broke as Jacob gasped. Dean didn’t have the breath to gasp. He was going to come….
Jacob came first. Heat and slickness filled Dean’s palm. Pleasure exploded out of him. He found the breath to groan.
Panting, Jacob kissed him again. Soft, this time. He still cupped Dean’s cock, but his other hand came up to hold the back of Dean’s neck. Forehead to forehead, he smiled.
“Hey.”
“Hey,” Dean said.
Jacob looked between them. “That was hot.”
Dean laughed, shaking his head. “It was definitely not what I was expecting when you told me you wanted me to suck you off.”
Jacob reached behind him to grab up a dish towel, wiping his hands and handing it to Dean. “Baby, I am not what you are expecting.”
Dean wiped his hands and put himself back in his jeans before stepping back. “Is that so?”
Jacob licked his forefinger and drew a “one” in the air. “That. Is so.”
It was a good cue to leave. After all, they’d both already gotten off. Dean’s stomach was rumbling, but dinner was cold and he could pick up something on the way home. He’d already spent last night with this guy. And the morning.
Jacob looked over his shoulder at the sink and the pot with the now-cold pasta. “This will only take a minute to warm up. You staying?”
Dean leaned to kiss him, relishing the taste of salt and beer on Jacob’s mouth. “Sure.”
Late-night conversations. Katie loved them. Darkness and distance provided by the phone made intimacy, and she loved that, too.
Jimmy was good at late-night talk. Jimmy had a voice like melting butter, all warm and soft and sweet. Rich. It didn’t matter what he was saying, really. He told stories like some men built houses, layer by layer and piece by piece, until Katie realized hours had passed and dawn was breaking.
He’d make love like that, too.
Katie wondered if she’d ever find out. She’d met Jimmy weeks ago. He’d flirted with her right away. Asked for her number. He’d actually called, too, something that had surprised her since guys like Jimmy always said they’d call but never did.
Katie wasn’t sure just how they’d fallen into late-night discussions about old movies, art, books, music. About their favorite colors and foods. All she knew was that she told Jimmy things she hadn’t told any guy in a long time, and nothing she said ever seemed to put him off or be too much. Katie had spilled her guts about a lot of things from her most embarrassing moment to her secret fetish for knitted slippers.
They had become friends, and that was great, but Katie was beginning to wonder if that’s all it would ever be.
“You stand in front of three doors,” Jimmy said. “What color are they, what is behind each, and which do you pick?”
Katie laughed. “Where do you come up with these?”
“I have a book. Two hundred and seven of the most obscure questions to ask a beautiful woman.”
At least he’d said she was beautiful. Katie cleared her throat. “Let me think about it. You go first.”
“That’s not fair. I’ve had time to think about it longer than you have.”
“Tell me anyway,” Katie told him and settled deeper into the blankets.
“The doors are red, blue and purple. I pick the blue one.”
“Why?”
“Because,” Jimmy said, “blue’s your favorite color and I bet you’re behind it.”
Heat twisted through her. “And what about the other doors?”
“I don’t open them,” Jimmy told her, “so I have no idea what’s behind them.”
“Good answer.”
“Your turn.”
Katie couldn’t begin to think about doors and colors and what was behind them. Or rather, she could think, but every door she imagined was glass, each had Jimmy behind it, and no matter how hard she tried, she could open none of them. She sighed.
“Tell me something else, Jimmy.”
“Like what?”
“What’s your favorite poem? Do you have one?”
Jimmy laughed softly, and Katie imagined the brush of his breath against her neck.
Jacob came first. Heat and slickness filled Dean’s palm. Pleasure exploded out of him. He found the breath to groan.
Panting, Jacob kissed him again. Soft, this time. He still cupped Dean’s cock, but his other hand came up to hold the back of Dean’s neck. Forehead to forehead, he smiled.
“Hey.”
“Hey,” Dean said.
Jacob looked between them. “That was hot.”
Dean laughed, shaking his head. “It was definitely not what I was expecting when you told me you wanted me to suck you off.”
Jacob reached behind him to grab up a dish towel, wiping his hands and handing it to Dean. “Baby, I am not what you are expecting.”
Dean wiped his hands and put himself back in his jeans before stepping back. “Is that so?”
Jacob licked his forefinger and drew a “one” in the air. “That. Is so.”
It was a good cue to leave. After all, they’d both already gotten off. Dean’s stomach was rumbling, but dinner was cold and he could pick up something on the way home. He’d already spent last night with this guy. And the morning.
Jacob looked over his shoulder at the sink and the pot with the now-cold pasta. “This will only take a minute to warm up. You staying?”
Dean leaned to kiss him, relishing the taste of salt and beer on Jacob’s mouth. “Sure.”
Late-night conversations. Katie loved them. Darkness and distance provided by the phone made intimacy, and she loved that, too.
Jimmy was good at late-night talk. Jimmy had a voice like melting butter, all warm and soft and sweet. Rich. It didn’t matter what he was saying, really. He told stories like some men built houses, layer by layer and piece by piece, until Katie realized hours had passed and dawn was breaking.
He’d make love like that, too.
Katie wondered if she’d ever find out. She’d met Jimmy weeks ago. He’d flirted with her right away. Asked for her number. He’d actually called, too, something that had surprised her since guys like Jimmy always said they’d call but never did.
Katie wasn’t sure just how they’d fallen into late-night discussions about old movies, art, books, music. About their favorite colors and foods. All she knew was that she told Jimmy things she hadn’t told any guy in a long time, and nothing she said ever seemed to put him off or be too much. Katie had spilled her guts about a lot of things from her most embarrassing moment to her secret fetish for knitted slippers.
They had become friends, and that was great, but Katie was beginning to wonder if that’s all it would ever be.
“You stand in front of three doors,” Jimmy said. “What color are they, what is behind each, and which do you pick?”
Katie laughed. “Where do you come up with these?”
“I have a book. Two hundred and seven of the most obscure questions to ask a beautiful woman.”
At least he’d said she was beautiful. Katie cleared her throat. “Let me think about it. You go first.”
“That’s not fair. I’ve had time to think about it longer than you have.”
“Tell me anyway,” Katie told him and settled deeper into the blankets.
“The doors are red, blue and purple. I pick the blue one.”
“Why?”
“Because,” Jimmy said, “blue’s your favorite color and I bet you’re behind it.”
Heat twisted through her. “And what about the other doors?”
“I don’t open them,” Jimmy told her, “so I have no idea what’s behind them.”
“Good answer.”
“Your turn.”
Katie couldn’t begin to think about doors and colors and what was behind them. Or rather, she could think, but every door she imagined was glass, each had Jimmy behind it, and no matter how hard she tried, she could open none of them. She sighed.
“Tell me something else, Jimmy.”
“Like what?”
“What’s your favorite poem? Do you have one?”
Jimmy laughed softly, and Katie imagined the brush of his breath against her neck.