Page 150 of Hot Streak

But still his fingers hesitated on the waistband of his shorts.

“You know how gorgeous you are?” Jackson asked, his voice low and his gaze intense. “You make me so hard, looking at you like that. Can’t wait til I can touch you all over. All that beautiful naked skin.”

Connor groaned a little when Jackson pressed a hand against the erection in his jeans. “Can’t help it,” Jackson added with a helpless shrug. “You turn me on so goddamn much.”

It was the helplessness that gave Connor that little extra boost of courage. He was just as enthralled with Connor as he was with Jackson, and on top of that he trusted Jackson. He loved him. Surely he wouldn’t lie and say he wanted to see if he didn’t really want to.

Slowly, he let the shorts fall and felt as naked as he ever had in his life, bare except for the lace stretched across his hips, his cock pressing hard against the fabric.

“Shit,” Jackson groaned. “I was right. You’re a fucking wet dream like this.”

“You thought about it?” Connor found his voice again and approached, leaning in close, close enough to kiss, watching as Jackson’s pupils dilated even further.

“I couldn’t stop thinking about it. You all wrapped up like this, so beautiful, here for me to unwrap.”

“Will you?” Connor asked.

Jackson’s hand settled hot and insistent across his hip, fingertips digging into the lace, pressing the design into his skin in half a dozen places.

“Yes.”

Connor didn’t need any more encouragement. Leaning in, he kissed Jackson, letting his own hands wander, across his broad shoulders, his chiseled pecs, down underneath his T-shirt, to those incredible abs.

Lower still, to where his erection pulsed between them.

Jackson was breathless when they broke apart. “On the bed,” he said.

Connor watched as Jackson grabbed the lube and a condom from the drawer. They hadn’t fucked like this, not since the first time, when Jackson had made Connor wild with it, and he was already panting, desperate and aching for it.

“I didn’t think you could get hotter, and then you show up like this, hard and aching under these, so eager for my cock,” Jackson murmured, leaning in to kiss him again, even as his hands moved south, finding the lace again. Imprinting more patterns onto his skin, but never touching his cock, hard and pressing against the fabric, the friction driving him insane and yet not insane enough.

“You like it?”

“I love it. I love you,” Jackson said, and then he pressed his palm right against where Connor was the most sensitive, making him gasp.

Jackson’s sound of approval was guttural, like it had been torn from him. He moved downwards, lips coasting across Connor’s chest, then his abs, nipping at the soft skin of his stomach, and then pressing, wet and insistent, into his hip.

“Fuck, please,” Connor begged.

And then his tongue was tracing those lacy patterns across his cock, saliva soaking through the fabric and making him impossibly harder.

“Yeah, I thought you’d like being pretty for me,” Jackson said. Gave him a little smack on the hip, the sharp pain bringing nothing but more pleasure. “Turn over.”

Connor didn’t know why, and didn’t even care, just hoped that he’d get something more, anything more, because it felt like he’d been horny for this for way too fucking long.

Not that the blowjobs and the handjobs of the last few days hadn’t been spectacular. They had been. But they hadn’t been this, either.

Then Jackson’s fingers were pressing the lace in, between his cheeks, and Connor yelped at the way it scratched right over his hole. And then . . .he just fucking died. Because that was Jackson’s tongue, wasn’t it? Hot and wet and moving right there, nearly where he wanted it so badly he might actually sob with need.

He didn’t even realize the lace was gone until it was, pulled from his body, and then there was nothing to mute the feel of Jackson’s tongue sliding right where he craved it. For a minute Jackson just teased him, tongue dipping in and out, barely giving him enough but then a finger joined it, wet with lube, and it felt so fucking good. The only reason he hadn’t blindly started fucking the bed, desperate for pressure and friction on his cock, was Jackson’s arm, strong and insistent, holding him down.

Making him take it.

One finger. Then two. Fucking in and out, until Connor was sure he was crying with how much he needed to come.

Only then did Jackson move, sliding his fingers out. Using that incredible strength to pull him back up on his knees, back onto his cock.

Connor groaned, as Jackson bottomed out.

---