Page 87 of Hot Streak

If he hadn’t just had his mouth on Connor’s and his hands all over him, Connor might think he was cold. But he wasn’t. He burned red-hot, under that easy, casual manner—and Connor desperately wanted to unlock all that heat again.

“I’m getting out of these wet clothes,” Jackson said, so reasonably.

Like he hadn’t walked halfway here to the hotel with a hard-on, just the same as Connor.

For a second, Connor just stared incredulously at him. Was he really going to pretend . . .he was.

But then he looked closer and saw the way he was biting his lip. The white knuckles as he fisted the clothes.

He was this close to losing control—probably didn’t ever let himself lose it, if Connor had to guess—and was terrified of it.

Well, Connor wasn’t fucking afraid.

Any fear he’d initially had was gone now, burned away by the kiss they’d shared tonight.

He knew Jackson wanted him, and that made it easier than he’d ever expected to cross the hotel room floor, grab the clothes from Jackson, toss them onto the floor, and, cradling his cheeks in his palms, lean in and kiss him again.

Jackson startled in surprise, but a second later, he was burning just as hot for it as Connor, groaning in the back of his throat as they kissed, and Connor tried to work his shirt off.

Before Jackson, a chest had just been a chest, pecs just pecs, and even astonishing abs just abs, but now he’d been forced to take too many surreptitious glances and he wanted a fucking front row seat to all of Jackson’s glorious body.

He didn’t want to just look, either; he intended to touch.

“God, God, just wait a second,” Jackson tried to gasp as Connor wrenched the wet and uncooperative fabric the last little bit.

“No. No more waiting,” Connor said, before diving back in. He pushed Jackson against the bed, and for a moment, he was afraid he’d fight it, but he went easily. Falling to the bed and spreading his legs so Connor could settle right between them.

Jackson got ahold of Connor’s shirt and tugged it off too, breaking the kiss between them for only as long as it took to get it over his head.

Then it felt like Jackson’s hands were everywhere—big and calloused and inescapable, one on his chest, then dropping down lower, curling around his waist, the other making long sweeps up and down the planes of his back, then lower, sliding right over the curve of his ass. Possessively, like he owned him, and Connor thought maybe he did. Maybe he always had.

Jackson’s touch was so good he nearly shivered with it, unsure if he’d be able to take any more. But if Jackson wanted to give him more, he’d try. The only thing he couldn’t bear was if Jackson pulled away again.

But he didn’t. Not exactly.

He did tilt his head, finally breaking their long, endless kisses, eyes so dark Connor felt like he could drown in the look Jackson gave him. “What do you want?” he asked, still annoyingly self-possessed, when Connor felt desperate and fraying.

“Anything. Everything,” Connor muttered wildly.

“Oh darlin’, I’m gonna give you what you need. I just didn’t want . . .” Jackson trailed off.

“I’m not gonna freak out if you touch my dick, I promise.” Connor could still make a joke, apparently, though it felt like a near thing.

“Only if I don’t, right?” Jackson asked, and Connor nodded.

“I got you.”

In an impressive show of strength, Jackson flipped them, and Connor couldn’t help but arch against his touch, his deft fingers tugging down his wet shorts and then the boxer briefs underneath.

Those weren’t just wet with water, but Connor knew, from a not insignificant amount of precome. He’d been hard for what felt like forever, restless and leaking with no chance for relief.

But Jackson’s gaze promised it now, as he leaned down, and Connor swore, cock twitching as his lips coasted down his chest and then lower, where his abs flexed with the intense need surging through him.

His breath was coming out in gusts and pants, and he felt beyond words as Jackson took his sweet ass time exploring Connor’s exposed skin.

“I’m not—” Connor bit off his words with a moan as Jackson brushed his fingertips across his erection.

“You’re not what?” Jackson asked, his tone rough but undeniably kind. Like he felt like he might need to coax him through this.

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