Page 35 of A Man To Remember
He freezes mid-reach for another coffee cup, back still turned. His shoulders are rigid, defensive.
"Please."
Slowly, he turns around. The bright, manic smile is still plastered on his face, but his eyes are hollow. Haunted.
"There," he says. "I'm looking. Happy now?"
Not even close.
I take a step toward him, and he immediately starts moving again, wiping down counters that are already clean.
"So what brings you by? Checking up on me? Making sure I didn't..." The sentence dies unfinished, but we both know where it was heading.
"I was worried."
"Worried. Right." He's opening and closing cabinet doors now, aimless activity that serves no purpose except keeping him in motion. "Well, as you can see, I'm perfectly—"
"Don't."
Jesse's hand stills on a cabinet handle. For just a moment, the mask slips. Raw pain flickers across his features before the performance snaps back into place.
"Okay. I'm notperfectlyfine. I'm having a rough day. But I'm handling it. I'm dealing with it. I'm—"
He stops talking.
Just stops, mid-sentence, like someone cut his power cord.
When he looks at me this time, something fundamental shifts in his expression. The manic energy transforms into something else entirely. Something focused.
The change is immediate and alarming.
"Austin."
"Yeah?"
Instead of answering, he crosses the kitchen. Three steps and he's right in front of me, close enough that I can smell coffee and soap.
His hands find my chest, palms flat against my shirt.
"I've been thinking about you all night."
His voice has dropped to that rough register that goes straight to my cock. When he presses closer, I feel myself responding despite every rational thought in my head.
"Jesse..."
He doesn't let me finish. His mouth finds my neck, lips hot and urgent against my skin. My hands move to his waist without conscious permission, pulling him closer.
This is wrong. I know it's wrong. He's emotional, vulnerable, not thinking clearly.
But Christ, his mouth feels good.
"I want you," he breathes against my throat. "Right now. Need you."
His hands slide under my shirt, fingertips tracing the muscles of my back. Every touch sends electricity through my nervous system, making rational thought increasingly difficult.
"We should talk first—"
"No talking." His mouth moves up to my ear, tongue flicking against the lobe. "Just this."
