9. Roman
Roman
Twisting the doorknob, I enter Jude’s bedroom. He’s in front of the dresser, staring at a picture frame in his hand. As the door shuts behind me, he tucks the frame into the top drawer. “Is dinner ready?” he asks.
When I don’t reply, he turns around. His gaze immediately falls to the boner in my pants. The somber look on his face vanishes, and I don’t need to ask why his eyebrows are shooting up to his hairline. It’s been a while since he has seen me in a state like this.
I’m glad he can’t read my mind. Otherwise, he’d know exactly why I’m having my first erection in... I can’t recall the last time I’ve been turned on enough to want to fuck someone. He’d find out that my body had an insane, carnal response to a goddamn twenty-two-year-old.
And not just any twenty-two-year-old, either.
A smirk forms on Jude’s lips as he approaches me. “Thought you’d forgotten the way to my room,” he murmurs.
What I’d like to forget is Taylor’s naked body.
I want to forget those taut pink nipples.
That toned stomach. The beautiful organ resting between his sculpted thighs, and how the sight of him had triggered a spark I haven’t felt in fifteen long years.
I want to forget how, for one diabolical moment, I had an urge to explore every inch of his gorgeous frame.
I don’t know what was wrong with me—what is still wrong with me.
Because the urge to do so hasn’t gone away.
I grab Jude’s belt, yanking him toward me. He makes a delighted rumble in his throat as I unbutton his pants. “Thanks for saving me a trip,” he mutters, making me aware that he had plans to go into town. I will never understand his obsession with getting laid almost every night, but it’s his body.
And I appreciate it whenever he shares it with me.
He grunts as I turn him and slide the jean fabric over his hips. Reaching around, I grip his cock, and it swells under my touch. I can’t help but compare it to what I saw earlier. Jude is thick at the base, slender at the tip. Taylor is smaller and thinner, with a mushroom-shaped head.
Now I’m thinking of sliding between Taylor’s thighs and taking that head in my mouth.
Oh, fuck me.
Desperately trying to erase the image, I nudge Jude forward, pressing him against the dresser.
He pulls the top drawer open and takes out a condom packet, and I glimpse his mother’s smiling face in the picture frame before he closes it.
I grab a bottle of lube, and he moans when I squeeze a generous amount between his ass cheeks.
He arches his back. I slide my cock inside him.
Tension coils through his arms as he grips the dresser. He meets my eyes in the mirror. “Don’t hold back. I can take it,” he assures me in a whisper.
But for once, I don’t have that raging desire to pound his body into the furniture.
I take it nice and slow, thrusting long and deep.
One hand grips the back of his head, the other on his hip, my eyes fixed on where our bodies meet.
My glistening cock gliding through him has always been my favorite thing to see.
Until now.
My entire body shudders. My cock thickens. Jude moans, riding and taking me deeper. It feels amazing being inside his body, yet my mind keeps wandering, drifting back to Taylor’s bedroom.
Jude reaches around to grip the back of my head. His eyelids droop with lust as he rocks against me. “Whatever you’re doing, don’t stop,” he pants. “It feels so fucking good.”
What I’m doing—what I’m thinking— is so damn sinful. I’m thinking of Taylor pressed against the headboard, knees to his chest, begging for me to enter him. I’m thinking of those sexy sounds that would leave his mouth when I finally give him what he needs.
“Jesus fuck. So fucking sweet,” Jude groans, riding me.
My balls pull up tightly against my body. A sweet sensation crashes down on me. In my head, I’m gripping the back of Taylor’s thighs, sinking my cock into what I’m certain would be a tight, warm space.
A forbidden space.
He’s family, Roman.
Fuck.
“Don’t stop.” Jude bounces harder, stroking his length, his face tight with raw pleasure. “I’m so fucking close.”
And I’m about to earn an express trip to hell for these ungodly thoughts. But then again, that’s all they are: thoughts— temporary mental blunders. Stress, exhaustion, or a lack of intimacy might be the source. Under normal circumstances, I would have seen Taylor’s nakedness and felt nothing.
Nothing at all.
Which doesn’t explain why I’m counting down the days until he leaves.