Page 42 of Courageous Hearts

“Okay,” he husks, his fingers stalling on my hip, gaze still trained downward. He hooks his thumb against the waistband of my pants—his pants—and tugs until the material of my soft blue briefs is revealed. His thumb rubs against it, and my cock swells further. “And can I call you beautiful?”

“Yes,” I gasp out, quickly becoming too turned on to be embarrassed by his compliments.

Jameson’s thumb continues to wander, narrowly missing my thickening shaft. His chest heaves, nostrils flaring slightly as he watches his slow torment.

“You’re okay with it?” I ask. “My dick?”

I need to make sure. I need to hear it.

“Yes,” he says, voice practically air. But I can see the hunger in his eyes, and I can feel the way he’s shaking, as if barely restraining himself.

I don’t want him restrained.

“Then please touch me, Jamie,” I all but beg. “Please.”

He groans, rolling us until he’s on top of me, his leg still slotted between my own. He looks hypnotized as he drags my sleep pants lower, revealing more of the subtle lace decorating the outside of my briefs. The rest of the fabric is lightweight, nearly sheer, and I have no doubt he’s getting an eyeful of my erection right about now.

Jameson groans again, the vibration of it traveling through me, before he lifts his eyes to my face. “I’ve never done this before,” he says. “So you’ll have to tell me what you like.”

It’s all the warning I get before Jameson’s hand is diving under the fabric of my briefs and wrapping around the length of me. I arch into his touch, gasping at the feel of all that warm skin around my shaft. He curses as he squeezes me tight, dragging his fist upwards in a sure, solid stroke.

“Tell me,” he repeats, a groaned request.

“D’you have lube?” I ask, voice hitching.

Jameson nods, although it takes him a long moment to break away. Finally, he rolls off me, reaching into his nightstand drawer and coming back with a bottle. I shove my briefs and sleep pants down to my thighs, giving Jameson better access, and his eyes roam over me as he flicks open the cap on the lube. Moments later, a warm, wet hand wraps around my dick.

An unintelligible sound leaves my mouth as Jameson starts to work me over.

“Blue,” he says.

“Harder,” I instruct, groaning when he tightens his hand.

He rolls over my crown, twisting, his thumb toying with the slit, and I buck my hips, chasing the sensation. He focuses his attention there, mapping me with his thumb, tracing along the ridges of my cock, before pumping me again with his slick hand.

“Yes, like that,” I breathe, having zero complaints about what Jameson is doing to me so far. His every touch feels euphoric.

Jameson’s pupils are blown when he brings his gaze back up to my face, his eyes nearly black. His hair is disheveled over his forehead, mouth parted.

He looks like all those things I’ve been dreaming about for so very long.

I grab the back of Jameson’s head and tug, and his lips crash into my own. We’re zero finesse, all fumbling lips and bumping noses, and I reach down, wetting my palm with lube from my own dick. Jameson makes a curious sound, but when I abandon my erection, finding the waistband of his sweats and sliding inside, he groans in understanding. That groan goes on as I grasp the root of his dick, but my own moan becomes choked.

Detangling our lips, I lift my head, pulling down on the edge of Jameson’s sweats.

“My God, Jamie. You’re fuckin’ huge,” I gasp out.

I had a feeling he was big, based on what I could feel before, but good grief. The man is plain hung.

Jameson huffs what sounds like laughter, but it comes out a little garbled as I wrap my hand around the meaty girth of him again and stroke. “Uh.”

“Uh?” I question. “That’s all you’ve got to say for yourself?”

“I’m not that much larger than average.”

“Shut up,” I retort. “You’re big.”

“Good or bad?” he asks, actually sounding a little concerned. He’s still jerking me off, but his movements have slowed.

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