Page 36 of Jingle Bell Flock
“Fuck the pasta,” he answered, his voice coming out rough. “Say it again.”
I reached behind him and twisted the burner knob, killing the flame. Then I took his hand, threading our fingers together. “I love you, Harrison.”
His hands came up to grip my shirt, pulling me down into another kiss. This one was deeper, more desperate, his mouth opening under mine as he backed me against the counter.
“I love you too,” he breathed against my lips. “God, Jeremy, I love you too.”
Something in my chest cracked open then, something that had been locked tight for too long.
I kissed him again, my hands sliding into his hair, angling his head so I could kiss him deeper. He made a sound low in his throat, his body pressing flush against mine, and I could feel every point where we touched.
His fingers twisted in my shirt as our tongues tangled together.
I couldn’t tell you how much time had passed, but when I finally pulled back, we were both panting, his lips were swollen and red, his eyes dark with want.
“Bedroom?” I managed.
“No. Living room,” he countered, already tugging me out of the kitchen.
We collapsed onto the couch, and it creaked beneath our combined weight. Harrison kissed me again, his lips tracing the outline of my jaw before dipping down to my neck. My eyes rolled back in my head as he nipped the skin there, his hands sliding up my shirt to scrape his fingers against my nipples.
I moaned into his mouth, arching into him.
“I love you,” he whispered against my skin, his voice low and husky.
He pulled back slightly, his hands finding the hem of my shirt and tugging upward. I sat up just enough to let him pull it over my head, then immediately reached for his. He raised his arms, and I yanked the fabric off, tossing it somewhere behind the couch.
His hands went to my belt buckle next, fumbling with it for a second before getting it open. I lifted my hips so he could shove my jeans and boxers down my thighs. I kicked them the rest of the way off while Harrison stood long enough to strip out of his own pants, his eyes never leaving mine.
When we were both naked, he climbed back onto the couch, straddling my lap.
“You’re so beautiful,” he murmured, leaning forward to brush his lips over my collarbone.
My heart thundered in my chest as he trailed his mouth lower, kissing and nipping his way down my chest.
I watched as he dropped to his knees between my legs, his hands braced on my thighs. He looked up at me, pupils blown wide, the tip of his tongue flicking out to wet his lips. My hands shook as I reached down, cradling the back of his head, threading my fingers through his hair. I wanted him so badly it hurt.
He took my cock in his hand, stroking me once, twice. Then he ducked his head and licked up the length of it, swirling his tongue around the head before closing his mouth over me. I groaned, my hips jerking up, and he chuckled with me still in his mouth, feeling the vibration in every nerve ending.
“Jesus,” I gritted out.
He sucked me deep, then pulled back to tease just the tip, his eyes locked on mine the whole time. I’d had blowjobs before, but this was something else. This was worship.
No. It was love.
I dug my heels into the rug, my vision blurring at the edges. When Harrison finally pulled off with a wet pop, I was shaking, sweat breaking out across my forehead.
“If you keep that up,” I warned, my voice low with warning. “I’m not gonna last.” I was drunk on him, on the way he smelled and tasted and felt, every sense overloaded.
He grinned, cheeks flushed, and crawled up to kiss me, the taste of myself faint on his tongue.
He straddled my hips, grinding down and making both of us moan. The heat from the fireplace had us slick and feverish, skin glowing in the orange light.
I reached out blindly for the end table, fumbling for the drawer where he kept a bottle of lube, and accidentally knocked over a picture frame.
He laughed, nipping at my earlobe and pulling back with a smirk. “Not necessary.”
“What?” I blinked up at him.
