Page 85 of Make the Play
Jason stops laughing, the intensity of his gaze staggering. “Say it again.”
“Uh, which—oh.” Emerson’s heart thuds harder, faster. As if it knows every beat right now is for the beautiful man holding him. “Jason and Emmy.”
Jason’s body trembles, and when he kisses Emerson this time, there’s nothing slow or sweet about it. Jason shifts his hold so that all of Emerson’s weight is braced in one hand. Emerson hardly has time to marvel at Jason’s impressive strength before the hand he freed is at Emerson’s cheek, smoothing down the side of his face and lower until it curls loosely around his throat while he plunges his tongue into Emerson’s mouth and all but devours him. Jason’s kiss is demanding, eager, and Emerson feels utterly owned by the way Jason claims his mouth, the sensation as unexpectedly arousing as it is safe.
Eager for anything Jason will give him, he tips his head back against the door, exposing the line of his throat as he tightens his legs around Jason’s waist. It’s heady and thrilling, and Emerson feels bold making his desires clear.
“Fuck,” Jason curses, mouth attaching itself to the hollow of Emerson’s throat.
A moan erupts, and Emerson’s face burns when he realizes that guttural needy sound came from him. He had no idea having someone suck on his neck would make every inch of his body, from his head to his toes and most definitely his cock, light up with pleasure. Clearly emboldened by the sound, Jason mouths at his throat, leaving Emerson seeing stars.
How do normal people function with this level of arousal? Emerson is losing his mind, all rational thought and propriety fleeing. He’s pretty sure there’s a solid reason not to come in his suit, both because of the dry cleaning bill and the whole chaperone thing, yet somehow his desire to touch and be touched overrules it all. He’s never felt this desperate in his entire life, and he’s pretty sure he might die if Jason stops touching him.
“No dying, Emmy.”
“I didn’t mean to say that out loud,” Emerson groans, embarrassed, turned on and very close to rutting against Jason like a teenager.
“It’s adorable,” Jason huffs, his amusement somehow as arousing as the kisses he continues to pepper along Emerson’s throat.
Emerson is very overwhelmed, and while it’s not bad, his brain is close to short circuiting. He doesn’t understand how he’s supposed to feel so much—arousal, affection, desire—and still function.
“I’ve never liked anyone the way I like you,” Jason whispers, ruining Emerson further. He kisses his way up the side of Emerson’s neck. “My Emmy.”
My Emmy. Two little words uttered with such casual certainty that tears prickle at the corners of Emerson’s eyes. He squeezes Jason tightly, trapping his face against Emerson’s throat. He’s never belonged anywhere, never belonged to anyone. Until now.
“Please don’t let me go,” Emerson whispers, unsure if he means right now or ever.
“I’ve got you,” Jason promises. “I?—”
A solid knock at the door has both of them stilling.
Jason’s eyes widen while Emerson automatically assumes the worst.
“Are we in trouble?”
“No.” Jason shakes his head, some of his dark hair that’s been slicked back falling loose across his forehead. “We’re the teachers. Although, we probably should be out there, but we’re not going to get in trouble for taking a few minutes to uh—you know.”
“Sorry,” Emerson starts, but Jason silences him with a chaste kiss.
“Nope, no sorry.” Jason kisses him, looking physically pained when he has to pull back. “Besides I’m the one who dragged you in here. If anyone is at fault it’s me, and?—”
“Mr. King,” someone yells loudly, knocking again with slightly more urgency. It’s definitely a male voice but with the music blaring and his relative lack of familiarity with the majority of the staff here he has no idea who.
“Ugh,” Jason groans, the slope of his handsome features turning down in a frown. Clearly he knows who is waiting on the other side of the door.
“Remember we didn’t do anything wrong,” Jason says, straightening Emerson’s boutonniere then kissing his cheek. “It’s no one's business what we’re doing in here. You’re not going to apologize, right?”
“I can try not to,” Emerson shrugs. Between his family’s conditioning and his brain’s propensity to assume he’s in trouble at all times from making an inadvertent social faux paus, apologizing comes second nature to him.
“Let me handle this then,” Jason offers, smoothing back a stray lock of Emerson’s hair. It pops back up, and Jason grins, trying to smooth it down a second time but the hair refuses to cooperate. Emerson knows it’s pointless because he tried all day, and while he could’ve used gel like Jason, the sensory ick of having crunchy hair was not something he was willing to suffer. He doesn’t point this out to Jason though, wanting any bit of physical contact he can have.
“Ready?”
“Not really,” Emerson answers.
“Me either,” Jason sighs, squatting down to retrieve Emerson’s abandoned ear defenders from the floor. He carefully slides them back on Emerson’s head, the lingering feeling of Jason’s fingers skimming through Emerson’s hair fading when Jason turns his attention to his office door. His hand turns the knob, pushing the door open and returning them to the real world with a harsh clatter of pounding music and flashing lights.
16JASON
