Hunter pressed a quick, hard kiss to Jesse’s mouth. He was so . . . sweet right now, Hunter couldn’t help himself. “It’s so good. You’re going to love it.”
“You’ve, ah, topped?”
“I’ve been known to. I prefer bottoming, but like I said, I’m flexible. And it’s all pretty damn great with . . .” He didn’t know if he should go that far.
“With what?” Jesse was looking at him so intensely, Hunter’s face heated.
“With the right person.” He laughed at himself. “Hell, it’s good enough with the wrong person, but it can be pretty spectacular with . . . someone you like. With someone you trust.”
With someone you love.
Hunter had made Jesse feel all kinds of shit he’d never felt before, so it made a certain kind of sense that he was nervous as hell over what was about to happen.
He usually had the upper hand in a sexual encounter, partly because he was a little bossy in bed by nature, but partly because it came with the territory of being a famous person. People deferred to you enough that habits formed.
It wasn’t just the physical stuff that had him apprehensive; it was everything he’d said to Hunter about their relationship, about . . . making it public. There was going to be fallout. He knew that. But faced with the choice of losing Hunter or having him . . .Well, there had been no choice.
So he’d think about the fallout—and a plan to deal with it—later. Concentrate on one anxious-making thing at a time. For now, he was gratefully setting aside the damn narrative he was always working so hard to control according to Matty’s specs.
“We don’t have to do anything, you know,” Hunter said gently.
Jesse forced his swirling mind to focus on his . . . boyfriend? Partner? Those words seemed weird. But there was absolutely no doubt in his mind that Hunter was his person. His kind, generous, funny, gorgeous person.
They were facing each other, each sitting cross-legged. It kind of reminded him of the last scene of Sixteen Candles, where Molly Ringwald and whatever that guy’s name was sat like that on a table.
“Did you ever see that movie Sixteen Candles? My mom was obsessed with it.”
Hunter quirked a smiled. “Yes.”
“At the end, they sat like this, facing each other. He leaned over and kissed her, like you just did me.”
The smile grew. “Yes, and they had a birthday cake between them.”
They both looked down at the condom.
Then, on cue, they both cracked up.
“What do you think they did after she blew out the candles?” Hunter asked.
“Weren’t her parents out of town? Honestly, I think they probably had sex.”
“I don’t know.” Hunter shifted so he was lying back on the bed, his upper body bolstered by the headboard. “Maybe they just watched a movie and cuddled.” He grabbed the remote from the bedside table, tossed it at Jesse, and held out his arms.
He was communicating, this time with actions rather than words, that nothing physical had to happen between them. He was creating a safe space for Jesse. He wasn’t sure anyone had ever done that for him before. Tears prickled behind his eyeballs.
He didn’t pick up the remote, but he did fall into Hunter’s arms.
They banded around him, strong and sure.
That was all it took for his nervousness to evaporate. Hunter was still shirtless, and Jesse turned his head and buried his nose in Hunter’s neck. Savored the faint clove smell of his aftershave for a moment before pressing his lips to the pulse visible there.
Hunter grunted, and Jesse, who was half draped over him, felt Hunter’s cock stiffening. As if embarrassed, Hunter tried to shift his lower body out from under Jesse, but Jesse wasn’t having it. In fact, he slid his other hand under the waistband of Hunter’s pajama bottoms and stroked, relishing the growly groan that resulted.
His own cock was mirroring Hunter’s, and suddenly, he needed out of his tight jeans. He pulled away and stripped off all his clothes.
“You don’t have to prove anything—to me or to yourself—you know,” Hunter said, watching him intently from his repose. He had a dark-red blotch on his neck where Jesse’s mouth had been. The sight of it—of his mark on Hunter—sent a bolt of possessive lust though Jesse. “There’s no hurry,” Hunter added.
“While I appreciate your concern, there is in fact a big fucking hurry.”
Hunter raised his eyebrows.
“If I don’t get my hands on you right now, I’m going to lose my goddamned mind.” When Hunter didn’t do anything but grin, Jesse snarled, “Take off your pants.”
Hunter’s eyes widened.
He also took off his pants.
Good. As interesting as all this newness was, Jesse liked being in charge, because it was familiar, but also for its own sake.
They were both naked now, staring at each other, Jesse standing and Hunter half reclined on the bed. Jesse was greedy, drunk on the idea that this expanse of skin, this man, was his. There were so many possibilities.
A world opened before him.
Hunter sat up, inserting himself into the pause created by Jesse’s inability to decide what part of his lover to grab first, and licked the tip of Jesse’s already leaking cock.
The gesture crystalized his path. “No way.” He pushed Hunter onto his back. If Hunter did that, Jesse wasn’t going to last, and he wanted to . . . do what Hunter had suggested earlier. He laughed at himself. Since when had he become all squeamish about sex? He couldn’t even think the words? No.
“I want to fuck you,” he said. The declaration echoing through the space between them ratcheted his need up a few thousand points.
It seemed the same was true for Hunter, because he moaned and closed his eyes, like the world was too much to look at just then.
Jesse prowled forward and climbed onto Hunter. With a woman, he would be careful not to rest all his weight on her, but Hunter was big and solid and could hold him.
So he laid himself out on Hunter and kissed him. Let the deep, drugging sensation of Hunter’s mouth working his, of Hunter’s tongue sweeping through his mouth, diffuse through his veins. Let himself be heavy. Surrender.
After a few minutes—hours? He didn’t know—of deep kissing, Hunter’s moans were becoming more urgent, more needy. Jesse shifted partly off Hunter and let his hand drift down to grab Hunter’s cock even as they continued their joint assault on each other’s mouths. He used the moisture he found at the tip to stroke Hunter a few times, and from there, it seemed the most natural thing in the world to slide his hand around and trace the edge of Hunter’s ass.
Hunter broke their kiss, panting. “There’s lube in there.” He nodded at the bedside table, on which rested a small toiletries bag.
Lube. Right. He should have thought of that. He retrieved it, coated his fingers, and returned to tracing the edge of that sensitive opening, carefully assessing Hunter’s face for clues.
He saw desire. Lust. And, as Jesse worked a finger in, Hunter’s eyes slipped shut on a moan.
He was so beautiful as he gave himself up to pleasure, and it was Jesse’s doing. How utterly shocking—and wonderful.
It almost hurt to watch. Jesse hadn’t realized he’d stopped moving his hand until Hunter opened his eyes. A furrow appeared between his brow, and he whispered, “Please.”
Jesse started moving again, watching Hunter like a hawk as he carefully slid the finger deeper inside him, loving the feeling of resistance, and then relaxation, he encountered.
“More,” Hunter said, his voice low and desperate, and Jesse moved to oblige, gradually adding a second finger.
“Stretch me a bit,” Hunter commanded. Then he added a rasped, “Please, Jesse.”
Jesse moaned. The interplay at work here, him with his fingers in Hunter’s ass, Hunter simultaneously bossy and begging, it was . . . beyond words.
A wave of lust tore through Jesse, and he widened his fingers a little, which summoned a string of barely intelligible cu
rses from Hunter that finally resolved themselves into one recognizable word: “Condom.”
He needed both hands to retrieve it, so he pulled his fingers out of Hunter, relishing the forlorn whimper that resulted. Fuck, it made him want to beat his chest like Tarzan. Hands made clumsy by lust, it took him a few tries to tear open the condom package. Hunter’s hands appeared, taking control.
“Oh my God,” Jesse said as Hunter jacked him a few times before rolling the condom on. His eyes slipped closed in bliss and then flew open at the sensation of Hunter taking his hand and pouring slick liquid into it.
When he spread his thighs in clear invitation, Jesse said it again, louder, “Oh my God.”
If his hands had been clumsy before, now he was a janky, ill-programmed robot who could barely control his renegade limbs. But he managed to massage some more lube into and around Hunter’s hole and to coat his own dick with the remainder.
He grabbed the base of his cock and positioned the head near Hunter’s entrance.
But then a hand reached up, cradled his cheek.
He’d been singularly focused on the obscenely gorgeous sight of Hunter’s body, of him lying there with his legs splayed. He raised his gaze to meet Hunter’s.
“Are you sure this is okay?” Hunter asked with so much kindness, so much concern, it took Jesse’s breath away. “This doesn’t have to happen now. There’s plenty of time.” He smiled. “We have nothing but time.”
There were those tears threatening again. The answer to Hunter’s question was yes, he was okay with this. He was more than okay with this, but to be asked . . . well, it did something to him. Jesse had always thought of consent as something the person doing the fucking should get from the person being fucked. It was a dick-centric view of things, he supposed. But to be asked? For Hunter to not assume that because he was topping, that he was automatically raring to go? It was so . . . chivalrous. And, really, who was fucking whom here? He realized it wasn’t about which dick went where, even though they’d used that verbal shorthand before, in their standoff. They were fucking each other. It was so much more complicated than his past experiences, but also . . . so much less complicated.
“Sweetheart,” said Hunter, and the endearment was another lance to Jesse’s chest. He was being dismantled, one loving word at a time.
Hunter started to sit up, and Jesse realized he was interpreting Jesse’s lack of an answer as the absence of consent. Which was a decidedly incorrect interpretation.
Enough weepy existential revelation. Time for fucking.
He pressed Hunter back down on the bed, clamped his hands down on Hunter’s hips, and tried for his best leer. “I am very okay with this. And there is not plenty of time. There is only now.”
But wait. He should make sure that feeling was mutual, and he probably shouldn’t be pinning Hunter down while he did so. He broke contact, sat back on his haunches, and said, “Are you okay with this?”
Hunter’s answer was to grab Jesse’s hands and put them back where they’d been, and to let his legs fall open again. Then he crooked a finger in a “come here” gesture until Jesse got close enough for him to reach his head and pull him down for another one of those greedy kisses.
As Jesse started to breach Hunter, though, Hunter pushed him away. “I need to see you.”
That was what he’d said months before, after the gala, when Jesse had been blowing him. Jesse smiled as he complied, boosting himself up on an elbow, shaking his hair out of his face.
He liked the idea that Hunter wanted to watch him. He liked the nonanonymity of it. Like he specifically was the only one who could do this job—fucking Hunter—the right way.
And he did. Pushed gently past the initial resistance and— “Oh fuck.”
He hadn’t known. He’d had no idea.
He tried to move slowly, sinking into Hunter’s body inch by excruciating inch, until he was buried to the hilt. Hunter’s jaw had fallen open, and he was blinking rapidly.
“Okay?” Jesse prayed the answer was yes. Because this? He needed this. This pressure, this tightness, this feeling of being totally engulfed—this was what had been missing his whole goddamn life.
“Yes,” Hunter breathed. “Yes. Move.”
Jesse moved, pleasure shooting down his spine, everything in his body turning inward, pressure building in his dick and his balls.
“Harder.” Hunter shifted his position a bit under Jesse, like he was trying to find a different angle.
It was almost too much. He took one of Hunter’s hands, interlaced their fingers, and pressed their joined hands down on the bed. His other hand reset itself on Hunter’s hip. “Ready?” he breathed.
When Hunter nodded, Jesse let himself go. Pounded into Hunter over and over again, the resulting slap of flesh on flesh exhorting him to find even more strength, to set an even more punishing pace.
“Oh!” Hunter cried out, his eyes widening. “There!”
Jesse tried to keep doing exactly what he was doing. His eyes wanted to roll back into his head, but he made himself keep looking at Hunter, both because he knew it was important to Hunter and because, egomaniac that he was, he loved seeing the effect he was having on him.
“Please don’t stop,” Hunter whimpered, using his free hand to stroke his own dick. The sight of Hunter jacking himself, Jesse’s dick buried in his ass, almost undid him.
“Please don’t stop,” Hunter said again. It became a mantra he repeated over and over, the words melding together.
Jesse wanted to roar at the rightness of this—no, he was roaring. The gap between his thoughts and the expression of them had narrowed so much, it had disappeared. That was what Hunter did to him. “I’ll never stop,” he growled, his mouth expelling dirty thoughts the instant they arose. “I’ll fuck you as long and as hard as you want, baby. I’ll never stop.”
As soon as the last sentence was out, Hunter shouted and started to come. Great big spurts, wave after wave, and it was the most beautiful thing Jesse had ever seen. He tried to keep going. Forever, he’d said, and he’d meant it. But it was only a couple of more wild thrusts before he was coming too, his body convulsing with the strength of the most powerful orgasm he’d ever had.
After it was done, they stayed where they were, staring at each other, panting.
Holy fuck.
Jesse didn’t know what to do. What to say. Whether to laugh or cry.
After a few moments, Hunter laughed. A breathy, shaky, disbelieving, joyous laugh.
It unfroze Jesse. He grinned, carefully pulled out, and dealt with the condom. “Be right back,” he said, and he jogged into the bathroom to clean himself up. He grabbed a clean towel, dampened a washcloth, and headed back to bed to take care of Hunter.
Hunter woke up, and everything was different. It wasn’t like in novels where the protagonist wakes up and needs a moment to remember everything had changed. He knew immediately that everything had changed. There was a tattooed arm over his chest, and his ass ached. His body was heavy with the delicious sensation of having been well and thoroughly used.
He’d gone all the way through the looking glass and back. And brought Jesse with him. Or kicked Jesse off the seesaw. Or something. He laughed at himself. His stupid metaphors were falling apart. But that was okay, because he didn’t need them anymore.
He shifted and stretched the parts of his body that weren’t pinned down by a slumbering Jesse. He was sore and stiff and alive. The only thing better than the dirty, loving, crazy-making fucking he’d had last night was the notion that he’d get to spend the day goofing off with the dirty, loving, crazy-making man who’d delivered it.
An all-day date with the rock star in Buffalo.
In public.
This was what people had been talking about all the time when they’d told him to stop being such a workaholic. This feeling of wanting time with someone, wanting to gather great big handfuls of it and hoard it.
He got it now.
“I get it now,” he whispere
d, because thinking it in his head wasn’t enough.
“You get what?” came a muffled voice from behind him.
“Ahh!” Hunter laughed. “You faker!” Jesse had been so motionless, his breath so even, his arm so heavy, Hunter had assumed he was still asleep.
All at once, Jesse came to life. Rearing up, he was briefly backlit by the stream of sunshine slanting in from the half-open curtains. Then, laughing, he pinned Hunter to the bed and started pressing kisses to Hunter’s neck, speaking between them. “I was just.” Kiss. “Laying there.” Kiss. “Sort of.” Kiss. “Taking everything in.”
Then he flopped back on the bed, sprawling over the tangled sheets, looking every inch the self-satisfied libertine.
Hunter had wondered what this morning would be like. He wouldn’t have been surprised if, after all that had transpired, Jesse would be a little embarrassed. Hell, Hunter almost was. Their coming together had been so intense, so exquisitely intimate, he felt a little exposed.
But no, Jesse was still himself. Still the sanguine, cocksure rock star.
“I gotta take a leak.” Jesse swung his legs over the edge of the bed. “And drink about a million cups of coffee.” It was true—they hadn’t gotten much sleep last night.
Hunter openly ogled Jesse’s fine ass as he walked to the bathroom, calling after him, “What are we going to do today?”
“I vote for more fucking,” came the answer from the bathroom.
Hunter laughed. “And after that?”
He heard Jesse finish up and flush. Then his head popped into view briefly, just long enough for an arm to snake out and snag the coffeepot. “Um, I’m going to go with more fucking?”
A tiny fear started to niggle at the edge of Hunter’s mind. A day in bed had undeniable appeal, but was Jesse suggesting that because he wanted to hide out?
That he wanted to hide Hunter? That wasn’t what he’d said last night. Hunter understood Jesse needed time to work on a strategy for coming out. He wasn’t planning to be all over Jesse in public or anything, but he’d assumed they’d still be able to spend the day together.
Infamous Page 20
