Page 40 of Him

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.

The shred of moonlight shining through the gap in the curtains shows him reclining on his back, his far knee cocked wide. His body is perfect—strong and lean on the bed. His palm is cupped over his dick, the fingertips just brushing the cockhead. He takes a deep breath and then pushes it out slowly, his back arching a little ways, his hips rolling a few degrees.

And I am dying a quiet death. My mouth actually waters, and I have to swallow hard. He’srightthere. In two paces I could have him in my mouth. It’s like Jamie Canning looked into my filthy mind and extracted my fantasies. Well, the opening reel, anyway.

He doesn’t turn his head to look at me, because he doesn’t have to. We both know where my attention lies. He squeezes his shaft once. Twice. Then he opens his hand, letting the fingers drift down. He cups his balls, his thumb skimming the delicate skin.

I hear a hot gasp, and realize it’s come from me.

Then? The fuckersmiles.

That wakes me up, at least a little. “What the fuck are you doing?”

“I really need to jerk. You mind?”

Holy...!Irue the fucking daythat I said those same words to him. I was eighteen, and I thought I was so smooth. But I was only setting in motion some serious pain for everyone. And it’sstillhappening. There’s blood pounding in my ears now.

And other places.

My hand creeps down into my boxers without my approval. Jamie is pumping himself now. Slowly, up and down. He pauses to rub his thumb over the head, and my throat constricts.

“Wes,” he says, his voice like gravel. “I need your help.”

It’s a miracle I’m able to answer in an almost-normal voice. “Looks like you’re doing fine on your own.”

That’s when he finally turns his head to look at me. As he rubs himself, he swallows, and I see his Adam’s apple bob roughly. “I need to know.”

Know what?I almost ask. But he’s studying me now. His eyes are trailing across my chest and down my arm. He’s watching the hand in my shorts. And I get it. He wants to know why he’s feeling this way, if it’s attraction or beer or temporary insanity.

Earlier tonight I was telling him the truth when I said I didn’t want to help him make this discovery. I’m not sure I’d survive it.

This is, of course, all my fault.

We lock eyes. His are heavy-lidded. I’ve always wanted another chance to see his lust-filled face. Now his lips part on the upstroke, and it’s almost enough to get me across the room. But still I hesitate, and not because I’m afraid he’ll regret this tomorrow.

Because I know I will.

“Please,” he says.

That one word is enough to get me off my bed. I’m standingin the center of our room now, hands on the waistband of my boxers. I yank and let them drop to the floor.

And now he’s staring at my cock, stroking his.

“What do you want?” I ask. And I need him to be specific. This is a very dangerous game we’re playing. It will probably end in disaster. But if there’s any way I can prevent that, I will.

He moves further onto the bed, making room for me. Then he beckons. And there isn’t enough money, fame or fortune in the world to keep me from obeying. I’m on that bed a second later. His arms reach for me, pull me in.

We’re side by side, chest to chest. And Jamie Canning is kissing me again.

He doesn’t taste like beer anymore, but toothpaste. There’s no way either of us can blame this on alcohol tomorrow. His tongue is in my mouth and I take greedy pulls on it, loving every second of it.

Our lower bodies grind together, and he lets out a soft moan, rocking harder into me. His cock slides over my belly, lines up with my own aching shaft. That bit of friction brings stars to my eyes.

“Fuck,” I choke out.

His eyes slit open, searching my face as his tongue comes out to lick his bottom lip. “If you stop right now, I’m going to kick your ass.”

Stop? Is that a word? What does it mean? Probably the opposite of what I’m doing when I slide my hand between our bodies and grasp both our cocks in my hand.