Page 45 of Follows with Intent

“I know what it’s like to feel helpless,” Jadon whispered. “I know what it’s like to be hurting and alone and afraid. You don’t have to pretend to be okay. You don’t have to do anything except be here.”

The change in breath against Jadon’s neck suggested Nico might speak, but no words came. Just those hot blasts of air, every centimeter of Jadon’s skin blazing and awake at the sensation. He released Nico’s hand, but Nico kept his fingers where they were, pressed to the scars hidden under Jadon’s shirt. Jadon looped his arms around Nico’s waist. Like we’re dancing, Jadon thought, and it felt like a betrayal, but he couldn’t ignore it. This is how he would feel against me.

“Why don’t you change into something more comfortable—” Jadon began.

Nico kissed him.

It wasn’t fast. It wasn’t sneaky. He turned his head, and their mouths aligned, and then his lips were pressed to Jadon’s, and they felt rough and chapped and warm and soft, and they tasted like the beer and like salt and like Nico, the faint hints of him that Jadon had gotten over the last few days. Nico pulled his head back. It was strange how his eyes could be so dark and still be so full of fire.

Almost, Jadon opened his mouth to ask or to tell or to warn or to suggest. And then he remembered the salad, and he didn’t. He brought his mouth to Nico’s, and he made the next kiss a question. One that Nico answered a moment later when his lips parted, and he let Jadon’s tongue into his mouth.

Then they were moving. Nico pulled Jadon toward the bed, shoving on Jadon’s jacket to force it off. He unbuttoned Jadon’s shirt, stroked his chest, pulled at his waistband. It was like he had a million hands instead of two, and Jadon could only stumble after him. It had been so long, felt like longer, since he’d touched someone, had someone touch him. He’d forgotten how good a kiss could be, how much sensation could carry through the nerves of lips and mouth and tongue. Nico’s mouth, for example, was warm and almost unbelievably soft. His kisses alternated between demanding and playful, his tongue teasing Jadon’s before he sucked him back in. Jadon was only distantly aware of being turned around—manhandled was the correct term, a part of his brain recognized; Nico is manhandling you—and urged up onto the bed. Nico climbed up to straddle his lap. He’d lost his quarter-zip, and his shirt hung open to expose his flat chest and belly. Then he stopped. Ran his fingers slowly over the scars on Jadon’s chest—the lines that marked him there. Jadon opened his mouth with the stupid idea of asking a question, but Nico was there almost immediately, his kisses insistent, crushing.

He pulled his mouth away from Nico’s to sit up straighter, and as Nico worked his shirt free from first one arm and then the next, Jadon kissed his way along Nico’s jawline. He stopped at Nico’s ear, kissing, running his tongue around it, and Nico giggled and moaned and wiggled forward. Jadon grabbed his ass in both hands and hauled him forward the remaining inches. It was a great ass—a cute little bubble butt, surprisingly muscular as Jadon kneaded it with his fingers. Then he had one hand in Nico’s hair, pulling his head to the side so he could attack Nico’s neck, kissing and sucking and biting. Nico made helpless little noises, one hand coming down to rub Jadon’s dick through the wool trousers. Then Nico’s hand switched to Jadon’s belt and waistband, and he was aware of the zipper being tugged down. He kept his attention on Nico, nipping at his collarbone, kissing hard enough to bruise, sucking. The cocktail of anger and frustration and pent-up horniness frenzied him. The thought that someone had tried to hurt Nico.

“Oh shit,” Nico moaned. And then the word drawn out with pleasure, “Jay.”

Jadon lowered his head and took Nico’s nipple in his mouth and swirled his tongue around the dark bud. He was vaguely aware of Nico’s ragged breaths, of his hand fumbling over the length of Jadon’s erection, trying to jerk him off through his trunks. He closed his teeth lightly around the nipple, and Nico let out a constrained groan, like he was fighting the noise.

“Up,” he rasped. “Up, up, Jadon, lift your hips.”

It took some gymnastics, but Jadon managed to raise himself a few inches without spilling Nico onto the floor. Nico yanked Jadon’s trousers and trunks down. Cold air met his dick, which jutted up against his belly. Nico fumbled with his own waistband, and a moment later, he was shoving his pants down until his cock sprang free. Like everything else on him, it was beautiful—a nice size, a nice girth, uncut with the hood of foreskin slightly pulled back. His balls were pulled up tightly. He was, of course, groomed.

Nico sounded a little breathless as he squirmed forward on Jadon’s lap. It was awkward with his pants around his thighs, and he made a little bleat of distress when Jadon stopped him, forced him to shift his weight to one knee and then the other as Jadon tugged pants down around his ankles. It was easier after that, Nico astride him, pressing in for every inch of contact. The brush of bare skin against bare skin. Their dicks rubbing together and then sliding apart. Nico’s dick rubbing through Jadon’s bush, grinding against his belly. Jadon’s dick sliding across the smooth toned flatness of Nico’s stomach. Mouth on mouth again, Nico demanding more, like he was pulling the breath from Jadon’s lungs.

It had been so long. And so much, so fast, was overwhelming. It happened so quickly that Jadon only had time to moan a failed warning—“Nico”—and then the orgasm gripped him, his whole world contracting to the rush of pleasure, the release, the feeling like a part of his mind had blown open onto somewhere else. Nico’s hand was tight around him, milking him through the finish. And then Jadon slumped against the wall, every muscle loose and relaxed.

Nico’s shaggy hair was a mess. Hickeys covered his shoulders. Jadon had painted himself with his load, and already, it was starting to run down the sides of his chest and stomach onto the mattress.

“I’m sorry,” he began.

But Nico shook his head, smiling. He scooped up some of Jadon’s load and began to stroke himself. He closed his eyes, thrust into the circle of his fingers. His belly tightened. Jadon had the dreamy image of what Nico would look like when he fucked. Or got fucked.

Nico’s face screwed up, and he grunted as he shot—volleying his load onto Jadon’s chest. His face relaxed, he let go of his dick, and his eyes opened with a kind of hazy pleasure. He bent forward and kissed Jadon.

Somehow, they stripped the rest of the way and ended up lying together, Jadon spooning Nico as their loads cooled between them, one hand low on Nico’s belly, pressing him to him. The possessiveness of it surprised a part of Jadon’s mind. But not too much. Not enough to bother him. Their breathing evened out. Jadon kissed Nico’s neck, and Nico shivered.

“It’s been a long time,” Jadon said.

Nico shook his head. “It’s fine, Jay. It was wonderful.”

“I don’t want you to think every time.”

Nico’s laugh was unexpectedly sweet, and he brought Jadon’s hand to his mouth and kissed his fingers. “It’s been a while for me too.” And then, his voice huskier, he added, “You make me feel safe.”

“You make me feel happy,” Jadon said, and he hadn’t known he was going to say the words until he had. Hadn’t known they were true until he’d said them.

Nico didn’t say anything, but Jadon could see his mouth curve with pleasure, and he kissed Jadon’s fingers again.

“Come to a Halloween party with me,” Jadon said.

With a laugh, Nico looked over his shoulder. “What?”

“Tomorrow. Please. I don’t want to go, and I have to, and the only way I’m going to make it through the night is if I get to spend it with you.”

Nico was silent for several moments. Then he said, “Okay. I’ve got the closing dinner of the seminar, and then I’m free.” In a hesitant voice, he added, “You could come with me.”

“Really?”

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