Page 78 of The Legend Next Door
He nods and shakes his head at the same time. Before I can say anything else, he pushes himself onto his toes and whispers, “Everything, Ben. I’m everything. All the things. All the emotions. I feel them all,” in my ear.
His voice is soft and spluttery, so sweet and sincere, so vulnerable that I can’t help but be vulnerable too.
“I’m nervous too.” I’m surprised to hear myself say it. I haven’t said anything like this to a partner I’m about to sleep with in years. Decades. Maybe ever. “I was really nervous last night. And this morning before you got here.” I kiss him again, still chastely, but I let my lips linger a little longer this time. “I feel better now that you’re here.”
“You do?” He looks up at me with such hope that I lean against the hallway wall and let myself slide down until my eyes are level with his. I sink down a fraction more and pull him close. He takes the invitation for what it is, a chance for him to lead and for me to follow.
I tilt my face up to receive his kiss.
He smiles as he leans in and his tongue slips between my lips in a way that’s timid and cautious. As shy and sweet as a kiss can possibly be.
I open my mouth in surrender.
It’s instantly hot. Instantly boiling. Our tongues melt together, blending and fusing, delivering a clear message: we can’t wait another second.
I straighten to my full height, altering the angle of the kiss without breaking apart, taking back what’s mine. The lines between us blur. My hands are on him. On his neck, on his face, in his hair. His are on me too. One is knotted in my shirt, and the other is clawing my bicep, working its way up my arm. I was hard before he got here. I got harder the second I saw him. I’m more than hard now. I’m aching.
His chest is heaving when he comes up for air. He looks at me in a way I love. A quiet way, a passive way, a way that pours power directly into my bloodstream.
I hold out my hand to him and he places his hand in mine without question. I lace my fingers through his and squeeze to reassure him, then I turn and lead him to my bedroom.
Jeremiah is naked, standing in the middle of my room, near the foot of my bed. There’s a fine dusting of freckles on his shoulders, but otherwise, his skin is even, taut, and tight, draped over a little more muscle than I expect.
It’s still a surprise to me when I see the slight bulk of his arms and chest. The hard lines cut into his hips.
I fucking love it. I fucking love his flat chest. I love his small nipples. His blunt nails. I love that his hands are a couple of sizes bigger than what I’m used to. I love the way he stands with his hip cocked. His cock is cocked too. And I love that as well.
I love it in a hard-to-explain way. A deep tug, a wrench that makes lust pool under my tongue.
I’m close to him, but I’m not touching him. I’m soaking it in, the sight of him.
He reaches for his dick and strokes twice before he catches himself and bites back a moan as he drops it.
I pace around him, slow, considered steps as I take in every inch of him. It’s the third time I’ve done it. Every time I get back in front of him, I take off a piece of clothing. My shirt’s on the floor. So are my shorts. All I have left to lose are my boxer briefs.
There’s a rash of goosebumps on his side now. Tiny bumps on his skin that aren’t there because of a drop in temperature. They’re there because of a spike of heat in the room.
I drop my gaze and take in the back of him. His spine draws my eyes down. There are two dimples, not deep, barely noticeable, but pretty all the same, that dip in above each cheek. Later, when the fire’s out and I’m sated, I’m going to kiss them. I’m going to suck my mark into his cheeks and maybe into the small of his back as well.
As soon as I’m back in view, his eyes find mine and don’t leave. It makes me weak that he does this. I only told him to do it once, yet every time we’ve been intimate, he’s done it again. For me. Because he knows I like it, and because he wants to please me, and because he’s a sweet, lovely, adorable pervy person.
I dig my thumbs into my waistband and push my underwear down. Jeremiah’s head tilts microscopically to the right and his chin dips slightly. His eyes bulge with the effort not to look down, but his eyes don’t leave mine.
I growl in satisfaction and pride.
He’s such a good boy.
“Do you want to look?” I ask quietly.
He presses a knuckle hard against his lips and says, “Yes, please,” so quickly the words bleed into each other.
I jut my hips forward and give him a nod. His eyes skid down my torso, screeching to a halt when they reach my dick. Both hands are pressed to his mouth now, and I notice a tiny tremor running through them.
“Do you know where this is going?” I ask, taking myself in one hand and slapping my head gently against the palm of my free hand.
Jeremiah does that thing where his whole body trembles. Hard and suddenly. Like someone’s holding him by both shoulders and rattling him from side to side.
It makes me lightheaded every time it happens.
