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Jacobs legit groans, and it’s the most erotic sound I’ve ever heard. Kissing has never been like this. Kissing is supposed to be anticipation. It’s a teaser. A taste. It’s supposed to build and grow, becoming hotter and needier over time. It doesn’t start with explosions. At least, not in my experience.
“Whoa,” Cohen says. I didn’t even hear him come back in. “What?” I snap at him. “I think we’re all a little gay after that. That was hot.” Rossi slaps Cohen’s shoulder. “Still only you, dude.”
What did that Katy Perry sing about again? I kissed a guy. And my dick really fucking liked it.
“You’re right. I liked it. Wanna know why?” My response clearly takes him by surprise because when I dip my mouth down next to his ear, he doesn’t pull away. “You were finally fucking quiet.”
He shoves me off him. “What the hell are you doing?” I blink. What am I doing? So many things run through my head that I could say. It seemed like a good idea. I liked kissing you and wanted to do it again. What comes out is not as clear. Or rational. “You’re not a potato.” You’re not a potato? What the fuck? “What?” “Nothing.” “You hate me.” Jacobs wipes his mouth, and I’m only mildly offended.
“I liked kissing you, okay! It was hot, and it made me hard, and I swear I’ve jerked off so much to the thought of it, I was worried my dick would fall off. I wanted to see if it was a fluke.”
I’ve been on my best behavior all day because there’s a fine line between riling Jacobs up and him wanting to murder me. My newfound enjoyment of manhandling does have some limits. Rough sex, good. Murder, bad. Not that I think he’d ever take a swing at me. I just get the feeling he’s been close. A lot.
But I refuse to keep Beck a secret. It might have made sense early on when I’d been sure things were only physical, but now we’re actually together, now we’re both committed to this thing, I’m going to claim him. Beck is mine. And everyone is gonna know it.
“Why would I be nervous about that? It’s no big deal. It’s nothing special—we’re just two dudes who are dating. There’s nothing to be nervous about.” “So … you’re terrified, then?” “Quietly shitting myself, yes.”
“Turns out there’s a fine line between love and hate, and that line is blowjobs.”
