Chapter Twenty-Five
Phoenix
Jesus Christ. I shouldn’t be doing this. It’s wrong. So, so wrong. Despite his words, his begging, pleading, seductive words that promise me anything I want— everything —Jackson clearly isn’t into this. Not physically, anyway.
The man’s dick isn’t even chubbed up. Not even a little.
So, there’s no way he’s turned on by what we’re doing. Not the way I am.
And yet, I can’t deny that I am turned on. So very fucking turned on. Even knowing that Jackson’s dick is limp as a wet noodle.
My stomach is still swarming with guilt and enjoyment—so much enjoyment, sooo much guilt—over essentially humping myself to a mindless orgasm against Jackson’s prone form this morning. I have no idea why I did that. There are too many people, of any gender, that are interested and eager to willingly have sex with me, that I just as eagerly took them up on, that I normally don’t turn my attention toward somebody who isn’t.
But, fuck, Jackson is… Jackson seems to be the exception to a lot of things in my life.
My conscience needles and jabs at me that Jackson’s emotions might be muddled by the bond between us, forged by trauma and the circumstances of our kidnapping and escape. He’s clearly desperate that nothing comes between the two of us; perhaps, he let me do what I did purely to keep me close to him.
Or perhaps his participation was driven by fear. My family and I are Jackson’s best bet for a fast and relatively easy return to the States. Could he be worried that he’ll be left to fend for himself unless he appeases me? I’d like to think that he knows me better than that. No matter what the nature of our relationship, even if it needs to stay strictly platonic, I’ll always take care of Jackson.
No, I have to believe that Jackson knows that. So, maybe it’s gratitude. Gratitude, that I got him out of that box. Gratitude, that I killed somebody to get us free. Gratitude, that because of me, he’s now safe, clean, and, shortly enough, on his way home.
God damn, my guilt and concern over why Jackson let me touch him, let me near him at all, is almost enough to have me jerking my way away from him again.
I can’t even allow myself the forgiving grace of knowing it had been a week since my last orgasm. Obviously, the circumstances of being fucking kidnapped hadn’t lent themselves toward arousal or horniness, but it’s not as though I haven’t gone at least as long, or even longer, between sexual encounters. So, sure I’d been a bit pent up, but that doesn’t explain the overwhelming, uncontrollable need I’d felt for physical intimacy with Jackson.
It certainly doesn’t explain why I’m still feeling that need. Less than twelve hours since I came in my fucking pants and now…now…all I can think is that this time I want my cum splattering onto and decorating Jackson’s skin, rather than pooling uselessly inside my underwear.
I want it so badly, I’m willing to ignore the strident voice inside my head telling me that I shouldn’t. That it’s wrong of me to take advantage of Jackson.
Although…Jackson is the one who initiated our first kiss. And our second. So, maybe… Maybe I should take Jackson’s words at face value. Jackson hasn’t come right out and said that he’s straight. Although, he also hasn’t said that he isn’t. The whole thing is confusing.
“You’re sure?” I ask desperately, needing, fucking needing him to say yes.
The teasing smile curving Jackson’s mouth says that he’s not confused or uncertain. Neither is the way he tangles his fingers in my hair and tugs my head down until he can nibble at my lips.
“Am I gonna have to beg?” he asks. “Actually, pretty sure I’ve been beggin’ you.”
And, Jesus. Is that… Fuck, that’s Jackson’s other hand on my ass. Urging me to press closer and tighter against him.
“Do I have to keep on beggin’ you, Phee? Didn’t take you fer bein’ so mean.”
Motherf— Fine. With nothing else to do, I opt to take Jackson at his word. I want to take Jackson at his word; it’ll give me what I want, anyway.
It’s still a little disconcerting to not feel an answering hardness when I press my own hard and aching dick against Jackson’s groin. And I’m almost tempted to delve my hand back inside his loosened pants to see if I can rouse any sort of response from him. Physical stimulation is physical stimulation, after all, right?
“Anything. Do anything at all, Phee. Take me. Take anything,” Jackson whispers against the side of my jaw before he begins pressing kisses to the hollow behind my ear.
Despite the blatantly vocalized invitation, I can’t bring myself to risk reaching for Jackson’s dick. It feels like too much to chance that I could force him to get hard. He’s saying yes now, but what if touching him where he’s soft, reminding him of his lack of physical interest, changes that yes into a no?
But what I can do is go for my own dick. It’s stiff and uncomfortably confined in my pants, so, resting my weight partially on my left arm, which is wedged between Jackson’s body and the back cushions of the couch, and partially on Jackson beneath me, I reach my right hand down to unbutton and unzip my linen shorts. I sigh in relief when I pull my hard dick free. The tip is already wet from pre-cum and I know it probably won’t take me long to come.
“Are you… Oh, Jesus, are you touching your dick?”
I grunt in answer to Jackson’s question.
“What about me? Can I touch it?”
Shiiit . A heavy pulse of more pre-cum spurts from my slit. How can such a simple question manage to sound both innocent and devilishly seductive?
I think about it. I really, really do. I can’t deny that I would love to have Jackson’s hands on me, any part of me. But, God, the idea of his hands on my cock…
“Next time,” I pant. “Next time, I promise.”
My dick is throbbing within the tight grip of my hand and I’m jerking it fast, because, holy fuck, I’m unbelievably almost there. My orgasm is definitely about to hit. I doubt Jackson would even be able to get his hand on my cock and stroke it for more than a second or two before I blow.
“Oh.”
He sounds disappointed by my refusal, so I tell him again, “You can do it…next time. Okay?”
“Ugh. Fine.” Jackson’s huff of acquiescence blows hot against my earlobe and I shudder.
Another shudder racks through me as Jackson’s thumb sweeps over my nipple, then begins thrumming the pebbled nub. Jesus, the action sends pleasure shooting straight down from my chest to my cock and I start stroking myself faster. Harder. Squeezing my shaft just that little bit extra right where I like it, just before the flare of the head.
A hot, slick tongue licks the tender flesh of my earlobe. And then it’s being sucked into the hot, wet, lushness of Jackson’s mouth and…I’m coming. Oh fuck , I’m coming.
“ Aaaaagghhh …" A garbled moan tumbles from my mouth as spurt after uncontrollable spurt of cum shoots out of me.
“Oh, Phee. Yesss .“ Jackson sounds as lust-drunk as I feel. If I didn’t know better, I’d think he’d been the one to orgasm and not me. “Thank you. Oh, thank you.”
I grunt some nonsensical sound at him because there’s absolutely nothing for him to be thanking me for. Unless it’s for using him, again, as some sort of sexual aid and then getting cum on what he’s wearing. I try to catch it all in my hand, but I ‘m not able to. Some of it definitely dribbles out of my cupped palm and onto his clothes.
Jackson turns my head until he can reach my mouth, then he lays a series of kisses against my lips, each one slow and savoring. It’s like he’s trying to taste my satisfaction on my lips.
I’m happy to let him kiss me, and to kiss him in return. But soon enough, the pool of cum in my hand cools into a sticky glob. So, I reluctantly pull my mouth away from his and tell him, “I should go clean up.” Which I then quickly amend to, “ We should go clean up," thinking of the cum that also landed on him.
“Hmm. Good idea,” Jackson agrees. “Once we do, you wanna finish watching the movie? Can’t say as I’m particularly invested in it, but if you want to…”
Honestly, putting a movie on was just an excuse I used to spend more time with him before we turned in for the night. I figured that once we were in the same bed again, I’d be tempted to jump him and I’d been honorably trying to avoid that for as long as possible. Of course, I hadn’t anticipated that Jackson would be the one to make a move on me first.
I should probably stop doing that. For all that Jackson seems reticent and passive around other people, he certainly hasn’t had any issue with going after what he wants with me.
“No, that’s okay,” I reply. “I’ve already seen it before. Why don’t we just head to bed? We’ll get cleaned up, throw some pajamas on…”
“Or not,” Jackson counters with a wink.
Fuck, my mind boggles at the thought of climbing into bed with Jackson with no clothing on to come between us. That Jackson is the one suggesting it…
“Yeah, or not,” I agree, my voice rough and gravelly with a renewed surge of lust.
Jackson pokes at my stomach, offers me a cheeky grin, then says, “Last one to the bathroom’s a rotten egg.”