Chapter 41
41
ADAM
J onathan’s birthday seems to go well. Ray has baked a cake and the children have made cards. They sing to him and he blushes prettily. Then the kids emotionally blackmail him into playing a game of Monopoly. We let them win (because that’s the only way to ensure a family stays together post-Monopoly). Then we take them upstairs and put them to bed. It feels good. Almost too good. This domestic bliss is something I could get used to.
“I have a question for you,” I say, as we close the door on a sleeping Enrique. Jonathan likes to check on him again once all the others are in bed.
“Oh? Well, you can ask me anything,” he says, a flicker of the concern from earlier crossing his face. I’ve worried him and I hate that.
I drop my voice, just in case there are any wakeful little ears beyond these doors. “How would you feel about spending the night with me?”
His eyes widen a fraction. “I… you mean, in your room?”
I draw him close, my hands on his hips. “That would be the general idea, yes.”
Jonathan’s brow furrows and I immediately regret asking.
“I’m sorry. I know I’m probably rushing things.”
He presses a hand to my chest. “It’s not that. I want to. It’s just, the children sometimes wake during the night. They need to know where to find me.”
My heart clenches. He’s so darn sweet. I kiss his forehead. “All right, what if I promise not to let you sleep?”
He looks up sharply as my meaning becomes clear. I search his expression. Does he want this? Maybe it is too soon.
His gaze slides from mine. “Is this… is this because it’s my birthday?”
“Mmm it could be.”
A small furrow between his eyebrows. Wrong answer.
I run my hands up his sides and lean my head forward, pressing my forehead to his. “Jonathan,” I murmur. “We don’t have to do anything you don’t want.”
“I want.” His fist tightens in my shirt. “Oh, I want. I just don’t want you to feel obligated to do anything special for me. You’ve already done so much.”
I pull away and tilt his chin up to search his gaze, try to find some meaning in those words. Why would he think that? Have I not made it clear enough how crazy I am for him?
I kiss him deeply, trying to show my intention. After all our kisses earlier, my engine is still revved up. It’s all I can do to stop myself undressing him here in the corridor. “I want you, Jonathan. In case that wasn’t clear. I’ve wanted you every night this week. I’ve wanted you for many nights before that. If it was up to me, I’d never take my hands off you.”
He takes the back of my neck and guides my mouth back down to his.
We kiss our way across the house, already panting by the time we close my bedroom door behind us. Jonathan starts pulling at my shirt, but I position him in front of the mirror as I kiss his neck. He closes his eyes, leaning back against me.
“Watch,” I whisper.
His gaze locks with mine in the mirror as I slowly unbutton his shirt. It’s one of the new ones. I slip it off his shoulders and he tenses, eyes sliding away from the view. I take his chin and turn his gaze back. “Watch.”
The lights are down low. My room isn’t well lit at night. I prefer it that way. It feels less stark, less empty. In the lamplight his skin glows, smooth and pale like marble. His hair curls gently at his neck, looking golden and godlike.
I drift a hand up to the small peaked bud of his nipple and pinch. He moans softly and turns his head to catch my lips.
Nice try. I smirk and gently turn his head back. “Watch,” I remind him.
He tries to duck his chin, but I keep a hand on his jaw.
“Adam…” He whines and the sound of it goes straight to my dick.
I nip at his ear. “Yeah Adam. I’m there. What else do you see?”
He pulls himself free of my grip and turns away from the mirror. “I don’t want to do this.”
I go rigid. The game is suddenly not a game. “I’m sorry.” I step back from him, regret churning my stomach.
But Jonathan doesn’t move away. He smooths his hands up my arms, looks up into my face. “Can we rather just get into bed?”
My mind catches up. The this wasn’t sex. It was the mirror.
I cup his face, managing to draw a full breath, flooded with relief. “We can do whatever you want, but you should see yourself?—”
“I know how I look.”
My heart clenches painfully . “Why do you say it like that?”
“Because I’m not— I’m not like you, Adam. Your body was a part of your work. You put it on display.”
“What is that supposed to mean?”
Jonathan flinches. My voice came out firmer than I meant. “I mean that you’re gorgeous, Adam. You’re… you’re an alpha.”
I have to focus on making my voice gentle as anger spikes within me. “Is that what this is about? Geoff?”
“It’s not about Geoff.”
I’m losing control of my rage. “He got in your head? What did he tell you about yourself?”
“This isn’t about Geoff! I knew what I looked like well before Geoff, thank you very much.”
“Clearly you didn’t.” I grab him and I’m not gentle. He gasps as I pull him towards me and turn him around, making him face the mirror again. “How has no one told you you’re fucking beautiful?”
“That’s not what I see, Adam.”
“It’s what you should, because that’s what’s there. Fuck, Jonathan. You’re an angel made of satin and gold. You’re perfect. Your skin.” I side my palm down his chest. “Your belly.” I rest my hand there. “Your elbows.”
This wins me a little laugh and it’s such a relief I see myself sag in the mirror.
“I want you, Jonathan,” I repeat. I press a kiss to the point where his neck and shoulder meet and his breath catches as my fingers dip beneath the waistband of his chinos. “Can’t remember ever wanting anyone so badly.”
He turns his head at that, doubt flashing over his features, but it’s the truth. I kiss him, tenderly at first and then chaotically as my veins surge with renewed passion. When I slip a hand into his pants, he presses forward into my palm, eager for contact.
When I pull away and he chases my lips, I catch his chin again and direct it to our reflections. His cheeks and chest are flushed and his head lolls back against my shoulder.
“Look into the mirror, Jonathan,” I murmur. “Look into the mirror and watch me worship you.”
I go to my knees and unbutton his pants, slipping them and his boxers down to release his cock.
It bounces out, hard and grateful to be free of its confines. I wish there was a way for me to see his reflection as I take him into my mouth, sucking in just the tip. I look up at him, catching the moment his mouth drops open on a moan of pleasure and it’s almost as good.
I unzip my jeans, setting my own straining cock loose. I’m not going to last long at this rate, so I allow myself a brush of fingertips against the burning skin, no more. I haven’t come since I came into his mouth a few days ago. I refuse to let myself. The next time I come, I want it to be inside him.
He whimpers my name as I swirl my tongue around his length and press him deeper. I tease his glans with the tip of my tongue and grin up at him when he complains. He’s looking down at me, rather than at our reflection, with a flush and glassy eyes that say he’s close. It’s so tempting to let him come like this, come down my throat so I can taste him. But if he did, I know I couldn’t resist the climax, the relief, offered by my own hand. I pull off, give him a chance to collect himself.
“Look in the mirror, Jonathan. Look at yourself. Pink with lust, eyes bright, mouth moist and red from kisses. Look at how lovely you are.”
His gaze flicks to the mirror and catches there. His chest is rising and falling with uneven breaths as he stares unabashedly, as he drinks in the sight of us.
“There it is,” I whisper, running my hands up his thighs, over his narrow hips.
His attention shifts back to me and he gives a little bashful laugh. I stand and catch that laugh with a kiss.
If the taste of himself is off-putting, he doesn’t show it, kissing me back hungrily.
I scoop him into my arms and carry him to the bed, where I lay him down and hover over him, kissing him from his rosy lips all the way down his body. I nudge his knees apart, so he’s spread open for me.
“We don’t have to do anything tonight,” I say, seriously. “If you want me to stop, we stop.”
“Believe me, that is the very last thing I want.”
I kiss the inside of his thigh, run my tongue along the seam where it connects to his groin. He wriggles under me and arches into my touch. I gracelessly do away with his pants, which are gathered around his knees, and crawl back up his body.
“Tell me you want me,” I hear myself say, lost in lust.
“I want you. God, I want you.”
I take his wrists in one fist and push them up over his head. “I can make you come like this. Do you want that? Do you want to come?”
“I want you inside me.”
I growl, reaching for the lube I had ready. I squirt it into my palm, coat my fingers. I press inside him with my middle finger, withdraw and then press in with two. He bucks against me, head thrown back.
“I’m inside you now,” I whisper against his ear as I spread my fingers inside him. He whimpers. “I could make you come like this.” I brush against his prostate and he arches his back, eyes wide, pupils blown. “You wanna come like this again?” I ask.
He shakes his head. His eyes squeeze shut as I brush over that spot again.
“You want my cock?” I ask.
He nods.
“Say it.”
“I want your cock,” he says in his perfectly clipped accent.
I nearly come at those words alone.