Page 123 of Something So Strong

Reclining against the outdated maroon velveteen bench seat, I wipe my eyes and stare down at the man who swore till he was blue in the face that he’d never be in this position.

With a determined handhold on the base of my shaft, Jesse rises until his forearms are resting on my thighs for support. Then, without warning, his head bows, and he wraps his lips around me, dry. There’s no expertise in his movements, but his mouth is warm and eager, and mine.

Soon enough, there’s an adequate buildup of spit, and when it seeps out and over his fingers, he starts twisting his grip.

The way he holds me so roughly, mixed with the insatiable slurping of his tongue, is so raw. So intimate. So much like the first blow job I ever had.

The beat of my heart grows more and more unfamiliar the longer I watch him, almost like it stops for several seconds, then pounds like crazy to catch up.

I know the reason Jesse is trying to take as much of me into his gorgeous mouth as possible has just as much to do with him as it does me. He’s trying to prove a point. To show he’s willing to keep pushing his boundaries one inch at a time until every part of me is fully merged with every part of him.

His cheeks are dark pink, and his freckles are shouting at me—each one a different reason why this is it for me. I don’t need anyone else.

It only takes the slightest bit of pressure against the back of his throat for Jesse to splutter around me. It’s brief, but the strain is electric, and his fist tightens as part of the reflex.

His green eyes blink and they gaze up at me adoringly. They’re tinged pink and beginning to water, and I can see in them how terrified he is that he’s not doing a good enough job.

“My pretty boy is doing so well,” I croak out, trying my best to hang on. But it’s hard to stay strong for him. I’m not dominant when it comes to Jesse Kendrick. I’m nothing more than a sloppy mess of dopamine and testosterone. And with the way he skull fucked me to within an inch of consciousness, I was never going to last long.

“Keep going. I’m so close,” I assure him—clawing at the upholstery so I don’t grab his head and buck up into him. “You’re… So good… Fuck, Jesse… I… I…” I want to say it. Every cell in my body has its volume turned up to eleven and is screaming at me to just say the next two words and finish the sentence. But I’ve never said it before… To anyone. Not even a friend. Because my life was destined to be a solo mission.

Until him.

Until he walked around the barricade from customs at Calgary International Airport and shot me in the heart with a single half smile…

“Jess, stop.”

He hums against me defiantly.

“Jesse, please. I’m gonna come.”

Jesse sucks harder and gives three more long deep passes up before releasing me with a pop and relaxing back onto his feet.

I take hold of my cock and pump furiously—never taking my eyes off him.

“Fuck!” I curse, my grip high and ragged as cum shoots in creamy ropes over my fist and sweater. “It wasn’t easy to hold on to that.” I grin down at Jesse as he hands me his Burberry scarf. “That was almost gonna be a spit or swallow decision for you, you stubborn bastard… Isn’t this thing worth more than we make in a week?”

He pushes the material into my hand. “It’s fine. It’s not a favorite, anyway.”

Great. So he just has thousand-dollar designer woolen scarves in such excess that it doesn’t matter if one gets covered in cum. “So you give me your rejects to wear?”

“Don’t be daft,” he sighs, taking my wrist and moving my hand for me. “What I’m trying to say is, you’re worth more to me than a piece of fabric.”

I pinch the hem of my cheap H&M acrylic knit. “I could have just rubbed it in and soaked it when we got back.”

“Now you can do that with the scarf. And keep it. Wear it to work every day, so you never forget who you belong to.”

“Get the fuck down before you break your neck!” I shout up at Kai from my spot on one of the worn brown leather Chesterfield sofas in the common room as he surfs the coffee table. My eyes dart from the beer bottle in his hand, to Romeo’s belt swinging circles above his head, and down to how far his feet are from the edge of the overused and rickety Chippendale wood.

Egging him on, Cleo cheers from her seat opposite me and collapses onto Kendall, who forces out a salty huff. She’s not been too chipper since Cleo removed Romeo’s belt and draped it around his neck—sliding it back and forth like she was getting ready to strip him naked.

That’s when Kai stepped in and snatched the belt for himself. The knowing glance he shared with her as he slid between Cleo and Romeo was brief, and I’m sure undetected by anyone else but me. A tightness had gathered in my chest, but it wasn’t jealousy. I know Kai and Cleo are close. He talks about her all the time. He’s far more familiar with her body than he is with mine, but… I don’t care. I like that he’s popular.

The Kai kind of popular.

The sexual kind of popular.

The, I really wanna know what all the fuss is about, brand of popularity.

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