Page 114 of Jaded

I don’t realize I’m going to do it until I’m right beside him, my fingers against his cheek, turning his head. My mouth presses against his, soft and slow and sweet, and I tilt my forehead to his, just like he did to me. “It was fucking incredible. I can’t . . .”

I can’t find the words to explain what just happened. How it was the hottest thing I’ve ever experienced. The best fucking blow job I’ve ever had. How in some twenty years of fucking, this short exchange will live rent free in my head for the rest of my life, outshining all the rest.

“I’m for sure gonna think about it in the shower tomorrow morning,” I tell him instead. “And every shower for the rest of forever.”

He laughs, nudges my shoulder to push me off. “No way.”

“Um, yes way.” I settle back against the wall beside him, focus on tucking myself back together. “Do you have any fucking idea how hard it’s gonna be to not think about it in the locker room?”

He tilts his head towards me, one eye pinched open, the other closed. “Mmm, yes, considering I’ll be the one getting naked?”

That’s a somewhat sobering thought, isn’t it? The idea of having to watch him undress, leaving all that bare beautiful skin on display, taunting me, tantalizing me, and having to force myself to look away, to not notice, to not be fucking aroused by it. “Shit.”

“Nah, it’ll be fine.” He shrugs, so his bare shoulder rubs mine. “I’ve known I was gay for . . . I dunno, most of my life. Never had a problem.”

Right.

But . . . what does this mean for us? For the soft friendship that’s blossomed between us—or maybe that friendship was always driven by an undercurrent of desire. I don’t have any idea, and I’m too tired and fucked-out to think about it right now.

What happened between us was incredible, and for tonight, that’s enough for me.

“Um. Do you mind if I crash here?” I ask, self-conscious. “I do not want to drive. I can sleep in the other bed . . .”

“I don’t mind. Either bed.” Olli winks, then hops to his feet to find the bathroom. I heave myself up off the floor and flop onto one of the untouched beds. My body’s exhausted, sated, begging for oblivion.

I feel like I’m losing pieces of myself. Diving headfirst into something new without bothering to first check the depth of the water, in a way I haven’t in a long, long time. I want to chase tonight, this feeling, this experience.

Damn the consequences.

I want to chase him, the little ghost who hovers at my shoulder, just out of reach. Untouchable—and yet, maybe not.

My mind savors the thought as darkness sweeps across me. Maybe I should embrace whatever this is, because it feels so right, in a way nothing has for a long, long time. And the things in life that feel right, so few and far between, those are the things you pursue, and when you catch them, you hold onto them. For as long as you can.

But that’s never been a person before.

I’ve never wanted anyone like this, the way I want Olli James.

Chapter 27

Olli

NatTaylorisfarand away the hottest guy I’ve ever blown—from the sultry stare and the pouty lips to the knuckle tattoos and the full sleeves of ink. Having my mouth on his cock felt like a privilege, and getting to jerk off while doing it?

Hands down, best sex of my life.

And I shouldn’t have done it. Partly because of the whole “we work together” business, and partly because of the whole “Olli is demi and falls hard” thing . . .

But as I tumble into bed—the empty one, because sharing a twin is way too cozy, even when you're crushing hard—the lights off and sleep ready to claim me, I can’t regret it. Or at least, my sated-as-hell cock can’t. My entire body feels like someone pressed a warm iron to my insides, smoothing me into a soft, melty mess.

I sleep like the dead. Wake to the first rays of light seeping into the room, bathing my face in warmth and light. I roll away—and come face to face with Nat’s bed instead. He’s still asleep, flopped onto his back with one arm propped behind his head, the blankets bunched around his waist.

Which gives me a fantastic view of some of his best features. The coil of his abs, the bold tattoo along the right side of his ribs, a new view of the ink on the underside of his bunched biceps. The softness of his face, relaxed by sleep, free of the tension and hard angles it normally carries.

I even note the soft curve of his cock beneath the blankets, and I remember what it felt like to have him filling my mouth, remember the desperate little moans working their way from his throat, the way he towered over me—ink and muscles and that desperate, uncomposed face.

Welp, it’s about time for me to get up and shower. Before things get . . . well, you know. Let’s just say there’s gonna be some handiwork in this hose-down.

I slide out of bed and creep across the floor to the bathroom. My cock’s already half hard in anticipation of the scene it’s gonna be stroked to.

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