Page 36 of A Man To Remember
He's pressing me back against the counter now, his body flush against mine.
His hands find my belt, fingers working the buckle with surprising efficiency.
"Jesse, wait—"
"Don't wait." The buckle comes free. "Don't think. Just let me..."
He pops the button, slides the zipper down. His palm presses against my cock through my boxers, and I actually groan.
"That's it," he whispers. "That's what I want to hear."
Before I can process what's happening, he's dropping to his knees. Right there in his kitchen, hands reaching for the waistband of my boxers.
My brain shorts out completely.
Jesse on his knees in front of me, looking up with those green eyes dark with want, his fingers hooking into my underwear—it's every fantasy I've ever had and several I haven't.
"Let me take care of you."
His hand presses against my cock through the fabric of my boxers, and I have to grip the counter to keep from falling over.
"Fuck, Jesse."
He massages me through the cotton, his palm working up and down my length.
His other hand finds my thigh, gripping tight as he continues working me through the fabric. I can feel myself leaking, the cotton growing damp under his ministrations.
But something's wrong.
The realization cuts through my arousal like ice water. Jesse's hands are shaking worse now, trembling against my thighs. His breathing is too fast, too shallow. When I look down at his face, I see desperation instead of desire.
Raw, aching desperation.
Like he's drowning and thinks my cock is a life preserver.
"Jesse." I catch his face in my hands, forcing him to look up at me. "Stop."
"No." His voice cracks. "Please. Let me. Let me fix this."
And there it is.
The truth behind the performance.
He's not doing this because he wants me. He's doing this because he thinks he owes me. Because he's trying to pay some debt he thinks he can settle with his mouth.
"This isn't how you fix it."
CHAPTER 15
JESSE
I'M KNEELING ON my kitchen floor like some kind of penitent. The tiles are cold against my knees, and Austin's hands are gentle on my face, and I'm completely fucking falling apart.
"I can't fix this," I whisper. "I don't know how to fix this."
The words come out cracked down the middle, split open like everything else about me right now. Austin's thumbs brush across my cheekbones, and I realize I'm crying again.
When did I become someone who cries this much?
