he began, then stopped. “You can keep the vodka,” he picked up again after a moment, to my utter confusion. Vodka? Huh?
“Wha?” I managed.
“The vodka.” He gestured toward the kitchen. “It was an extra bottle, so just…you know, hold onto it for the next time you need a drink.”
“But you -” I started, not entirely sure where I was going with that sentence but pretty sure it would be more on topic than keep the vodka had been.
He offered me a quick smile and reached for his shoes.
“Maybe we can have more next time I come over.” He stopped short there, one shoe halfway on, and shook his head.
“I mean, not that I’m inviting myself…that is…
” He clamped his lips together and went back to applying his shoe with a singular focus.
What the hell was going on? Jamison was acting like me on an anxious day, all sputtered utterances and random pauses for self-recrimination.
Was that it? Was he feeling sorry for what had just happened? I hid a wince and rubbed at the pain that brought to my chest. I hoped he hadn’t felt pressured just because I had my pants off. But then, he’d been the one to order my pants off in the first place, so surely not…?
God, I was confused. There was only room for one of us to be an awkward mess in this relationship at a time, and he was stealing my thunder.
Not that this was a relationship. Fuck, get it together, Hen.
Say something before he runs out of here.
“You’re welcome here any time,” I managed to get out, sounding more solemn than the playful tone I’d aimed for.
“With or without vodka.” There, I’d gotten my point across.
Maybe a little awkwardly, but still, I’d said he was welcome back. “I’m sorry if I…”
Nope, stop there, Henry Rodriguez, before you make it any more awkward. I clamped my mouth shut.
Jamison finally had both shoes on. He patted his pockets, probably checking for his phone and his keys, and turned for the door.
“I had fun today,” he told me over his shoulder in a voice that completely failed to convince me he’d had anything of the sort.
“Thanks for the braiding lesson.” And with that, he was out my front door.
What the fuck had just happened?