Anna Martin's First Love Box Set: Signs - Bright Young Things - Five Times My Best Friend Kissed Me

by Anna Martin

  Adam was clearly doing something right because Jared’s cock was leaking a steady stream of pre-come, something he didn’t do all that often. He rubbed just under the head of his cock with his thumb, the most sensitive part that was almost guaranteed to make him horny. He was more than horny now: the pain in his ass had faded to a pleasant hum, and the combination of his hand on his dick and Adam’s lips on his neck was turning this into an altogether good experience.

  “I’m not sure,” Adam said, his voice low and rough, “how much longer I can hold on.”

  “Do it,” Jared growled. “Come inside me.”

  “Oh, fuck.”

  Adam pressed his face into the arch of Jared’s neck and trembled hard. His arms tightened around Jared’s shoulders, and he could feel everything. It was like a fire had been lit underneath them, inside them, and all Jared could do was hold on and come too.

  Every last inch of him was singing with the sheer, overwhelming intensity of a bone-deep orgasm. The weight of Adam’s body on top of his was nothing, not important, even though he was finding it difficult to breathe. And think. And function.

  So, that was sex.

  The first thing he became aware of was Adam’s hand searching for his on the bed, and Jared couldn’t help the stinging in his eyes when Adam tangled their fingers together and squeezed gently. It was something more than sex now.

  Adam laid a very, very careful kiss on the side of Jared’s neck before he pulled away, and the rush of pain and discomfort and loss choked Jared. It was more, somehow, than in those first moments.

  As his fingers and toes curled in pain, he gritted his teeth and kept his eyes shut while Adam padded silently to the bathroom. The pain was a dull ache inside, and he knew by some instinct that this would linger.

  When Adam came out of the bathroom, Jared was fully dressed, his boots on but unlaced. Adam gave him a look of hazy confusion, smiling softly, asking with his expression why Jared wasn’t snuggled up in bed.

  Jared grabbed Adam’s wrist and dragged him forward until they were toe to toe, Jared dressed, Adam wearing nothing but another expensive pair of underwear.

  With great precision, Jared leaned down and pressed a kiss to the corner of Adam’s mouth.

  “There,” he said softy, keeping their faces close together, his eyes closed. “You can go and collect on your bet now.”

  Chapter 13

  It was only when Jared got out of the Hemlock house that he realized he’d been driven here, and he had no way of getting home. With a sigh, he pulled his phone from his back pocket and called a taxi, managing to get to the end of the long, winding drive as the car pulled up.

  He kept his eyes on the road, concentrating on the feeling of his damp clothes sticking to his skin and not the raw ache he would forever associate with losing both his virginity and his heart.

  By the time he found himself back in his bed again, it was close to dawn. Jared hadn’t showered again, not possessing the energy to wash Adam’s smell from his skin, and had changed his clothes to something dry.

  After ten minutes of lying in bed, he knew there was no way he was going to sleep without chemical assistance, and reluctantly dragged himself back to the bathroom, stepping over his white clothes on the floor.

  The party seemed like days ago now, weeks maybe.

  In the cabinet he found Tylenol, sleeping pills, and a teeny tiny, airline bottle of scotch. He took two each of the pills and chased them with the liquor, pissed, then stumbled back to bed.

  Jared woke at two the following afternoon, pissed again, went to the kitchen and made a grilled cheese sandwich. He took it back to bed, set re-runs of Buffy the Vampire Slayer to play on Netflix, and went back to sleep.

  He woke again at seven, checked his phone, plugged it in to charge without looking at any messages or Facebook notifications. Went back to sleep.

  He woke at midnight screaming, sweating, throat raw.

  This time he pulled himself out of bed and to the shower, turning off Buffy as he went. It took a while to properly cleanse himself, inside and out, washing sticky residue from his skin that had been there for almost twenty-four hours.

  The white clothes were still on the floor, and after dressing in cutoff sweatpants and a tank top, Jared decided it was time to clean up.

  There was an in-house music system he could set up, so his hard, angry rock music blasted in every room he was in. While Alanis Morisette screamed about things that people oughta know, Jared collected armfuls of laundry and went down to the basement to set it in the washer. With that task rolling along without him, he went back upstairs and found the cleaning cupboard, taking the things he needed for the bathroom.

  Unlike some people in this town, Jared had been to a school where he was forced to take part in the detailed scrubbing of every inch of a communal bathroom. It was punishment sometimes, other times so the people in charge could assert their authority. Bottom line—Jared knew how to scrub. And the bathroom needed scrubbing.

  After going at the grout around the bathtub with an old toothbrush for nearly forty-five minutes, he found a bottle of Powerade in the fridge downstairs, downing it gratefully. Once rehydrated, he looked around the kitchen at the mess he’d caused. There was a cleaning service Hadley had come every few days, but he could do this too. The music was still playing, daring him to keep going, and he did.

  Countertops.

  Grill.

  Oven.

  Floor. Dry sweep, wet mop, watch it dry, mop again.

  By the time the floor was dry, the laundry had been through the washer and dryer and he pulled it out, sorted it carefully, then carried it back upstairs. He watched light seeping into the gray morning and fell asleep again from sheer exhaustion.

  The magic elixir of Tylenol, sleeping pills, and scotch got him through most of the next day, and weed, scotch, and Grand Theft Auto 5 got him through the next night. The pain dulled in his chest, and his new favorite blend of chemical enhancements stopped him feeling too much of anything at all.

  Jared wasn’t quite sure where the days and nights started and ended any more, but at about ten in the morning on what he thought was Tuesday, he hauled his sorry, stinking ass into the shower. Got dressed in nice jeans and a plaid shirt, combed his hair, slicked on a little cologne.

  Climbed into his truck and drove to Seattle, Morisette blaring out of his stereo once again. For some reason, the angry girl, fucked-over ’90’s grunge rock mood fit him like a glove.

  Fuck the patriarchy.

  In the city, Jared drove to a Sexual Health Clinic, directed by the GPS on his phone. He gave a fake name and paid in cash, got his blood drawn, and was told he’d get the results in ten days or so. That was fine. It was a precaution, and maybe he was being over-cautious. Adam had used a condom—at first, at least. Jared couldn’t be absolutely one hundred percent certain that Adam hadn’t pulled it off, and it made him feel responsible and slightly superior to get tested. Just in case.

  With Christmas just around the corner, he spent the rest of the day shopping, buying small gifts for his sisters, his mother, and Hadley, then wondering when his life had gotten so full of women. He saw a small pendant necklace that would have been perfect for Ryder, and a band T-shirt that, in other circumstances, he would have bought for Mia.

  As he walked aimlessly around a department store, Jared picked out gifts for all the people he thought were his friends, but weren’t after all.

  In a moment of clarity, he stopped in front of a display of leather-bound notebooks, remembering Dylan. He hadn’t seen Ryder’s brother in a few weeks now; their tutoring sessions had filtered off over the holiday period. Dylan was someone he wouldn’t feel awkward buying a gift for.

  Jared took his time choosing the right notebook, eventually selecting one that had a dark red leather cover with lined pages inside. He imagined Dylan using it for classes, for scrawling hasty notes to himself or little snippets of poetry. Dylan was the sort of guy who’d write poetry.

 
; Arms full of bags, Jared navigated his way through the sudden crowd of people that had flooded the store, sighing to himself about being totally oblivious, once again, about what was going on around him.

  With Hadley not due home for at least another week, Jared picked up takeout on his way back to the house and sat in his room eating a huge bowl of pad thai, watching an English soccer game on TV.

  As of yet, no one from the school had been in contact regarding his attendance, and it looked like Clare’s prediction that Principal Saunders didn’t want to get involved with Hadley, if he could help it, was in fact correct. Jared wondered how long this standoff would last until someone caved and did something about the fact that he wasn’t in school.

  Jared slurped up the last of his noodles, then set the bowl on his dresser. It would likely stay there until morning. He had no intention of going downstairs again.

  He muted the TV and sat up suddenly when he heard the front door open, then slam closed.

  “Jared?” a familiar voice yelled up the stairs. “Get your ass down here.”

  Chris.

  Jared stayed exactly where he was and listened in quiet bemusement as the big guy stomped up the stairs, then followed the light from Jared’s bedroom all the way down the hall.

  “Lazy ass motherfucker,” Chris drawled, letting himself into Jared’s room without waiting for an invite and sitting down backward on the desk chair. “Where the fuck have you been, homie?”

  Jared snorted. “Here. Why do you care?”

  Chris rolled his eyes. “Pretty-ass white boy causes a scene at my white party, then storms off and doesn’t turn up to school for two days? People are talking. I want the scoop.”

  “You know the scoop, Chris,” Jared snapped. “You’ve known right from the start. I should be hauling you over the fucking coals for details.”

  “What do you wanna know?” Chris asked, leaning back with his long fingers curled over the back of the chair.

  Jared was slightly taken aback at that. He hadn’t expected Chris to be forthcoming with information. There were so many layers to this whole epic clusterfuck Jared didn’t know where to start. Of course, all roads led to Clare, so….

  “What were you gonna get out of it?” Jared asked impulsively. “Adam got the car, Clare got to mess with everyone, which is clearly what she wanted all along, but you lost the Caddy, man. What was the compensation for that?”

  Chris raised an eyebrow and waited a few beats for Jared to talk himself into the answer. “All roads lead to Clare. You said it yourself.”

  It dawned on Jared slowly. “You got Clare. Adam won, he got the car. You gave up the car but got the girl.”

  Chris nodded.

  “So, did you get her?”

  “Naw,” Chris said, shifting uncomfortably. He looked embarrassed.

  “Why don’t you just go get her on your own?” Jared asked, genuinely curious now. “God knows I can’t stand that bitch, but she’s the Faith to your Biggie, you know? You two are meant to be.”

  “I’m not into forcing a girl,” Chris said. He was visibly uncomfortable, the first time Jared had ever seen him look that way. “She’ll come to me when she’s ready.”

  “I suppose it’s nice to have that option,” Jared said acidly. “It’s fucked up to bet on sex. Don’t get me wrong. I like sex. I don’t care who fucks who around here. But it’s different when someone doesn’t get a choice. I thought we were friends,” he finished, realizing he’d suddenly made all this theoretical talk personal.

  Chris grinned, although the humor didn’t seem to reach his eyes. “Jared, I’ve got one piece of advice for you, man… don’t hate the player, hate the game.”

  Jared barked a laugh. “Right. I’ve heard that one before.”

  Understanding flowed between them, and even though Chris was Adam’s best friend, Jared knew this conversation wasn’t going any further.

  “You need to come back to school,” Chris said. “Sooner rather than later, bro. Don’t let these motherfuckers get to you. Walk back in with your head held high. You can’t let them win. Not ever.”

  “Why do you care?” Jared mumbled.

  “Because despite what you think about me right now, I never really cared that much about the bet. We’ve been doing stupid stuff like this since seventh grade.” He shrugged. “You’re not the first person to get fucked over by the Harbor posse.”

  “Fucked over, or just plain fucked?”

  Chris’s eyes widened, and Jared suddenly realized—

  “He didn’t tell you?”

  “Naw,” Chris drawled. “Fo’ real?”

  “Yeah.” It didn’t make sense. Nothing made sense. Jared hadn’t moved to Washington, he’d fallen down a fucking rabbit hole. “Saturday night. I thought he would have picked up the Caddy by now.”

  In response, Chris drew his keys from his pocket and jingled them in Jared’s direction. “He didn’t tell anyone. If he’d told Clare, then you know every damn person in the state would know by now.”

  Jared nodded.

  “Be at school tomorrow,” Chris said, swinging his leg over the chair and standing, shoving his hands in his pockets. “I’m telling you this as a friend, you feel me? Get up, brush your fucking hair, and look slick as fuck when you roll up. Don’t look left, don’t look right. Walk in there and make all those motherfuckers your bitches.”

  This time Jared grinned. Biggie had a lyrical way with words, even if he did drop the F-bomb more than any other person Jared had ever known. And his words made sense.

  “I’ll be there,” he said.

  Chris looked like he was about to say something, then stopped himself.

  “What?”

  “Here,” Chris said and tossed him the keys to his car. “It’s yours.”

  “What?”

  “Look, I was pretty much prepared to give it away anyway. I’ll tell my dad I sold it, and I want a new car.”

  “You rich motherfuckers make me sick,” Jared said, but he was grinning, twirling the keys around his finger.

  “Mostly I just want to see the look on Hemlock and Metago’s faces when you show up in it tomorrow morning,” Chris said. He raised an eyebrow.

  It was at that point Jared decided Biggie wasn’t a playah. He was the fuckin’ game.

  “A’ight,” Jared agreed. “Do you need a ride home?”

  “Nah, I’ll call a taxi. Later,” he said, and sauntered out of the house.

  After Chris left, Jared waited a few minutes, then got up and cleared his room of all the crap that had accumulated in the past few days. Then he shut everything down except his iPad and lay back in bed.

  Internet porn had started to bore him years ago, but he had recently discovered blogs that captioned erotic images with short stories, and he was currently stalking several of them. With the page loaded and the iPad screen glowing softly in the dark room, Jared slid his hand under his T-shirt, down his belly into his boxers where his cock was already starting to rise.

  Touching himself like this was a familiar comfort, an old one that wasn’t affected by any external factors. No matter what was going on in this version of hell, jerking off was always going to feel good. With a strong palm wrapped around his hard cock, Jared thumbed through the blogs, letting the combination of words and pictures slowly turn him on.

  As his cock thickened and pulsed in his hand, Jared paused at an image of a younger, smooth-skinned boy with two of his fingers pressed deep in his ass. A tiny noise—a sigh, or groan maybe—escaped his lips, and Jared ran his tongue over them.

  He hadn’t done this. Not yet, anyway….

  Eyes fixed on that picture, absorbing every last inch of it, Jared let go of his cock and reached down farther, giving his balls a light squeeze and tug, then pressing his fingers behind.

  The position was unfamiliar to him, and he didn’t want to flip over on his front and reach back like the boy in the picture. That was too pornographic, especially while this was so new to him.

 
; Frustrated, Jared kicked off his boxers and spread his legs, making more room for his curious fingers.

  With his iPad propped up on a pillow, Jared pulled his knees back and gripped his cock with his left hand, which was deliciously unfamiliar, as he spread his cheeks with his right.

  He realized, probably too late, that some lube would probably make this better, but it was too late now. He was too far gone to dig out a bottle or go to the bathroom. With the knuckle of his index finger, Jared nudged and teased at his tight opening while squeezing and tugging his cock, hips jerking in time with the motion.

  He wasn’t ready to push fingers inside yet, not without lube, anyway, and this feeling was still so unfamiliar he wanted to explore it. Jared knew, from being on both sides now, that there were hundreds of nerve endings here, and his gently nudging knuckle was igniting them all, enough stimulation to make his cock drool clear fluid.

  The boy on the screen provided intimate inspiration, his back shamelessly arched into the sensation of two pale fingers lodged deep in his own body, and Jared wondered if he would ever be that wantonly sexual. He thought maybe he’d learn.

  With a loud groan, Jared pushed his finger harder against his hole, the tip breaching the ring of muscle as his cock stiffened, then spat hot come up Jared’s belly and onto his T-shirt. He was breathing hard, hot and cold all over, wondering what this new exploration of his body meant.

  Without Jared’s permission, the ghost of Adam still moved inside him.

  Chapter 14

  The next morning dawned crisp and cool, the sun hanging low in the sky. A light frost had dusted the town like icing sugar, and Jared felt good. He’d made his peace with Chris, which sort of meant something, although he wasn’t sure exactly what.

  The weak sunshine was bright enough to justify wearing his reflective aviators and when he turned on the stereo, there was only one CD he could possibly stick in the player.

  Jared rolled the top of the car down and rolled up in front of the school with “Gimme the Loot” blasting from the stereo. Actually, it was louder than just blasting. Chris had installed an insanely good stereo system in the Caddy, and Jared’s ears hurt a little from the volume coming out of the speakers.