Chapter 11 #2
I smile and tug at his jeans, pulling his boxers down with them.
He kicks them off, hovering over me, the weight of his thighs settling on either side of me.
I catch a glimpse of his thick cock as he strokes it, the motion smooth and controlled.
His hands cup my breasts, pressing them together as he shifts, sliding between them, his breath hitching.
The sight of him pulls a strangled moan from my throat, and I cover his hands with mine, guiding the movement.
His thumbs glide over my nipples until they’re tight points, and I’m burning up on the inside. “Is this okay?” he asks. “Are you okay?”
I can barely form words. I’m riveted by the sight of him. “Yes,” I manage. “Don’t stop.”
He keeps moving, kneading my breasts, his thumbs circling my hard nipples with care, and pressure builds between my legs. Is this even possible? Could I come without him even touching me there?
Yes. I think I might. I arch into him. My eyes flutter closed, my mouth drops open on a moan as I grab his ass and pull him forward.
“Jesus, Joey. You’re going to fucking kill me,” he whispers, and tilts his head, mouth gone slack.
I raise my hands above my head, surrendering completely to this moment, to him.
My eyes close as I lose myself in the rhythm he sets, in the sound of his breathing growing ragged above me.
Each movement sends echoes of pleasure through my oversensitized body, building between my legs like a phantom touch, and I welcome it, moving my hips involuntarily to chase the high.
His pace picks up and I open my eyes to find him watching. “Fuck, you’re so gorgeous.” His voice is wrecked, pupils blown wide, body so tense that the veins in his forearms stand rigid.
“You’re close,” I say, but when he starts to pull away, I catch his hips, holding him in place. “Don’t stop,” I say, breathless. “I want you to come on me,” I tell him. “I want to watch.” I want every part of this boy. I don’t want him to hide a single thing from me.
His thumbs brush over my nipples, pinching, squeezing and teasing me as he slides between my breasts, his pace reckless, watching in fascination.
I trace the veins on his forearms, wrap my hands around him, and the muscles tighten as I arch up into him, the pressure building until I’m a writhing mess beneath him.
I’m going to come.
The sight of his release, the knowledge that I did this to him, sends me shuddering right along with him—impossible and unlike anything I’ve experienced before. I pull him down to my mouth and kiss him hard.
“Did you—” he pulls away briefly.
“Yes,” I say between kisses. “I didn’t even—” I try to form the words, out of breath and wrecked. “I didn’t know that could happen.”
He smiles against my lips. “Fuck,” he breathes.
For a moment, neither of us moves. He stays there, breathing hard, forehead dipping toward my shoulder as the high rolls through him. My hands loosen their grip, my body heavy and open beneath him, letting the last of it settle.
He shifts, reaches blindly to the side, and grabs a shirt from the floor. He uses it to wipe the mess from my chest, quick, unceremonious, the intimacy of it in the way he doesn’t break eye contact.
When he’s finished, he cups my face. His palm is warm, steady against my cheek as his thumb traces a line along my skin. He leans down and kisses me, soft and unguarded and full of everything we don’t say.
We lie in the silence of the studio while his fingers tap a pattern against my hip, and the tension returns to his body.
“You should hate me,” he whispers against my hair.
“Don’t mistake what happened for forgiveness,” I tell him.
He stares down at me, propped up on one elbow, brow furrowed.
His breath brushes my cheek, unsteady, already retreating into guilt—and I recognize the slip, the familiar pull of him disappearing.
Not this time.
I drag my thumb along the sharp line of his jaw, slow enough to make him shiver. “Look at me,” I murmur.
His lashes lift. Ocean blue, wrecked, so stunning I almost don’t find the words.
I tilt his face toward mine with fingertips alone, refusing to let him hide. The room hums around us.
“I see you,” I whisper, my mouth grazing the corner of his. “Every part of you.”
His breath catches, like he didn’t expect to be seen and wanted anyway.
I brush my nose against his cheek, a feather-light drag. “Don’t you dare take this back.” The words barely exist, more exhale than speech, but they land. His body relaxes beneath them, as if I reached inside him and touched the place he keeps locked.
My fingers slide into his hair, guiding, claiming.
He swallows, eyes darkening, and I register the moment he gives in, the smallest collapse of tension, a surrender he’s never let himself have.
“Anything,” he whispers against my skin. “Whatever you want. It’s yours.”
My mouth grazes his again, soft but sure. “No more secrets, Jesse.” I pull him closer. A kiss to his cheek, his eyes fluttering closed. “No more masks. Not with me.” I kiss the side of his mouth and he sighs.
His resolve ebbs and he takes my mouth, soft and slow, tongue brushing against mine, and it seems impossible to want someone so much I could dissolve into him, but I do.
I run my fingers through his hair, gripping the ends. “You’re mine now, Jesse O’Donnell. Don’t forget it.”