Page 98 of Icing on the Cake

“Oh? Who?”

“Him.”

Following Drew’s finger point across the room, I realize he’s talking about Jackson, who—true to his word—came as a sexy Julius Caesar. The white fabric drapes itself perfectly over his broad shoulders, emphasizing his muscular chest and arms, and stops high on his thighs. A gold laurel wreath sits on his dark hair, and he’s wearing a pair of leather sandals laced up his calves.

I whistle softly. “Whoa. Jackson is…”

“Fucking boner-inducing,” Drew says huskily.

I burst out laughing. “Hate to break it to you, Drew, but I’m pretty sure Jackson’s straight.”

“Oh, he won’t be when I’m done with him.”

The dude’s got guts; I’ll give him that. “Alright, Casanova. Let’s see what you’ve got.” I call out Jackson’s name, and he walks toward us, his toga swishing with every step. Up close, his costume is even more impressive. “Jackson, my dude! Love the costume.”

Jackson grins and adopts a Roman stance. “Thanks, Gerard. I hope I nailed the sexy aspect.”

“You certainly did.” Drew eyes Jackson’s costume with clear appreciation. “I’ve never seen a toga that…appealing.”

Jackson’s ears turn pink. “What can I say? When in Rome, right?”

“Indeed,” Drew replies. “Speaking of Rome, have you ever played truth or dare, Jackson?”

“Not since middle school. Why?”

“Care to test outmyversion?”

Jackson scans the truth or dare setup. He bites his lower lip, no doubt weighing the potential risks and rewards of playing Drew’s little game. After a brief pause, he nods. “Sure, why not? I’m always down to try new things.”

Drew’s face lights up. “Excellent! Let’s get started, shall we?”

Jackson’s toga lifts slightly as he leans over to spin the bottle, revealing some undercheek and letting us know he’s going commando underneath. It whirls for a good minute before finally stopping on the stack of dare cards. Jackson plucks one and silently reads it.

“Well?” Drew and I both lean in, curious to know what the dare is.

A faint blush creeps up Jackson’s neck. He clears his throat a few times before he speaks. “It says, ‘Choose someone in the room to suck your finger for one minute.’”

Oh, wow.One minute is a long time to have someone’s finger in your mouth.

I look down at Jackson’s fingers. They’re lean but thick, like a bundle of asparagus spears. I imagine what it would feel like to have one of those digits in my mouth, the taste of skin, and the slight pressure against my tongue. The thought sends an unexpected thrill through me.

Would I even want to suck on Jackson’s finger? I’m not so sure. But if it were Elliot in Jackson’s place, holding up his hand and offering me one of his slender, bookish fingers—I wouldn’t hesitate. I could suck on Elliot’s finger all day, tracing my tongue around his knuckle, feeling him twitch and shiver from the contact.

Jackson shifts on his feet, breaking my little fantasy. “So, uh…who wants to volunteer?”

The room goes silent. I glance around and see a few peopleaverting their eyes, some with smirks, others with sheer terror. No one’s brave enough to step up for this dare, at least not in front of the whole party. But then Drew’s lips curl into a predatory grin.

“I’ll volunteer as tribute,” he says, almost too eagerly.

Of course, he will. This is exactly what Drew wants—an excuse to get physical with Jackson under the guise of a harmless game. Part of me wonders if Jackson knows what he’s getting into. If he even realizes how calculated Drew can be.

Jackson holds up his hand, and for a moment, I think he’s going to back out. Maybe make a joke of it and laugh it off. But then he extends his index finger toward Drew, who takes it gently in his hand and brings it to his mouth.

The whole room watches as Drew opens his lips and slides them over Jackson’s finger. He starts slow, sucking with a deliberate rhythm that makes my skin prickle. Jackson’s eyes widen, and he shifts uncomfortably, but he doesn’t pull away.

Drew closes his eyes and sucks harder, using his tongue in ways that are far too skilled for something as simple as a finger. Jackson’s breathing changes. It grows shallower, and I wonder if he’s starting to enjoy it despite himself.

Someone in the crowd calls out, “Thirty seconds!”

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