by J. P. Oliver
Mark shrugged. “He’s cool, I guess. For a cat.” He patted my hip. “Now close your eyes and try to get some rest. I won’t be long.”
He got up and went into the—well, somewhere. Who knew in this apartment? My place only had three rooms: the great room, the bedroom, and a little closet-sized space they called a bathroom. There was only one large window in the great room and one tiny window in the bedroom, so it was really dark in there. The kitchen area and bathroom felt like black holes.
Mark’s place was a palace. I hadn’t seen the entire thing, but I was guessing it had to be over 2500 square feet, and that was some prime-sized real estate. Easily worth a million dollars in this swanky part of downtown, and probably more than that. The view alone made me green with envy.
The kitchen was one of those gourmet deals with all stainless steel and granite countertops. The living room could easily accommodate a small party, and the bedroom would have felt cavernous if it weren’t for the warm accents everywhere. And I loved the bathroom. Natural tiles, a shower with multi-level jets that had massaged my body from top to bottom, and a jacuzzi tub surrounded by so many soaps and salts it looked like an upscale apothecary. Yeah, this was the life. No wonder Mark walked around acting like he owned the world.
A few minutes later, I heard the shower start up. Mark was so quiet I hadn’t heard him come back into the bedroom, or maybe it was because I felt so damn relaxed. I’d never taken Xanax before, and I was surprised at how effective it had been at calming my nerves.
Now, lying in the safety of Mark’s cloud-like bed, I couldn’t quite remember how awful I had felt when he’d gotten off the phone with the pharmacy. Morris Terwilliger seemed so far away, as if he were a character I’d seen on a movie once. And what the hell kind of name was Terwilliger, anyway?
Terwilliger. Terwilliger. Ter. Willi. Ger. Terwilliger.
“What are you giggling about?” Mark’s voice startled me, and I opened my eyes to find him standing by his side of the bed in the darkened room.
“I was giggling?”
“Yeah, you were.” Rubbing a towel one-handed over his wet hair and lit only by the warm glow of the bathroom light at his back, he looked like a dream come true. Or maybe just a dream.
Was this real? Was I in Mark Johnson’s bedroom? Was he actually standing there in nothing but a pair of boxer shorts with the slit in front dangerously close to gaping?
“I think I was dreaming,” I murmured. “Might be still.”
Mark pulled the covers back and rested a knee on the bed while he situated his pillow the way he liked it, and I could not stop staring at his body. At his boxers. At the outline of the bulge that shifted with every move he made. And I knew what it looked like. Knew very well that it hung low.
A shower, not a grower, I thought, and this time I knew I was giggling.
“What’s so funny?” Mark asked, slipping beneath the covers and hiding that glorious body.
“Awww,” I groaned.
Mark smiled. “What, dammit? You’re like a sound-effects factory over there. Use your words.”
“You’re a shower, not a grower,” I said, too far gone to even be scandalized at myself.
“What?” His smile grew even wider.
“Your dick is huge. I don’t know how you walk around like that all day. Doesn’t it get in the way?”
“Oh, my God. You are so fucked up. Maybe I should have only given you half of that Xanax.” He turned onto his side to face me, propping up on his elbow and looking very pleased with himself.
“No, really. I know what I’m saying. Your dick is enormous. I’ve seen it in the locker room.”
“I know you have.” He carded his fingers through my hair, his expression soft and thoughtful. “But as much as I like you talking about my dick, you need to go to sleep. You’re going to hate yourself and me in the morning if you keep running that pretty mouth of yours.”
I grinned so wide I thought my face might split. “You think I have a pretty mouth?”
“I do.”
“Can I see it?”
Mark’s brows drew together. “What, your mouth?”
“No.” I pulled the covers back, stopping at Mark’s thighs. “Your dick. I wanna see it hard. Is it hard?”
“Jesus!” He snatched the covers back up, laughing. “Note to self: Xanax turns Jason into a sixteen-year-old virgin.”
“Try a twenty-eight-year-old virgin,” I said sourly.
“What? You’re joking, right?”
“I mean, I’ve done stuff. Just not…that.”
Mark flopped onto his back and covered his face with his hands. “You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.” He sounded almost angry.
“Well, you don’t have to act like there’s something wrong with me.”
He uncovered his face and sighed, staring up at the ceiling. “No, there’s nothing wrong with you. It’s just that… I get it now. New Year’s Eve.” He turned his head to look at me, and his eyes glittered in the dark. “I’m sorry for what I did. You were right to be mad at me.”
And suddenly, there was a fire in my heart where there once was darkness. Mark had done that with his understanding and his sincere apology. For once, it felt like he saw me—the real me—and maybe he cared just a little bit.
I pushed the covers back and reached for Mark’s boxers, but before I could slip my hand inside that tempting flap, he grabbed my wrist and stopped me. But instead of pushing my hand away in annoyance or rejection, he pulled my hand toward him and pressed my balled-up fist to his chest. He held it there, and I splayed my fingers out, thrilling at the feel of the crisp, dark hairs and the warm skin beneath.
“Go to sleep,” he said, still holding my hand to his chest. “We’ll talk in the morning.”
And that’s how I fell asleep. Close to Mark. Touching him, and him touching me. Feeling warm and content and important for the first time in as long as I could remember.
11
Mark
Jason came out of my bedroom just as I was making coffee. He was freshly showered, but there was scruff on his cheeks.
“Hope you don’t mind,” he said. “I stole another outfit.”
He wore another of my T-shirts, this one in a plain blue-green that almost matched his eyes. The shorts were identical in style to the ones he’d worn the day before—short, revealing, and sexy as hell—but these were charcoal gray with white piping.
“I swear my clothes look better on you than they do on me,” I said.
Jason smiled, but it was a small gesture and not at all enthusiastic. “Thanks.”
“Is something wrong?” I asked. “I mean aside from the obvious getting-nailed-for-murder thing?” I figured it might help to make light of the situation since worrying about it would get us nowhere.
“Yeah, there’s something wrong,” he said. “What the hell did you give me last night? Truth serum? Jesus, I made an ass of myself.”
I poured two cups of coffee, added a splash of milk just the way we both liked it, and crossed the room to hand him one. “You did not make an ass of yourself. You were cute.”
“Cute?” He groaned. “I’m supposed to be manly and intimidating, not cute.”
“Well, I’m sorry to be the one to inform you, but you are not intimidating. Manly, yes. Intimidating, no. But that’s a good thing. I like you cute.” Bill circled my legs with a loud purr, and I scooped him up and tucked him under my arm without thinking.
Jason took a sip of his coffee and narrowed his eyes. “Are you trying to steal my cat? That’s what this is all about, isn’t it?”
I chuckled and nuzzled my face into Bill’s fur. “Yes, Jason. This is all a complicated ruse to get your cat. In fact, he and I plotted about it while you were passed out yesterday. He said he wanted to come to live with me, but he knew you wouldn’t let him go without a fight.”
“So, you whisked us both away, and now I’m supposed to go back home to my lonely apartment while the two of you live up here in wedded
bliss.”
“Well, I don’t think they’ve legalized cat marriage yet, but one can hope.”
“Yeah.” He reached out and gave Bill’s head a good rubbing. “You’re a traitor, Bill. A dirty, nasty traitor. I hope you give him fleas.”
“He doesn’t actually have fleas, does he?” I asked in alarm. “I thought maybe I felt an itch once or twice last night.”
Jason smirked. “That was a psychosomatic symptom of your paranoia. My cat does not have fleas.”
I relaxed. For some reason, I’d always had an irrational fear of animals. Or I guess it wasn’t so much fear as wariness. They just made me a little bit nervous.
Jason headed over to the table and took a seat, and I followed, setting Bill onto the floor as I slid into my chair. Again, I was struck by how comfortable it felt having him and his cat in my space. That kind of comfort was dangerous.
“So about last night,” Jason said. “I am so embarrassed. And sorry. I acted like an idiot.”
“It didn’t bother me. I rather enjoyed you waxing poetic about my enormous dick.”
Jason groaned, his face turning fourteen shades of crimson.
“And to answer your question,” I said. “It was hard. I just couldn’t tell you that last night for fear you might molest me.”
He groaned again and took a sip of coffee, probably to hide his face from me.
“You were pretty insistent on seeing it,” I continued. “I was a little afraid you might get violent if I denied you a peek.”
“Stop it,” he said. “I get the picture. I was an idiot.”
“But you said I must have given you a truth serum.” I raised an eyebrow at him.
“Well, that was just a figure of speech.”
“No, it wasn’t. That was how you really felt. You said it yourself. Truth serum.”
“Mind if I get some more coffee?” he asked in an obvious attempt at changing the subject.
“Help yourself. There are flavors over there. Mocha, cinnamon, vanilla… There’s chai tea, as well.”
Jason hurried over to the coffee maker, made his selection, and started the machine. It churned and sputtered, and Jason watched the entire process with great interest, presumably to keep from talking to me.
I got up and crossed the room, coming up behind him where he was leaned over the counter watching the coffee dispensing. That perfectly round ass, all poked out and inviting, was more than I could resist. He’d wound me up last night and given me a killer case of blue balls, and now I was going to get my revenge.
I grabbed onto his hips, gently so as not to alarm him, and pressed my erection against the crack of his ass. His entire body went rigid, but he didn’t pull away or try to buck me off.
“Damn, that ass,” I growled, leaning over him and dropping a kiss onto the back of his neck. He smelled of my body wash and shampoo, and there was something underneath it all that I remembered from the New Year’s party. Something uniquely Jason that I’d never noticed until we’d gotten close enough to kiss. The scent was intoxicating, and I wanted more of it.
I nuzzled harder against his neck and kissed him there again, taking a deep breath and drawing the scent of him into my body. “You smell so fucking good, I just want to eat you alive.” I pushed against him, wedging my stiff cock firmly between the cheeks of that gorgeous ass, and he moaned loud enough to wake the dead.
I had him pressed down on the counter, my full weight over his back, and I pistoned my hips against him, running the hard shaft of my dick up and down along that tempting channel. He moaned in time with my thrusts and pushed back against me. His ass cheeks clenched and released, squeezing my length in the most delightful way as I stroked off against him.
Panting, I spun him around to face me, and what I saw in his expression was pure, unbridled lust. His pupils were blown wide, and his lips parted. Those sweet lips that I had to kiss or die trying.
I captured his mouth with mine, skipping the niceties and shoving my tongue straight in. He opened to me, and his hot tongue tangled eagerly against mine. The sounds of the two of us devouring each other filled the air. After a moment, I pulled back for air and rested my forehead against his.
“You still want to see it?” I asked breathlessly.
“God, yes,” he groaned. Without waiting for me to reveal it myself, he reached down and snapped the band of my shorts down, hooking it beneath my balls. I was commando, so my cock stood straight and proud, eager for his lustful gaze.
He stared down at it for a moment, breathing hard. “It’s magnificent.”
I chuckled. “Magnificent, huh?”
“Yeah, magnificent. It’s everything I thought it would be… and more.”
In a bold move I hadn’t expected, he curled his fingers around the thick shaft and started to stroke. Slowly at first, then increasing in pace speed and intensity. The squeeze of his fingers was sweet torture as he worked my flesh with an expert grip.
“No way you’re a virgin,” I breathed, thrusting my hips out and chasing for more. “You—oh, goddamn that feels amazing.”
Jason looked into my face with an evil grin. “I told you I’ve done things.”
“Lots of things, I’m betting. What else are you good at?”
“Only one way to find out,” he teased.
He released my dick, which was dangerously close to spilling, and strode into the bedroom. I followed like a lamb, wondering what the hell had happened to the virtuous man who had practically accused me of molesting him only days before.
Jason stood beside the bed and stripped off his clothes, and then was gloriously naked in front of me. I’d caught glimpses of him in the locker room at the club, but I’d never let my gaze linger too long. Now I could look my fill, and he was absolutely stunning.
His dark blond hair was loose and unstyled, wild like his lust-blown eyes. I drank in every detail of him: the stubble on his cheeks, the biceps that were just the right thickness, the defined pecs, and the light dusting of brown chest hair. Further down, a happy trail led to his perfect cock, now fully hard and straining against subtle ridges of his abdominals. I wanted to admire his strong thighs and his perfectly-formed calves and feet, but my eyes wouldn’t move past that beautiful, proud cock.
I felt my own cock jump in response to the sight of him, and it really went crazy when he spread himself out on my bed, lying back and using one arm to prop his head. He trailed a lazy finger down his chest and abs until he reached his dick and grabbed on.
“God, Jason—” Words failed me after that. I stripped off my own clothes as he watched with fevered eyes, languidly stroking his cock the entire time.
I approached him, looking down at him as he offered his body to me. I wasn’t sure if I could keep from blowing my load just from the sight of him all stretched out and bare.
“Can I touch you?” I asked tentatively, echoes from his words the night of the party filling me with doubt.
“I’ll die if you don’t.” He pulled his knees up and spread his legs, stroking in earnest now, his eyes eating up every inch of my body. I saw it when his gaze rested on my erection, and he swallowed hard. “Come rub that thing against mine,” he said. “I want to feel you.”
He didn’t have to ask me twice. I crawled up between his thighs and lowered my body to his, and before I’d even gotten myself stabilized, he’d guided my cock to his and started rubbing them together.
He was a man possessed, rubbing and straining, bucking into me with the abandon of a starving man at a buffet. When I lifted up onto my knees to change angles, he gripped his cock hard and dragged the tip of it up and down the length of mine, leaving a slick trail of pre-cum all along the shaft. It was easily the most intimate thing anyone had ever done to my body.
“Oh, my God, Jason. That’s—” My words trailed off into a guttural moan. He was going to make me lose my mind.
“You like that?” He bit his bottom lip and slicked another trail up and down my shaft. “You like having me on you?”
<
br /> “I fucking love it,” I growled. “I want all of it on me.”
With some stretch and effort, he wrapped his fingers around both of our cocks and started to stroke. Helpless to resist, I started mindlessly thrusting. It was a sloppy, uncoordinated jumble of movements we were making, and it was the hottest thing I’d ever done in my life. Forget screwing some one-night-stand—this was pure fucking heaven just moaning and rutting like beasts.
With Jason.
Jason Whitham was owning my body like no one ever had, and it was glorious.
“I’m getting close,” he said, his voice breathy and out of control. “I can’t—God, Mark. It’s been so long.” His strokes became even more frantic. “I’m gonna come so hard.”
“Do it. Come just for me, baby. I want to feel it all over me.”
“You’re killing me,” he panted breathlessly. “So close.”
In response, I fucked into his hand and against his cock as hard and fast as I could. Between our bodies was the new center of the universe—a slick, quivering jumble of dicks and hands and bellies. And then the slickness increased, and suddenly both our dicks were spouting like Roman candles, covering us in blast after blast of hot cum. We slipped and writhed against each other, sweaty and sated and out of our minds, until my dick got too sensitive to take any more friction, and I collapsed on top of him with a long, loud groan. Then we just lay there, our breaths came in great heaves as if we’d just played our most challenging game of tennis ever.
“Am I crushing you?” I finally asked, knowing good and damn well I was.
“I don’t care. Crush me to death. I could die right now, and it would not bother me in the least.”
I chuckled weakly, every bit of strength gone from my body. “Ditto. Except I’m the one on top of you, so I should probably move.” I rolled to the side and onto the bed, feeling the stickiness of cooling semen as our bodies peeled away from each other. When I was on my back beside him, and we both lay staring at the ceiling, Bill hopped up onto the bed and circled us.