Page 103 of Hot Streak

“Please, yeah,” Jackson exhaled as Connor finally unbuttoned and unzipped him, yanking down his boxer briefs and finally closing a hand around him.

“Yeah, baby, let me hear you,” Connor crooned into his ear, his voice still rough and desperate. “God, I can’t wait until you bury this in me. I wanna feel it. All the way in. All the way up to my ears.”

That was all it took.

Jackson came for what felt like forever, pulsing again and again into Connor’s grip, until he felt emptied out by the sheer ecstasy of it.

“That,” he panted, when it was finally over, “was what I needed all day.”

Connor’s expression was smug, and maybe it would’ve annoyed Jackson if he hadn’t been feeling so goddamned good in the aftermath of his orgasm.

“Could’ve had it,” Connor said, pulling off his T-shirt, leaving Jackson with a memorable impression of golden-tinged chest-abs-pecs, and cleaning off his hand. “You just had to say the word.”

“I’m . . .” His brain wasn’t working yet. From the orgasm, yeah, but it was more than that. It was Connor casually pulling off his shirt, and how fucking gorgeous he was, a bright, perfect thing in this dim, worn-out studio apartment. He cleared his throat. It wasn’t really rough from the blowjob, but it gave him a second to recover his wits. “I’m not in charge of when and how we do this.”

“No?” Connor chuckled. “I disagree. But it’s good. I like it. I love it, in fact. Turns me on a lot. I spent that whole bus ride at least half-hard, just thinking about how you’d bring me home and take me apart.”

God, Jackson didn’t want to think about what that meant.

What that could mean.

He wanted to say, I think this is more than sex.

But he didn’t know how. He did know how to reach out for Connor’s hand and lead him towards the bed, situated in the corner of the room.

“Let’s see how quick you can recover,” he teased as he finished stripping his clothes off.

Connor’s eyes grew wide. “You wanna have sex again? Right now?”

“Don’t sound so worried. I’ll wait til you’re ready—if I’m patient enough.”

“I’m not worried. I’m . . .I’m excited. Happy I don’t have to convince you again,” Connor retorted with a grin. “You gonna fuck me yet?”

Jackson laughed. Settling on the edge of the bed. The mattress wasn’t anything special but it wasn’t awful, either.

“Really want it, huh?” he asked.

Connor tossed his dirty T-shirt in the vicinity of the hamper. Not surprisingly, it didn’t land inside and he didn’t make a move to fix that problem. Jackson sighed internally.

“You know I do,” he said, prowling closer, stepping right between Jackson’s legs.

“I didn’t,” Jackson confessed.

Connor put a hand on his shoulder but didn’t lean in to kiss him like Jackson had been expecting. “Do you think I wouldn’t like it?” he asked, the tremor in his voice betraying his uncertainty for the first time. “Do you not like it?”

“I told you—I haven’t done more than just quick hookups, the last few years, and it didn’t really come up. I don’t . . .I don’t really know what I like.” It was hard, exposing his own soft underbelly to Connor, but how could he do anything else, when Connor had been so unflinchingly honest from the very beginning?

Sure, Jackson had reciprocated his interest, but he knew how hard it was to approach another man and confess an attraction. Especially for the first time.

Connor had been really fucking brave. Maybe naive, too, but Jackson couldn’t dismiss the guts it had taken.

“That sucks,” Connor said softly, his fingers stroking the ridge of muscle on Jackson’s shoulder. “If you don’t want to, or don’t feel comfortable or . . .”

“Did you like that, what I did, when I was blowing you?” His thumb, just nudging the tiniest bit into Connor’s body. He could still feel the phantom clench around it. He’d just come. He shouldn’t have a hope or a prayer or getting aroused again, but just the memory of it made him wish he could.

“Yeah,” Connor murmured.

“I could do it again,” Jackson said.

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