Page 71 of Burned & Bound

I kept going.I wanted this.I wanted normalcy with him. And some part of me had to want more. I wouldn’t be a fucking stone pillar if I didn’t.Right?

Fuck, my head was swimming—intoxicated by him and drowning in confusion.

My lips drifted along his jaw, my teeth scraping against his scruff. His head tipped back as I ran my tongue down the line of his neck. Fingers danced along the waist of my pants, sending my heart lurching into my throat.

When his palm grazed over my hard-on, I grabbed his wrist.

“Don’t,” I rasped against his skin. He stilled as I froze.Where the fuck did we go from here?What if he asked me to explain? I didn’t know how to.

He slowly pulled his hand back, even as I clung to him.

“We can stop, West,” Jackson whispered. We could, but I wasn’t sure I wanted that.

But him touching me?

I couldn’t handle that.

“No,” I said, shaking my head. My lips skated slowly up his neck.

“Hey.” He tried to turn, but I nuzzled closer. I didn’t want any attempt to make eye contact in the dark. “West—”

“Don’t fucking do that.”

“We don’t have to do anything you don’t want to.”

“But what if I want to?”

“West…” The doubt in his voice irritated me.

“It’s not like I haven’t done shit in the last seventeen years,” I told him, my tone sharp. I nipped at his earlobe and liked the quick breath he pulled in. “I have. With both men and women. I just… don’t like being touched.”

That was a lie.I didn’t have a clue if I did. Nothing had ever worked down there. I just figured my dick was broken for good.

And I never trusted anyone enough to let them touch me anyway.What if they…

Jackson changed shit. From the way my fucking dick strained against my jeans uncomfortably to the way I actually wanted more with him.

But that little voice in the back of my head shattered everything.What if he didn’t care? What if he did hurt me? What if all he wanted was to use me?

The list was endless.

It kept my walls high in place.

“Are you really going to fucking complain about my mouth on your cock?” I asked. I gently set his hand on the couch and out of the way.

“No, but…” His voice trailed off as I ran my palm over his dick, pressing hard enough to be felt through his jeans. I continued to stroke him as I kissed my way back up his neck. I reveled in the slight roll of his hips in demand for more and the breathy sounds he let out. Still, he continued, “You’re sure?”

“Just relax and let me suck your dick, cowboy,” I said and dragged my teeth over his earlobe. I didn’t wait for his response as I undid his buckle and opened his jeans. As I reached into his pants, he lifted his hips enough to shove them down.

The thickness of his long dick pressed against my abdomen as I worked my way down his neck. I pushed his shirt up, letting my hand wander over his sculpted muscles. The man was fucking gorgeous. There was no denying that.

But getting my hands on him was a whole different way to appreciate the body he’d built for himself. I took my time tracing the dips and curves of his muscles with both my hands and my lips. The experience was oddly grounding in a way that touch in any form usually wasn’t for me.

Jackson shifted underneath me, making himself comfortable on the couch, while I stroked him slowly—my hand skating up and down his long cock. I flicked my tongue over his slit, licking up the pre-cum gathering there. Something about doing so stalled me in my head. He wasn’t the first guy I’d done this with, but he was the first one that mattered—the first one where any real feelings were involved. I wanted to get this right.For him.

What if I fucked this up?

I needed to get out of my head. Focus on Jackson.

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