Him (Him, #1)

by Sarina Bowen

The fact that he’d been the first guy I ever loved and the one who made me face some terrifying things about myself…well, all that will go unsaid.

Here goes nothing. It all comes out in a rush. “Canning, I’m gay. And yeah—maybe that’s not such a big deal in the grand scheme of things. Except that the last time we were here I kind of…pushed you into fooling around with me. It wasn’t cool, and I’ve spent the last four years feeling shitty about it.”

“You didn’t talk to me for four years because you thought I’d freak out about you sucking me off.”

“It was just a little sex, for God’s sake. Nobody died.”

Duuude

“Ah. Thanks for punishing me for your dishonesty. A four-year sentence. I went off to a strange college where I knew nobody, wondering how I’d been such a shitty friend.”

He doesn’t get to finish that sentence, because I’m smashing my mouth against his.

“Your tongue ring…” His voice is hoarse with excitement. “I want to feel it on my cock.”

“You’re the king of bad ideas,” he reminds me. “At least this one ends with both of us feeling good.”

Our mouths meet in another kiss. Soft this time. Agonizingly slow. It’s not enough. I’ll stop it soon, any second now, but not yet. Not until he gives me more.

Earlier, I told him he’d acted like a douchecanoe. But that’s crap. I’m the one who’s in love with my best friend and pretending I’m not.

Pushing my hips into the mattress, I wish I could feel it again—the press of his body. The scrape of rough hands on my forearms.

“I’m not drunk, Wes.” What I am is very, very curious.

Aren’t we all?

“Come over here,” I say. “Please.” “No fucking way,” he replies. “I can make you.” He laughs. “Did you smoke some pot while I was out, Canning?”

But then I lift my hips, peel off my briefs, and throw them at his head. He bats them away, smiling in the dark. Kicking the sheet off, I put my hand on my dick. And he stops laughing.

Fuck me. I’m a strong guy. I’m a tough guy. But I was not built to withstand the sight of Jamie Canning stroking himself.

You and me both

keep one hand tangled in his hair. The other claws at the sheet, bunching it tight between my fingers. My heart is pounding. It’s all I can hear, a frantic thump-thump rattling my ribcage. That and the sounds Jamie is making. Husky groans, wet pops, a deep growl as he takes me almost all the way to the back of his throat. Jesus Christ. This man is wrecking me. I’m wrecked. I’m— “Going to come,” I ground out.

“Are you going to freak out now?” The pause before he speaks cuts me in half. “Do you want me to?” There’s humor in his voice. “No.” It’s my turn to pause. “Do you want me to go back to my bed?” He snuggles even closer, plastering himself to my body like a warm blanket. “No.” He sighs in contentment. “Night, Wes.”

I’ve played it cool, but inside I’m a wreck. Because once was not enough, and yet I haven’t a clue what Jamie’s thinking.

I love you. The words are always right there on the tip of my naughty tongue. I swallow them back like I need to and say something much more practical instead.

“Want you,” I whisper. Lately, those two words define me. “Have me,” he says.

“Last shot,” he says in a singsong voice. “You’re totally gonna blow it, Canning!”